Delta Force
Albuquerque, New Mexico

We were in New Mexico, a name for Google images of strange rock formations and cacti shaped like quick-draw cowboys, but it remained (stolen) coat-wearing weather. As it was night (again), the only cacti we saw were neon ones on the walls of supermarkets lining the dark drive to the airport.

Jennifer marched us to a Delta desk. At the Tulsa Greyhound station I’d been sure that the stolen card would be turned down and that FBI agents would step from the shadows. (Didn’t happen.) As we waited for the rep to deal with a man whose tuba had been damaged en route from Atlanta, I asked Jennifer if she’d still admit to kidnapping me, should we get caught.

‘We’re not getting caught,’ she said.

‘But if we do?’

‘We’re not.’

‘But—’

She held me squarely with one of her fly-killing looks.

‘How old are you?’ she asked.

The question made me feel about five.

‘You know that. I’m almost fifteen.’

She stared like she was scanning my thoughts. And then the man with the tuba moved on and we stepped up. The Delta rep’s smile hadn’t diminished an iota.

‘Jennifer?’ I said.

‘Okay, okay. I’ve kidnapped you. Jeez.’ The Delta dude so heard but Jennifer didn’t care. She addressed him, single raised eyebrow, with the sort of confidence that could freeze blood. ‘We’d like two tickets to Los Angeles, please. On the next available flight.’

‘And I’d like your ID. Please.’

Jennifer handed over the stolen driving licence. They waited, watching, as I scrambled to get my passport out of my inside pocket. Sometimes I hate my fingers.

‘Miss …’ The rep paused to find the name on the ID. ‘Gonzalez?’ Jennifer nodded. ‘What’s your relationship to …’ He opened my passport. ‘Jacob here?’

‘Family friends.’

The Delta rep nodded. But it was the type of nod that meant anything but acceptance. He indicated the sling.

‘How did you injure yourself?’

‘Falling over a princess.’

The Delta rep didn’t miss a beat.

‘Too bad. And it says here you’re twenty years old?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘And you’re accompanying this child?’

(I mean, it took a while before I realised he meant me and surely there were a hundred other ways to ask the question? Like, in a way that didn’t make me feel as if I should currently be watching toy-unwrapping videos on a Kindle Fire, for instance.)

‘Yep.’

The Delta rep looked from the driving licence to Jennifer. I could feel my everything shrink – partly through anxiety and partly through awkwardness. Next there came keyboard tapping and the airline man, instead of telling Jennifer that all this was crazy and we were about to get in truckloads of trouble, announced that the next flight to LA was in ninety minutes.

‘How will you be paying today?’

Jennifer handed over the stolen card without speaking. Delta slipped it into a payment machine and Jennifer entered the PIN and no alarms sounded and no FBI agents appeared. The total cost of our two flights was less than the bus ticket I’d bought in Chicago all those millions of years ago.

Boarding cards were printed and, nope, we had no luggage to check, just the carry-on plastic bag, and we were told our gate number and that was that. We stepped away and Jennifer pulled her (good) arm through mine. Smiling like I’d never seen her smile before, she said, ‘Did you see how the Delta dude asked about my hand? He felt sorry for me.’

‘Your dad will definitely pay for it all?’ I asked.

‘Yes!’ said Jennifer. ‘I swear James Bond’s never like this. What about the queen? She’s chill, right? Quit worrying. We’ve done it. Best decision ever. The key is keeping the act up.’

We decided to eat before braving the security checks and, kind of inevitably, we ended up at McDonald’s. Jennifer had her nuggets with BBQ sauce, and I had a quarter pounder. It tasted great. Proper American but not too much. The table next to us was a group of sad-eyes who half-heartedly juggled nuggets. They wore sweatshirts with NANTUCKET CLOWN SCHOOL 2020 printed on them. Normally this’d be massively distracting.

‘Sorry,’ I said, even though I wasn’t. Pause. ‘About being negative back there.’ (Awkward gear change.) ‘So … you ever been to LA before?’

‘No. I’ve heard a ton about it, though.’

‘Well,’ I said, ‘we can enjoy the sights together. There are the stars in the pavement, right? And the sign on the hill – Hollywood. All that stuff. I bet there are some good burgers too. Umm …’

As cringy as I sounded, my words did the trick. Jennifer smiled. There was even a kiddy bounce to the way she walked down the airport corridor.

‘They have In-N-Out. And I’d like to see Venice Beach. Huge dudes lift weights there. Imagine. Wonder how hot it is. It’ll be sunny, I swear.’

I mean, I wasn’t overwhelmed by the thought of huge dudes but I didn’t want to kill the vibe, so: ‘Yeah,’ I said.

We’d been getting on well. She’d told me about her mum. I’d made her smile. A couple of times. I watched her wipe her hands on a serviette. There was a sauce spot in the corner of her mouth.

‘Why’s the Cowboy so desperate to get the urn?’ I asked.

Jennifer screwed the serviette into a ball. She sucked from the straw of her soda (which is what Americans call fizzy drinks – I was literally learning a new thing every five minutes). When she was done, she locked in her stare and said, ‘Because it contains my mother’s ashes, Jacob. We’ve been through this.’

I picked at an abandoned fry like what I was about to say didn’t really mean anything. So casual.

‘But the Cowboy, back there, he said it was worth more than the hotel and I don’t think he meant metaphorically.’

‘You still don’t understand, do you? My grandmother … she’s a proud woman. Scary too. Terrifying. And, you know, my mom was her daughter, so …’

She must be scary, I thought, to have a US marshal, retired, doing what she orders, not to mention the police forces of at least three separate states.

Jennifer reached past abandoned pickles and empty sauce sachets to touch my hand. At girl contact blood rushed to my cheeks and I hoped she thought it was because of a mustard allergy or something. I could feel the chip grease on her fingertips and I didn’t even care.

‘Look,’ she said. ‘We’re actually doing this. So, for the last time: quit worrying. It’s not good for your mental health.’ She withdrew her hand. I murmured something into my chest. ‘When I first met you, I can’t even say how lame I thought you looked. I mean, I hadn’t realised you were English back then, but still …’

‘Thanks,’ I said.

‘I’m trying to be complimentary. It’s not something that comes natural. You’ve ketchup all over your mouth, by the way.’

‘Tomato ketchup gets everywhere.’

‘Tomato ketchup? What other type is there?’

I rang home from another payphone, one that accepted cards. I told Jennifer that it was safer to check in than have my parents worrying. There was no knowing what they might do, who they might call.

There was a chemical smell to the air as I waited for someone to answer.

‘Yes?’

It was Amy. My spirit dipped.

‘Is Mum there?’

‘No. She’s asleep. It’s, like, six in the morning, Jacob.’

I’d forgotten about the time difference.

‘How come you’re awake?’

‘I’ve just got back from a crazy night out. You wouldn’t understand.’

(I wished that people would stop commenting on my understanding of stuff.)

‘Is Dad there?’

‘No. He’s asleep too.’

‘Okay. When they wake up, could you tell them I’m okay?’

‘Sure. Anyway, for your information, you’re going to be in soooo much trouble, Jacob, when you get back. I swear.’

She said this like it was the best thing ever. I could hear her smile.

‘Why?’

‘You lost your phone, right? And Dad knows you missed the connecting flight. He’s major moody.’

‘It was snowing.’

‘Oh. Okay. It’s just that we checked departures. Your plane seemed to leave the airport fine.’

(When she said ‘we’, I knew she meant ‘I’. She’d probably run downstairs with her phone to gleefully show Mum and Dad.)

‘Well, I’m at an airport now and I’ll be getting to LA today, so everything’s on schedule.’

‘Right. Weren’t you meant to be in Hollywood on Tuesday? Today’s Thursday?’

‘Not in America, it’s not. Just tell Mum and Dad that I’m in Albuquerque, getting a plane, and it’s all legit.’

‘Albu-what-que?’

I put the phone down without saying goodbye. I can be cold when necessary.