III

A L S O    K N O W N    A S

Every trip has a last-minute panic, thought Lindsey. This was her third time flying (Cuba last March Break and twice to Vancouver to see her grandmother), and there was always something frantic just before takeoff. Her dad’s misplaced passport just before the Cuba trip had been the most desperate and the cause of another epic meltdown between her parents. So who should be surprised that there’d be some kind of flap before they took off for England?

Mr. Robson slapped his clipboard against his leg in frustration because that girl replacing Patricia hadn’t shown up yet.

Lindsey, nearest to Mr. Robson, heard him muttering to his wife, “Where is the wretched girl?”

She sounded like she was trying to keep calm herself. “Not time to panic yet, John. Give it a few more minutes.”

They’d been told to arrive for 4:00. It was 4:20 and the only one missing was Ashley Beaumier, traveling in place of Patricia, who’d had the hard luck to come down with mono. The four who’d arrived on time sat in a circle on the airport floor, making stupid conversation to kill the moments between now and the goodbyes when the trip could really start.

Nearby stood the parents in clusters, hovering for the final kiss-hug-wave ceremony. All the moms and dads stuck side by side, except her own, who, as usual, kept a cold distance. Mom probably started that fishing conversation with Mrs. Robson just so she wouldn’t have to pretend she was happy standing beside Dad.

She started with congratulations on their wedding and moved fast to sussing out the facts of their new life arrangements, especially how unusual it was to be traveling with a group of students so soon after tying the knot. “But then, I guess the second time’s different in every way,” Mom said. “But did you change your name again?”

“Yes,” said the new Mrs. Robson, who used to be Mrs. Thompson. She smiled at Mom, that polite teacher smile that you could never quite read. “John takes students overseas every summer. And he sold me on this one because he knows Jane Austen is my favorite, and Bath, one of her favorite settings, is on the itinerary.”

Mom nodded like she knew who Jane Austen was and kept right on digging. “But I imagine the teacher subsidy doesn’t quite cover your costs?”

Mrs. Robson’s smile was thin, and then Dad grabbed Mom’s elbow and dragged her away. Lindsey, jumpy with worry that they’d have a scene right here and now, really wanted to go through those departure gates. “Mr. Robson,” she said, “how long are we going to wait for this girl? I think we should go in without her.”

The teacher shook his head. “A few minutes more, Lindsey. It’s just the luggage check and then they’ll give us our boarding passes. Once we’re through the gates, we’ll just sit and wait anyway.”

To distract herself from the chill like an open freezer in the space between her parents, Lindsey tried to read the teacher’s clipboard, a list of tour company contacts, the times for the first day, a list of their first names in alphabetical order, like he’d been trying to memorize them: Ashley, Kristen, Lindsey, Sienna, Sonnet.

The missing Ashley headed the list. For the rest of the trip, she’d be the girl who came late. And what was up with that? Traffic? Bad planning? Dysfunctional parents like her own? (Though even they had managed to get her to the airport in time.) Maybe they’d never know; maybe it would become clear as the days went on.

Sienna’s long legs stretched across the circle in her Hilfiger jeans so that Sonnet had to sit a little back. Lindsey noted that the top Sonnet wore had ridden up and wasn’t kind to her plumpish figure. Her bearded dad, mother in flowing flower-child blouse, and sister stood behind her. All three of them looked like hobbits: Birkenstocks, jeans, and everything cotton. The way they hovered together over Sonnet, the together especially sent such a hot shock of jealousy through Lindsey that she had to look away. But Sienna’s parents and Kristen’s had the same paired look and why, why, why? Why did she, Lindsey, have to have the parents who were falling apart?

And then a slim figure with short blonde hair, black t-shirt with a pink horse silhouette, rushed through the crowd toward them, pulling a leather bag, and a breathless girl stood in front of Mr. Robson saying, “Sorry I’m late. I’m Ashley Beaumier.”

Weird. No parents at all.

Sonnet noticed how each family had a different way of saying goodbye. Her own mom and dad and sister Lyric stood a little to the side of the others while they waited for that late girl to arrive, just as she herself sat a little on the edge of the students. That was her family style, quiet and serious, but with a streak of crazy humor once they got going, especially Dad, who loved to make fun of the rest of the world and its pedestrian tastes. His routine this morning at breakfast, about the souvenirs he wanted her to bring him, had been hilarious: a light-up Big Ben, for starters. No, make that a light-up Big Ben keychain. He wanted a Stonehenge snow globe, and a Buckingham Palace thimble, and a tea canister in the shape of a red British phone booth.

“But what do you really want?” she’d asked.

“Just yourself back home safely,” said her mother.

That was no help. Sonnet made up her mind to come home with the best, most tasteful gifts a traveler to England had ever found.

Her parents chatted awkwardly with Sienna’s mom, who looked like she hosted a tv talk show. Lindsey’s mom and dad were hissing at each other about something she’d said to Mrs. Robson, who was trying to pretend she didn’t notice. Meanwhile, Sienna talked a mile a minute with Kristen and Lindsey about some party last Saturday, one of those he-said-she-said conversations Sonnet was never part of.

Then the Ashley girl arrived alone, something about a fender bender in the parking lot and her dad had to stay behind to deal with the damage, and they’d all lined up to check their luggage. The parents still hung around while they pushed their bags slowly up to the desk. Mr. and Mrs. Robson stood first in line, then the latecomer, then herself, Sienna, Kristen, and Lindsey.

Sonnet thought she’d try to be friendly to the new girl and said, “Ashley?” which could have been the preamble to, Hi, I’m Sonnet, and maybe the girl would say, I was so scared of missing this flight, and That’s a cool name, and who knows?—they might be friendly and then friends, and for once Sonnet Brown would not be the lonely loser.

But the girl just ignored her and the unanswered greeting hung in the air like a fart. It was totally awkward and Sonnet turned away, red with embarrassment.

Sienna caught her eye and whispered, “Stuck up or what?”

Sonnet nodded, surprised and a little gratified to find herself inside Sienna’s conversational circle. It was the first time they’d spoken since Grade 9 when Sonnet, in the crush of the school hallway, knocked the fire extinguisher off the wall. That set it spraying the floor and Sienna’s two-hundred-dollar shoes were destroyed. “You total loser!” had rung out and become part of the Grade 9 lexicon—not that any of those idiots knew what a lexicon was—labeling its target forever.

Loser. Why the hell did I even nod at her? Sonnet asked herself.

“Why the hell is this line so slow?” complained Lindsey.

“Look at those cops!” said Kristen, pointing to an unsmiling pair of men dressed in black combat gear. They walked down the wide passage with a creepy air of being different, separate from everyone else. Sonnet had never before seen a real machine gun. Theirs were slung over their arms, and their pants bulged with the shape of a revolver on each leg.

“That’s travel in the world after 9/11,” said Mrs. Robson, who had followed the direction of their eyes. “Don’t worry about it, girls—it’s just a safety thing.”

Sonnet still thought it was creepy. They didn’t even have a badge or anything and, over there, she could see her father looking the cops over (or were they soldiers?), working up one of his peace, order, and good government speeches. She hoped he’d stay far away from those men.

Then, as slow as the line had been, it suddenly moved very fast; their baggage was checked; they had boarding passes and headed for the departure gate. This was the real line the parents couldn’t cross. Mr. and Mrs. Robson forged ahead to the security check, and you could see how they put their carry-ons in the trays and their watches and change, looked back, and motioned the girls to follow. Sienna went next, then stuck-up Ashley. Sonnet got last hugs from her mom and dad, who whispered, “Stay safe, sweetie,” in her ear, and even from Lyric, who said, “Check out the good stuff for me so I’ll know where to go when it’s my turn.”

Then her family walked away together.

Last through the gate were Lindsey and Kristen, and their parents stayed in view right to the last possible second, waving like freaks, yelling, “Bye! Have a great time! Have a fantastic time!”

You couldn’t tell by their faces whether they liked the attention or were desperately embarrassed by it. That’s what I need, thought Sonnet, a face that always looks like everything’s always cool.

The whole travel thing seemed to be hurry up and wait. Once they found the waiting room near their gate, there were hours to kill before the plane was scheduled to take off. Beyond the wide airport windows stood the British Airways 747 being fueled and groomed for their flight. They found a set of seats and piled their carry-on bags together near Mr. and Mrs. Robson, then everyone except Ashley and Sonnet went running off to look at the shops and snack possibilities. Soon they were back with chips and new water bottles, and a deck of cards came out and a cross-legged, on-the-floor card game started.

Watching humanity moving past, Sonnet longed to get out her new notebook and start scribbling. She’d never seen a Hasidic Jew with black suit, white shirt, huge black hat.

Nor anything like the flock of black children who belonged to a choir from Uganda. Every boy with his head shaved, every girl with her hair in identical corn rows, all wearing black t-shirts, blue jeans, black belt, running shoes. The teachers even lined them up in rows of boys and girls, ranked from shortest to tallest, to take them to the washroom.

So what if they think it’s weird. I’m a writer. And she reached into her knapsack for her notebook.

“That’s just too random,” said Lindsey, as the Ugandan children’s choir marched past.

Random was Lindsey’s new annoying word. Kristen felt one of those sudden itches to disagree with her friend that sometimes (randomly!) struck out of the blue.

“I think they’re cute,” she said, but Lindsey had started dealing Crazy Eights and didn’t hear.

While she picked up each card that landed in front of her, Sienna’s practiced eye casually examined that stuck-up new girl, Ashley, with the Lauren pink pony t-shirt, who had arrived late, pulling the leather suitcase she herself had longed for, not to mention an even sleeker carry-on. She noted the signs of piercings recently removed: an eyebrow bar, a row of holes around the top of the ear. And was that faint mark the sign that a nose ring had ridden there? Not the best color job on the hair, either, she observed. Which was odd, considering this kid was supposed to come from money.

She’d expected Patricia’s substitute to be much like Patricia. Eager to shop, scan the male possibilities in the groups they’d be traveling with, sneak a few bottles into the room for a party that would include only the guests they chose.

But there was something weird about this girl, the way she sat there in her own bubble. Not talking. Smiling only when you caught her eye and she couldn’t avoid it. Sienna had booked a private room, but their tour company made it clear that this was unusual on student tours and they might not be able to deliver. Patricia had been her mental default if she needed a roommate. But if this girl didn’t work out, someone else could have her.

She considered the alternatives. Not Sonnet, the bookworm. That kid would want to talk about some brainiac thing all the time. Either of the other two would do, Kristen or Lindsey, if you could ever separate those Siamese twins. Maybe Lindsey a little more because her blonde California-girl image would contrast well with her own darker looks, and Kristen with that weird red hair—let’s face it, no amount of fashion cool could compensate.

They slapped the cards down, the game finished, and Sienna said to Lindsey, “Let’s go find Starbucks.”

Carly, aka Ashley, watched the card game dissolve and the two girls walk off, too shell-shocked to accept their invitation to come along. Who was that? Lindsey? Sienna? She would have to work on getting the names of these people.

The girl they’d left behind (Kristen?) looked stunned. Mr. and Mrs. Robson chatted quietly nearby. Across the pile of luggage, that chubby girl riffled in her knapsack for a book.

This is real, Carly thought. I’m really sitting in a waiting room at Pearson Airport with these strangers, waiting for a flight to England.

It had been a terrifying moment when bearded Mr. Robson looked at her through his round glasses and said, “Ashley? Thank God!”

Then, “All right, girls, we’re all here now. Line up for the baggage check.”

So Ashley had been right about coming late. They were all so relieved that the last person had finally arrived, they dashed toward the next step in the process, lining up in an eager rush to get the trip started, taking for granted that she was who she said she was. Mr. Robson explained to officials that he was escorting a group of students and presented his fat stack of documents. Then, one by one, they stepped up to the desk and, just one of the five, passport in hand, Carly pushed her friend’s designer luggage toward the British Airways lady who told her to “have a lovely journey, dear,” and handed her a boarding pass.

Now they’d reached the lounge at the boarding gate and, slowly, her inner parts began to fall back into place. She’d never believed that they would pull it off. It had been a lark, the plotting and scheming, changing their looks, a game played against circumstances, without a doubt in her mind that the outcome would be the usual disappointment life delivered. But a game worth playing for the off-chance of gaining Ashley’s freedom to ride Brock in the Trials. But that she’d actually succeed in taking Ashley’s place on the tour? That had been a Disney proposition, a fantasy she’d expected to fall apart the minute she showed her face.

Yet it had all gone like clockwork and here she was, waiting to board British Airways Flight 93 from Toronto to London.

She took a deep breath and reminded herself that there was still time for things to go wrong. The plane hadn’t taken off yet and she’d have to be careful every step of the way. The mistake with that girl, for instance. She’d been too stunned to answer when she’d called her Ashley.

There could be no more mistakes.

I’m going to England, she thought with a thrill that fluttered like a sudden memory of Christmas when she was little and times were good, when Dad was there to swing her up high and Mom’s face shone in the twinkling lights. A tumult of push-pull feelings wrestled inside her. Good things happening had been so unusual these past few years that she couldn’t stop the shiver of guilt that came with the excitement.

Surely these things happened to other people, not to her, not to Carly Venn. And if she were a good friend, could she leave Ashley on her own to face a week at home at Crossbridge Farm? Ashley was too soft for the home life she’d have to live for the next seven days. And it wasn’t too late to turn back. As far as Ashley was concerned, it was mission accomplished; there was no way she’d catch this flight now, no way her absent parents could spoil her ride at the Trials.

So she could bail. Just tell the teacher and that lady with the soft face and streaked blonde hair who she really was. Get sent home, keep Ash company, be a good friend, take care of Mom, do her chores, get over being dumped ...

Getting dumped.

The public address system crackled. Beside her, the girl with the notebook scribbled furiously. People who looked like characters in the movies strolled past: an old man with a walking stick wearing a beret and a bow tie, a girl in a turquoise jumpsuit, an African woman with bright orange dress and matching head cloth.

Surely she deserved a chance to be as interesting, as real as all these different people. Didn’t she?

Yes, she decided. Now that she’d got this far, she deserved some luck of her own and, what’s more, she began to see what Ashley meant about taking control. This is exactly what her friend had in mind, that both of them take a stab at pulling a fast one on life, not just let themselves get pushed around by people or circumstance.

Therefore, loyalty demanded that she push this plan as far she could. Ashley would have her issues at home; she would have hers on the road. But they were in it together, proving something that suddenly seemed important.

So she, Carly Venn, would be Ashley Beaumier for as long as she could make it last.