Page 16 of The Loophole
Vee coaxed the bird onto his finger before relocating him to JoJo’s shoulder. “All clear,” he told Bryson, with a huge grin. “And you have nothing to be embarrassed about. One-ounce parakeets can be super scary.”
Bryson stood up slowly, never taking his eyes off Clementine as I tried to reassure him. “Scared of birds, huh? It’s okay. I havesome irrational fears, too. I can’t think of any right now, but I know I have them.”
“I’m not scared of birds. That one just startled me.” He backed toward the door, still watching the parakeet, and as he fumbled for the door handle, he muttered, “I’ll meet you outside.”
He opened the door, slipped through it, and slammed it shut. Once he was gone, JoJo said, “I like that guy.”
I nodded. “I like him, too. He’s trying really hard to make sure I’m happy throughout all of this. Did I tell you he messaged me yesterday to ask where I wanted to stay this weekend?”
“What did you tell him?”
“That anyplace was fine. I don’t know a thing about hotels in Las Vegas. I’ve seen pictures of some of them, like the giant pyramid, but what if I picked one that was really expensive? I’d feel guilty if I asked for someplace that was two hundred dollars a night.” Hal started to say something and stopped himself, so I asked him, “Are they a lot more than that?”
“They can be.”
That made me sigh. “I shouldn’t have suggested Las Vegas in the first place. He probably thinks I’m trying to get as much out of him as I possibly can.”
JoJo said, “I’m sure he doesn’t think that,” and Vee and Hal agreed with her. I hoped she was right.
We gathered our things, and after saying goodbye to JoJo and Clementine, we stepped out onto the porch. There was a fancy black car double-parked in the street. When a driver in a dark suit climbed out of it, I murmured, “It’s a small limo.”
“It’s a town car,” Vee explained, as he lugged his suitcase down the stairs. I had no idea what that meant, but I didn’t ask. There was no reason to keep reminding everyone just how unsophisticated I was.
About half an hour later, we arrived at the airport. It was the busiest place I’d ever seen. Cars and taxis jockeyed for position, while people flooded in and out of the terminals through banks of sliding doors. Meanwhile, officers with shrill whistles tried to control the utter chaos.
Somehow, our driver found a spot at the curb, and everyone sprang into action. Apparently we were only allowed to stop there for an undisclosed number of seconds before the full wrath of the parking police was unleashed on us. The bags were quickly offloaded to the curb, and the driver got back behind the wheel and merged into the river of vehicles.
A woman with a metal cart heaped with luggage was coming right at me while talking on the phone, so I scurried to Bryson and grabbed his sleeve. Out of the four of us, he seemed to be the calmest and most confident, so I figured my best chance of survival was to glue myself to his side. Plus, he was as big as a tree, so it seemed unlikely that anyone would be able to flatten him with a luggage cart.
He seemed surprised when he glanced at me. But then he shifted his garment bag to his other shoulder and put his arm around me, in a gesture that felt protective. “This must seem overwhelming if you’re not used to it,” he said, “so stay close. I’ve got you.”
He really did, too. Bryson guided me through the gauntlet of activities that came next, from getting in the right line to check in and hand over our luggage to going through some weird scanners. Then it was time for a long trek through the enormous terminal. It felt like an indoor city, with shops, bars, restaurants, and hundreds of people.
At one point, we came across some long, moving people conveyor belts that I had absolutely no explanation for. Bryson started to bypass them, but I exclaimed, “Come on, we have to go for a ride!”
He probably thought I was ridiculous, but he was nice enough to change course and accompany me to the start of that contraption. Needless to say, I tripped while trying to step onto it, but I was able to grab the handrail and pull myself upright. Then I bounced up and down on the black rubber surface and pronounced it “spoingy.”
A pair of very businesslike travelers breezed past us, which gave me the idea to try speedwalking on it. I laughed as I covered the distance in double time. Then I turned and called to Bryson, “Why don’t we have these on every sidewalk? They’re so fun!”
He started rushing toward me with a concerned expression as he shouted, “Turn around, Embry!”
I spun in a circle, and he was right, that was fun. Then the conveyer belt ended, and I launched off of it and fell flat on my ass. Bryson caught up to me a few moments later and asked, “Are you alright?”
“I’m fine. That was super fun, can we do it again?”
He held out his hand, and as he hauled me to my feet he said, “We should probably keep going, but there might be some more moving walkways up ahead.”
Sadly, there weren’t. After a while, we arrived at our gate and looked around for Vee and Hal. They caught up to us a minute later, and I asked, “Where were you?”
“I stopped to hit on a cute pilot because, you know, free air travel for life if he’d decided to marry me. Imagine my massive disappointment when he turned out to be straight.” Vee looked at Bryson and added, “No offense.”
This seemed to confuse Bryson, who muttered, “None taken?” It was in the form of a question, as if he was trying to figure out where the potential insult was in any of that.
We all took a seat at the window, and the view was fascinating. Two planes were parked right outside. A huge plane was coming in for a landing in the distance, and another big plane rolled by like it was out for a drive.
I was giddy with excitement—until we actually boarded the plane and were given a half-hearted safety briefing by a bored flight attendant, outlining all the ways we were probably going to die during our hour and forty-minute flight. How would we manage to crash into water and need to use our seats as floatation devices between here and the desert? I fumbled for the laminated sheet in the pocket in front of me and craned my neck to look for the nearest exits.
Before I knew it, we were barreling down the runway. I grabbed Bryson’s hand in a death grip and started to hyperventilate, and he leaned close and whispered, “You’re okay, Embry. Nothing bad is going to happen.”