Chapter Two
The next afternoon, we roll to a stop in front of the McKinleys’ house, where Laurel waits for us on her wraparound porch. She hugs her family goodbye as Abba carries her luggage to the trunk.
“The two Els, reunited at last,” Abba says as he and Laurel get into the car. “How was Florida, Miss Laurel?”
“I adored it.” Laurel adores a lot of things, since it was her favorite word for all of seventh grade. “We drove to the Gulf last weekend. It was so pretty.”
She rubs her small cross-shaped charm between her index finger and thumb.
Some people believe you have to look into a person’s eyes to know what they’re feeling, but I think you can tell more from what they do with their hands. Like, I know Abba is stressed when his knuckles turn white around his tablet pen. Mom waves her hands around as she talks when she’s excited, and I do my finger thrum whenever the world gets too bright, loud, or both.
When Laurel gets nervous, she fiddles with her necklace.
She turns toward me. “It was like the beach in Savannah. Remember?”
She waits for me to say something, but the words get stuck in my throat. I nod instead, a quick, jerky movement that matches the beat of a pop song playing from our car’s radio.
I remember. Last summer, between sixth and seventh grade, I spent a week with the McKinleys at their vacation home on the Georgia coast. Laurel and I swam in the ocean every morning and ate lunch on the beach each afternoon. We’d make up stories about the other tourists as we ate. Things like where they were visiting from and what might happen in their lives when they went back home.
“Sounds like you had a nice trip,” Mom says.
“Yes, ma’am.” Laurel’s strawberry-blond hair bobs on her newly tanned shoulder. “I sure did.”
We merge onto the freeway, and Abba’s arms appear above his seat, stretching as far as they’ll reach. “I hope no one minds if I take a nap. I lost myself in some sketches last night and stayed up past my bedtime.”
“That’s fine.” Mom turns down the music’s volume. “We’ll keep quiet for you, right, girls?”
“Yes.” I find my voice at the same time that Laurel says the same thing.
“Chalamot paz, Abba,” I add. Sweet dreams.
My phone buzzes. A new text from Laurel.
I skim our last few messages.
El(len) Katz
Friday
I finished packing early. You can call now.
(Laur)el McKinley
Friday
Sorry I forgot to call 
I was shopping with Dahlia all morning, then SA needed a packing intervention and I totally spaced
Saturday
Forgive me?? 
SA stands for Sophie-Anne Taylor. We’re all students at Lynnwood Preparatory School, but Sophie-Anne has her own group of friends and I don’t get how Laurel fits in with them. Ever since we met in third grade, it’s always been just Laurel and me: an inseparable pair of Els. I hunch my shoulders and lean forward in my seat.
El(len) Katz
I called your house yesterday when you didn’t answer your cell phone. Your mom talks a lot.
Laurel giggles. My phone buzzes again.
(Laur)el McKinley
LOLOLOL I know, I live with her
The sides of my mouth twitch up, and I relax in my seat. Up front, Mom hums a Shabbat song she sang in front of our temple this morning. I try to imagine what it’ll be like to spend two Shabbats halfway across the world. Except for the trip to Savannah, I’ve always gone to temple with Mom and Abba every week. While Mom leads our temple in song, I sit with Abba, humming along.
Abba’s breaths become deep and slow. Laurel and I keep texting to make sure we don’t wake him.
(Laur)el McKinley
So how much homework do you think Señor L will make us do on this trip?
The syllabus from last year was on the school website. It’s lectures in the morning, then a siesta and afternoon field trips before dinner. I didn’t see times listed for homework.
(Laur)el McKinley
Let me guess… you made daily schedules for the whole trip
El(len) Katz
… maybe.
(Laur)el McKinley
I glance over at Laurel, right as Abba snorts in his sleep. The corners of our mouths rise at the same time.
Mom glances back at us in the rearview mirror. “Grins must be contagious,” she tells us in a loud whisper. “Now I can’t stop smiling, either.”
The car rolls to a stop in front of the Atlanta airport’s international departures terminal. We grab our suitcases and say goodbye to Mom. My stomach swirls with nerves as she coasts away.
Inside the airport, a group of Lynnwood students clusters together in front of the security line. Some kids wear blue school T-shirts with the gold Lynnwood crest across their chests, while others wear a version with our school mascot perched on top of a shirt pocket. The brown thrasher: It’s not exactly regal like a lion, tiger, or eagle, but it’s the Georgia state bird and can sing up to 3,000 unique song phrases. So, it’s got a few things going for it.
Abba slows, then turns back to us. “Hey, Miss Laurel. How about you head over while I run something past Ellen?”
I automatically take a step toward Laurel. We’re supposed to stay together on this trip.
But Laurel doesn’t seem bothered. “Sure.” She turns to me. “Come find me when you’re done?”
“Okay.…” But I keep my eyes on her until Abba starts talking.
“I’ve been thinking about our last family session with Dr. Talia. Do you remember what she said?”
Dr. Talia said a lot of things last week, but one thing stayed with me enough to write it in my dot diary. “She said me being autistic isn’t abnormal or bad, it’s unique and different.”
“Absolutely.” Abba nods. “And how about right before we finished the session?”
I think back. Even though it was only a week ago, my head is filled with a flight departure time and gate number, lots of new Spanish words, and our trip’s itinerary. I shake my head.
“It was just a quick mention.” Abba balls his hands into fists, then flexes his fingers straight before repeating the motion. Usually he does this at his desk, when he doesn’t know what to draw next. “Besides school and temple, you don’t get out of the house much, so you end up spending lots of time with your mother and me. Dr. Talia said this trip could be a great time to give you some space. Does that make sense?”
“No… You’re a parent chaperone. It’s your job to make sure students don’t get lost or hurt in Barcelona—including me.”
“Of course.” Abba slides his hands into his shorts pockets. “What I mean is, there may be opportunities for you and your classmates to be on your own, or times when a smaller group will only have one adult chaperone.”
“Small groups?” The school website didn’t say anything about this.
Abba nods again. “I wanted to see if you’d like me to ask your Spanish teacher to assign me to a different group, if something like that happens. To give you some independence.”
My stomach flips. I shake my head fast. “No. I like spending time with you.”
I expect him to smile here, like he did yesterday, but Abba just presses his lips together.
“Are you sure, Elle-bell? The parent chaperones attended an orientation, so we’re equipped to assist every student, no matter what. Plus, I’d still be around if you needed anything.”
“I want to spend time with you.” I’m still shaking my head. I don’t notice that I’ve let go of my suitcase and balled my hands into fists until Abba speaks again.
“Hey, lo hashuv. It’s okay.”
The distress drains out of me. My fingers relax at my sides.
“Do you need a moment, metukah?” Abba asks. “There’s time to stop by the bathroom if you need someplace quiet to reset.”
“No. I’m fine.”
“Okay.” Abba hesitates, like he’s not quite convinced. Finally, he reaches for his suitcase. “Let’s go join your group then.”
That should be that. But as we head toward my classmates, I can’t help feeling like my world has started to spin off-axis again.