Little Miss Red Read online

  Then it dropped a few inches.

  “Holy sh—” Jack started to say, before Harriet shot him a look. “—oot,” he finished.

  With the next swerve, Jack grabbed at my arm and hid his head near my chest. I loved that he already felt so comfortable around me that he didn’t feel like he had to act super-brave all the time.

  After the plane was upright, he lifted his head. “Sorry,” he said sheepishly. “I’m not a great flyer.”

  “Omigod—me, neither!” I gasped. Another thing we had in common.

  “Attention passengers,” the captain’s shaky voice said over the loudspeaker. “Remain calm. I repeat—REMAIN CALM. We’re just experiencing a bit of turbulence.”

  “Well, isn’t that the understatement of the millennium!” snapped Harriet.

  The plane rolled and dipped. By this time, plastic cups were rolling up and down the aisle while people screamed. I wondered how long before the oxygen masks fell from the ceiling.

  The plane took a nosedive.

  “Jack?!” I yelled above everyone’s screams, as I clutched on to the armrests for the little life it looked like I had left.

  “Yeah?!” he yelled back.

  “I just want you to know, I did have a boyfriend,” I shouted, my voice vibrating with panic, “but I don’t anymore.…I mean, technically, I still do, but two nights ago he decided we should take a break…so we’re still together, but it’s on hold at the moment,” I babbled, reaching for the airsickness bag. “And the reason I’m bringing this up is”—the plane dipped again and my stomach did a roundoff back handspring—“because…well, because I want you to know that I would very much like to be your girlfriend. I mean, I know we just met and all, but, yes, I would like to be your girlfriend.”

  He looked confused. And terrified.

  Lord Byron yowled from under the seats.

  “Remember when you asked me if I wanted to be your girlfriend?” I yelled, my voice quavering. It felt important to get this settled before we crashed to our death. “Before the plane started to freak out? Anyway, the answer is yes, even though it won’t be for long because we’re probably going to die any minute.”

  “Oh. Well, um, thanks,” he replied nervously, as the plane shimmied and shuddered back and forth as if it was in belly dancing class. “Thanks a lot. That’s really sweet of you. And, uh, I would’ve been interested in being your boyfriend too.”

  And then, as quickly as the crazy turbulence had started, it stopped. Within a second, the plane righted itself, and I didn’t have to worry about dying anymore. Not physically, at least. But of total and complete embarrassment, yes, because I had just told a totally hot guy I had just met that I wanted to be his girlfriend.

  And now I had to sit next to him for the next four hours.

  As I wrapped my arms around myself and hid under my hat, I almost wished the plane had gone down.

  The good news about having a brother with Asperger’s is that, when I want to, I know how to be hyper-focused too. Like then, when I chose to be hyper-focused on Devon and Dante and how their passion was propelling them to spend a lot of time kissing. I figured if I looked like I was really busy reading, I wouldn’t have to talk to Jack. Like ever again.

  All I wanted was to get to Florida and get off the plane—no, run off the plane toward baggage claim and Grandma Roz and her “gentleman friend” Art, dive into his red Cadillac that smelled like it had been dunked in pine air freshener, and get as far away from Jack as possible. He had obviously been kidding when he had made that comment about me being his girlfriend. It was just something to say, like, “So do you like Coke or Pepsi?”

  “Hey, Red,” I heard Jack say quietly a moment later. I was so entranced with how Dante’s strong hands were encircling Devon’s tiny waist that I almost didn’t hear, but unfortunately, his voice had been singed into my soul, like the voice of the Swiss mountain climber, Hans, on Devon’s in Awakened by Ardor. I would’ve been able to hear it anywhere, even if he had been speaking at a decibel level that only dogs could pick up.

  “Cinnamon Girl,” he said.

  I turned to him slowly, glad that I hadn’t had a chance to get my bangs cut before my trip so that now they were hanging in my eyes. Every little bit of protection against melting from his hotness helped.

  “Yeah?” I mumbled.

  He held out his hand, which held three smooshed Starburst candies. “You want one? They’re a little warm ’cause they’ve been in my back pocket, but they should be all right,” he said with a smile that could’ve melted the biggest glacier in the world and been responsible for tons more global warming.

  I felt like I was being soaked with a cold bucket of relief. Obviously, the way I professed my love (or at least the fact that I wanted to be his girlfriend) back when I thought we were going to die hadn’t scared him off, and we were still together! Not only that, but I couldn’t believe how thoughtful he was. When Michael offered me candy, it was stuff like Now and Laters that could break your teeth.

  I reached for a red one. It was warm. “I think I’m going to save it for dessert,” I said. Or, you know, the Sophie-n-Jack scrapbook I planned to make as soon as I got home.

  He chuckled. “Ohhh…I get it. You’re one of those girls who waits until after the meal to have her dessert.”

  “Not all the time,” I replied defensively. “Once, when my parents were on vacation, I had a cupcake before dinner.”

  He gave me another smile. But this one was more…wolfish. “It’s kind of fun to mix it up a bit sometimes, huh Red?”

  I nodded.

  “Wanna try it?”

  “Try what?” I asked.

  He pointed to the candy. “Mixing it up a bit.”

  Even though I got the sense that he wasn’t just talking about the dessert-first thing, I unwrapped the candy and popped it into my mouth. Because of the heat it was soft and chewy, and the flavor seemed even more intense.

  “How is it?” he asked.

  “Mffgud.” That was I-have-candy-stuck-in-my-molars speak for, “It’s good.”

  He nodded and sat back in his seat. “It’s a trip to be wild sometimes, isn’t it?”

  I nodded again. Being around Jack not only took my breath away; it took my vocabulary away too.

  He unwrapped the lemon and the orange ones and popped them into his mouth at the same time. “You see, Red?” he said, leaning in to straighten my hat. “There’s a whole other world out there. Stick with me and I’ll show it to you.”

  Boy, was he right.

  seven

  Although the flight crew kept insisting that what had happened was just run-of-the-mill turbulence, a half hour later the captain got on the loudspeaker to tell us we’d be making an unscheduled landing at Raleigh-Durham International Airport and switching planes. “By no means is this an emergency landing,” he announced, “but there’s a slight malfunction with the fuel tank.” The passengers started buzzing. “Seriously, folks, it’s absolutely nothing to worry about,” he added. My dad freaked if I ever let the fuel in his Volvo get lower than a quarter of a tank (“You’ll ruin the engine!”), so I could only imagine what could be happening with our plane.

  “You can bet that this airline is going to be receiving a letter from me,” harrumphed Harriet as we started our descent.

  “Aw, it’s not so bad. Look at it as an adventure,” said Jack, eating a Fig Newton that she had given him. After our near-death experience, Jack had done a great job of calming Harriet down, not to mention Lord Byron. Not only did he have a real way with people, but with animals too.

  She patted his cheek. “It’s so refreshing to see a young person with such a positive outlook on life. Are you on antidepressants, dear?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Just one hundred milligrams of living in the moment,” he said proudly.

  I smiled. Even if it didn’t really make sense, it sounded catchy. Maybe if the music stuff took a while to take off, he could get a job in advertising. As Dad said, it w
as important for artists to have a “B” job.

  “Plus, Raleigh’s real cool. You ever been there, Red?”

  I took my tongue out of my molar. “Uh uh,” I said, shaking my head.

  “Well, I have. My band played a gig there, and afterward we kicked back at this awesome Denny’s. It was huge. With a Dennyland playground and everything.”

  “Wow. That sounds…great,” I replied. I had only been to Denny’s once, with Michael after a movie, and when we sat down in the booth, my hand hit something, and when I looked down it turned out to be a pair of dentures someone had left behind. That had to break a few laws with the Board of Health. Needless to say, we left without ordering and I never went back. Even though I had to admit the brownie à la mode I saw someone eating as we walked out looked pretty yummy.

  “So what kind of gig did you play there?” I asked. An image of him and his band playing in this huge stadium, with girls throwing their bras up on the stage, popped up on the movie screen of my brain.

  “It was my drummer’s grandparents’ fiftieth anniversary at a Rotary Club,” he replied.

  Okay, so there probably wasn’t any bra-throwing going on. At least he was a working musician. I knew from when Devon fell in love with the Parisian mime in Seduced by Silence that making a living as an artist was very hard.

  “Maybe I’ll write a song about you,” he said, tapping me on the nose.

  “Really?!” I gasped.

  He shrugged. “Sure. Why not?” He thought about it for a moment. “What’s a good word that rhymes with Red?”

  I could hardly believe it. I was becoming his muse, just like Devon had been to the Danish painter she fell in love with in Steamrolled by Satisfaction! I had never admitted this to anyone—not even Jordan (especially not Jordan)—but becoming someone’s muse was my life’s ambition. I’d probably have to get a second job, but that was okay. To be adored 24/7 and to be told the person couldn’t live without you?

  I couldn’t think of a better existence.

  Once we landed and it was safe to turn on my iPhone, I discovered that Michael still hadn’t e-mailed me. Not even a reply to my “I can’t believe you haven’t e-mailed me” e-mail. Well, it was a good thing I had Jack. After we deboarded, we walked toward the arrivals/departures board. “They said they’re putting us on Flight 18,” I said. I looked up at the flights. “Which doesn’t leave for…four more hours?!” That meant that instead of getting in at six o’clock at night eastern time, we’d now be getting in at ten o’clock, which meant I’d miss the original TV movie based on Lulu’s book Singed by Secrets.

  “Awesome,” said Jack. “That means we have time to go downtown and do some sightseeing.”

  I looked at him like he had just suggested we go run around the tarmac naked. “We can’t leave the airport!”

  “Why not?”

  “Well, because you have to be at the airport two hours before your departure time.”

  “I’m not a mathlete, but according to that board, we’ve got four hours,” he replied.

  “Yeah, but what if there’s a seven-car pileup on the highway on our way back and we get stuck in it while we’re waiting for them to remove the dead bodies?” I said. “Or if we’re at a restaurant and a gunman comes in and takes everyone hostage?”

  I really don’t know why he gave me such a weird look. It could happen—both of those things had happened to Devon in the same book, Controlled by Chaos.

  “You know, I never thought about that,” he said. “I guess it’s good to think things through sometimes.” He smiled. “I have a feeling you’re going to be a real good influence on me, Red.”

  I smiled back. Just wait until I taught him how to use a PalmPilot so he could become super-organized.

  Most people probably wouldn’t find the American Airlines terminal of the Raleigh-Durham International Airport all that glamorous, but that’s because they’d be stuck having to hang out at places like Cinnabon or the Great American Bagel Bakery. I, on the other hand, had Jack to take me to the A-list hot spots.

  “Wow, you’re a member?” I asked as we stood in front of a door that said “American Airlines Admirals Club.” I knew from Dad that part of the reason the Admirals Club was so exclusive was because it cost something like five hundred dollars a year to be a member. Maybe Jack was lying when he said that every month he had to struggle to make ends meet and pay his rent. Maybe, like Marco in Nailed by Nirvana, he had a huge trust fund and was just pretending to be poor until he made sure I loved him for himself and not his money!

  “Not exactly,” he replied with a wink.

  “But it says ‘members only,’” I said, pointing at the door.

  “Yeah, but I talk my way into these places all the time. It’s easy.” He pushed the door open. “C’mon.”

  I paused. Sharing earbuds was one thing, but this?

  He grabbed my hand. “Don’t worry, it’s not like we’re going to get arrested.”

  The minute he grabbed my hand, all my fear about possibly breaking the law by trespassing disappeared. His hand was a little calloused (because of the guitar playing, no doubt), but that didn’t stop electric shocks from shooting through my body—like the time my blow-dryer shorted out.

  “Good afternoon, ma’am,” he said to the woman sitting behind the desk. He leaned in to peer at her name tag. “Ms. Yolanda Crabnick. What a lovely name. Is it okay if I call you Ms. Crabnick?”

  From the way she looked us up and down, the “crab” part of her name seemed spot on. “May I see your Admirals Club membership card, please?” she asked.

  Jack reached for his wallet, which was attached by a chain to his belt loop, and rifled through it. Not that I was being nosy or anything, but in addition to his driver’s license, ATM card, MasterCard, and YMCA card, I spotted a lot of scraps of paper with phone numbers written in loopy, girly handwriting.

  He looked up at Ms. Crabnick and gave her one of his most charming roguish smiles. “Uh oh. Seems like I forgot it. Think you can let it slide this one time?”

  She shook her head. “No card, no admittance,” she said firmly.

  He sighed. “I knew I should have had my secretary double-check my briefcase when I got back from that business trip to Japan. I bet it’s in there.”

  He had such an incredible imagination. If he could come up with great stories like this one on the spot, I could only imagine what a terrific songwriter he was.

  But from the way that Ms. Crabnick glared at him, it was clear she didn’t buy it.

  He smiled at her again. “I’m sure you get this all the time, but has anyone ever told you that you could be Angelina Jolie’s older sister?”

  She rolled her eyes. “As the Admirals Club is a members-only establishment, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  My eye landed on a tote bag next to her chair that said, “Sometimes you have to kiss a lot of frogs before your prince comes along.” Peeking out of the top was a book. And I would have recognized that cover anywhere.

  “Hey, Enveloped by Enigmas is one of my favorites!” I exclaimed. Lulu may have been a fraud, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t a brilliant writer. I had had no idea that the Balinese masseuse Devon fell in love with in the book was actually a Russian spy who was trying to start a nuclear war.

  “You’re a Lulu Lavoie fan?” said Ms. Crabnick.

  I whipped out my copy of Propelled by Passion. “Not only am I a fan,” I said, “but Lulu just happens to be my best friend’s mother. This is her new book that’s coming out next month.” I flipped it open. “See—it’s even dedicated to me.” I left out the part that the dedication was a total lie. And that my name was spelled wrong.

  “Oh my,” she gasped. “It’s like you’re famous!” She leaned in. “I really shouldn’t be doing this,” she whispered, “but why don’t you two go on in? Any close personal friend of Lulu Lavoie’s is definitely Admirals Club–worthy.”

  I turned to Jack and flashed him a smile. I was hoping to find him im
pressed by the fact that I knew a major celebrity, but instead he looked embarrassed that I was the one who got us in and not him. I know I should have been all “equal rights” and stuff, but I thought it was beyond sweet that he wanted to impress me like that. Michael had given up trying to impress me a month after we started going out.

  But by the time the doors hissed closed behind us, Jack was back to being his confident self.

  As we strode over to the table with the free snacks (okay, maybe not strode, because we were both dragging our carry-ons), I realized I had finally arrived. Maybe at Castle Heights I’d always be invisible (or worse, exceptionally visible—especially since the calendar fiasco), but here at the Raleigh-Durham International Airport, all eyes were on me for all the right reasons. Or maybe it was because I kept bumping into things because my hat was too big. Still, it was nice to get the attention.

  “Great view, huh?” asked Jack as he threw some roasted peanuts back and chased them with a swig of his complimentary soda. He really needed to be more careful about potential choking hazards.

  “Oh yeah,” I agreed, sipping my Diet Coke. This place was so fancy, they even put a slice of lemon in the soda. We were so close to the tarmac that I could actually see one of the baggage handlers smoking a cigarette next to a tank that said, WARNING: FLAMMABLE.

  “It’s like having third-row center seats at a Neil Young concert,” he said.

  I had never considered looking out at a runway strip all that interesting before, but with Jack, everything seemed exciting. As I listened to him crunch his ice, I was hit with one of my psychic premonitions. They didn’t happen often, and they usually had to do with pop quizzes, but in this case I had the vision of us sitting in Admirals Clubs around the world while Jack toured with his band. Instead of places like Raleigh and West Palm Beach, we’d be in airports in Paris and Rome and Tokyo.

  My iPhone buzzed, and I almost knocked over my soda. Sure, I was totally focused on Jack, but maybe there was the teensiest part of me that was wondering if Michael would finally come to his senses and realize how badly he’d screwed up. Not that I was interested in pushing the play button with him again. I looked at the screen. Just an e-mail from Always 16 about an upcoming sale.