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She slid her ticket toward the gate agent then forced a smile, an afterthought. “Please.”
The agent took one glance at the piece of paper and forced a smile of her own. “Oh, I’m sorry, but this isn’t a ticket to New York.”
The blond girl rolled her eyes. “Yes. That is why I stand in this line and talk to you. You can change it to New York, no? It is okay. I will wait.”
The gate agent shook her head and punched a few keys on her computer. True to her word, the girl waited.
“No. I’m sorry,” the agent said a moment later. “Your ticket is nonexchangeable and nonrefundable. Do you understand?”
“I am Icelandic. I am not moronic.”
“Of course. Yes. It’s just that…” The agent trailed off, looking for words. “I’m afraid that this ticket ca
“But I must go to New York! I thought I could fly to where this ticket takes me and then take a bus or a train to New York, but it is very far. In Iceland, the distances … they are not so far. And now I am going to a place I do not want to go, to see someone I do not wish to see, and—”
“I’m sorry.” The gate agent shook her head. “You can purchase a ticket for New York. We have another flight leaving at six a.m. tomorrow. If you wish to go to New York you must buy a ticket for that flight.”
“But I have a ticket!” the girl snapped and pushed her old ticket forward again.
Meanwhile, another gate agent was approaching the door, propping it open as she a
The lady behind the counter gave a desperate look to the even more desperate girl. “You will either need to buy a ticket for a later flight or go to your original destination.”
“But my boyfriend is in New York! And if you would only change my ticket—”
“This flight is full.”
“But I do not love him!”
The woman looked confused. “Your boyfriend in New York?”
“No.” The girl shook her head and shrugged. “My other boyfriend.”
“Oh,” the woman said, her mouth forming a perfect circle. Then she leaned closer. A kindness filled her eyes. “Are your parents here?”
The girl shook her head. “I am alone.”
And right then I totally knew the feeling.
I watched the girl push away from the desk and start through the crowd of people that swarmed, jockeying for position as the gate agent a
En masse, the crowd took another step forward, jostling the girl, who dropped her bag and wiped her eyes. Her footsteps faltered.
And that was when I did it.
I don’t know why I did it. It wasn’t even a conscious thought, a decision. Instinct alone was driving me as I stepped forward and blurted, “You want to go to New York?”
The girl looked at me, confused, but before she could even answer, I thrust my own ticket toward her and said, “Here. Take it. You can have it if you give me yours.”
“But that is your ticket.”
“You can have it. We can trade. Here.” I waved my ticket, but the girl glanced nervously at the gate agent standing by the door.
“It’s okay. They don’t check IDs during the boarding process,” I told her. “If you want to go to New York, this is your chance. Just give me your ticket. Give me your ticket and go.”
I could practically see what she was thinking. I was a teenage girl, too. We were about the same height, the same weight. To anyone in that heavily secured airport we might have even looked like sisters. It’s not like I was a creepy dude asking her to get into my van, but the offer probably sounded too good to be true. Which meant it probably was.
She hesitated, then snatched the ticket from my hand, held hers out to me.
“Go ahead.” I motioned toward the open door. “You’re boarding.”
She pointed to another open door a few gates away, another mass of crowding people. “So are you.”
It really was that easy, believe it or not. I started toward the open doors. For the first time in my life I did not look back, not until I heard the girl call, “You don’t even know where I was going.”
I shrugged and shook my head and said the only thing that mattered: “If you just want to go away then any ticket will get you there.”
* * *
“Miss?” the voice came through the blackness, and yet I did not move. “Miss!” The flight attendant seemed almost sorry. “It’s time. We’re here.”
That’s when I realized the plane was on the ground; all the other passengers were gone. The lights were down and the tarmac was dark. Wherever the girl was going, I was there.
Walking through the nearly deserted terminal, I made a list of what I had to do. I had enough cash for a hotel and a car, but they’d never rent one to a minor. Especially a minor traveling alone. I took the battery out of my phone, knowing I’d need to buy a burner. I would have to—
“Hulda!” someone yelled.
I looked at the crowd of people waiting just outside of security.
“Hulda!” the woman at the front of the crowd yelled again, a massive Welcome (to your new) Home, Hulda! ba
As she rushed forward, she must have crossed into a secure area because an alarm started sounding—both in my head and out of it.
This was dangerous.
This was wrong.
This woman was invading territory that was better left roped off. Secured. Barricaded and impenetrable to intruders. But the breach had already happened, and I let myself give in to the hug.
It was, after all, a really nice hug.
“Well, look at you!” The woman held me at arm’s length. “You changed your hair.”
I thought back to the short blond locks on the girl in the airport. The girl with the accent. The girl from Iceland. The girl these people were evidently waiting for.
I felt myself starting to panic, needing to run …
“You look so different from your picture,” the woman said, and I managed to breathe.
The girl these people had evidently only seen in pictures.
Maybe they wouldn’t get suspicious, call security. The police. Maybe I could just bide my time and slip away quietly and …
“Well, what am I doing hogging all the hugging? Ethan!” the woman yelled. She looked around, and I followed her gaze to the boy who was walking around the corner.
He wore Wranglers and boots and a plaid shirt heavy with starch. Until then, I’d thought boys like him only existed on the covers of romance novels. He must have been shocked by the looks of me, too, because he stopped short, frozen in the process of sliding a phone back into his pocket. Hulda’s words came back to me:
I don’t love him.
My other boyfriend.
“Ethan!” the woman yelled. “She’s here!”
I started to spin, but I was too late. He was already there. Looking at me. I could see the truth playing across his face, the realization that I was not an Icelandic girl name Hulda. I was not his girlfriend.
“It’s…” The boy started, and, mentally, I filled in the blanks.
An imposter!
A liar!
A fraud.
He moved closer.
“So good to see you!” the boy said.
And then he kissed me.
* * *
So it turns out that if you swap tickets with a girl who doesn’t want to go see her boyfriend, then there’s a good chance said boyfriend will meet you at the airport.
Along with his entire family.
“This is Aunt Mary,” the boy—Ethan—said, pointing to the woman with the really good hugs. “You’ll be staying with her,” he added before pointing to the others. “My mom, Susan. Dad, Clint.”
Clint took my hand in his big, beefy, calloused one, but he gave me a warm smile.
“Welcome.” His voice had a soft, southern twang. They all did.