The bumpy road to the airport snaked along the endless blue Pacific Ocean. Rosalie Claire did her best to dodge the zillions of potholes. I sat in the passenger seat, gazing up through the windshield at the cotton ball clouds that seemed to follow our car as we sped south. I imagined my mom up there, keeping an eye on me, and I thought about Leroy, who’d whimpered when we’d left him behind with Thomas.
“What happens if we find the remote but the MegaPix doesn’t let us go into the past?” asked Violet.
“It has to work,” I said, because it was the only thing I could think of that might help save Florida.
An hour later when we pulled up to the airport, Violet gasped. “Whoa! Are we traveling on a flying chicken? The place looks like a barn.”
That’s exactly what it looked like, except it was the color of mustard. The teeny open-air shack sat in a bright green field in the middle of nowhere. The place didn’t even have a front door.
“We better hurry, it’s five minutes to ten.” Noah bolted from the car.
The four of us sprinted across the dirt parking lot and into the airport with our backpacks. Inside was a chalkboard, posting the day’s departures.
“Uh, guys? There’s no listing for Astral Airlines.” Noah looked worried.
“Never heard of it,” the man behind the check-in desk told us when we asked.
Oh great. Was this the beginning of a wild goose chase?
“I think we should wait anyway,” Rosalie Claire said.
We sat on white plastic chairs at the back of the building where we had a perfect view of the landing strip. When a small propjet touched down on the runway, we got our hopes up, but it was only delivering sacks of mail. It was already 10:45. Our plane was missing in action.
“It’s not coming,” sighed Violet.
“Oh, I think it is,” Rosalie Claire assured her.
All of a sudden I felt it too.
At eleven o’clock we heard a piercing whine, even though the sky was empty except for the puffy cotton clouds. A tiny rickety gunmetal-gray plane appeared from out of nowhere. Its engines groaned as it touched down on the hot gray asphalt. It bounced and roared to a stop, not far from where we sat. I could barely make out the faded blue words painted on the side: Astral Airlines.
“They call that hunk of junk luxurious?” Violet snickered.
“Looks more like a bucket of bolts,” I said.
The airplane door creaked open.
“Your chariot has arrived. Sorry I’m late, Squirt.”
Mike?! Seriously?
Mike, looking official in a navy blue pilot’s uniform, poked his head through the door.
“Well look who’s here,” Rosalie Claire said with a twinkle in her eye. “You could have at least knocked on my door last night and said hello.”
“It was late. I didn’t want to bother you. Besides, I had a feeling I’d be seeing you soon.” Mike winked at her and motioned us toward the plane. “Come on kids, time to get crackin’!” He slid out a metal ladder that screeched and hit the pavement with a clang.
I scrambled up first, wondering if this dilapidated beast could make it all the way to Brazil without going down in flames.
When I got inside, I could hardly believe my eyes.