Sharpie
Chicago, Illinois

A day later, I was sitting in a departure lounge at Chicago O’Hare airport. The flight from LA had been so dull I’d slept through an Avengers movie. Now I watched a boyfriend and girlfriend argue about a lost wallet.

I’d rung home. I’d told them I’d made it to the film in time. I told them about the scene with Spider-Man. To say they were excited would be an understatement. Well, Mum and Dad were, at least.

What the director had me do, and the actual director, was walk along the same fake New York street from earlier. This time, though, just as I was about to fall down an open manhole cover, Spider-Man shot out some web and saved me. The manhole cover and web and most of everything else on the street would be added in ‘post-production’, so it reminded me a bit of one of those drama lessons that was heavy on pretending and light on props and scenery, but … still … actual Spider-Man. My hands didn’t stop shaking for hours afterwards. He’d hugged me and said I should think about acting because he’d seen loads of extras and I was okay.

‘He actually said “okay”,’ I said.

‘Good job, son,’ said Dad. ‘What a star.’

‘He called you “okay”?’ asked Mum.

We arranged meeting at Heathrow. The thought filled the world with grey. Even the name of the airport sounded dull. Heath. Row. So English. So boring. And Dad told me not to miss my connecting flight.

I couldn’t get to sleep that night in the Hollywood Roosevelt. I was still excited about the shoot and if I said I didn’t check the selfie I’d taken of Spider-Man with his arm round my shoulders maybe a hundred times, I’d be lying.

But … I think the real problem was the bed. There was nothing uncomfortable about it. It was, in fact, the most comfortable bed I’d ever been in. It was like the mattress instantly knew every curve of your body and supported you like a giant’s hand. No. It’s … I’d got kind of used to sleeping on buses. This here didn’t feel like me.

Where’s Jennifer? I thought when I woke.

But she wasn’t there. She was back in Chicago with her wicked grandmother.

Someone from Marvel picked me up in the morning. They said they were an intern and when they’d applied for the position they never thought it would involve childcare. I laughed like they were joking, which I don’t think they were.

Their last words were: ‘Don’t miss your flight this time, Jason.’

‘Your attention, please. Passengers for United flight UA968 to London, boarding will begin at Gate C15.’

I stood up. The Princess waited at my feet like an ugly but attentive dog. In the same jeans I’d been wearing all week I pulled out the money Jennifer had given me. I wanted to buy water and sweets before leaving America, but didn’t want to crack open the Marvel cash.

A week’s worth of spending money unspent. Add it to Jennifer’s and maybe I could buy a laptop? To Skype on.

And I remembered what she’d said before she’d left: ‘Check it before you pay for anything.’

And so I did.

Zwap! Pow! Whamm!

She’d written, in a thick black marker, on a fifty-dollar note. What had she written? Her address in Chicago.

What next?

I’m not saying it was a particularly original idea. It definitely wasn’t one that needed a load of thought. But as I stood there, faced with the decision to do the right thing, the thing Mum and Dad would want me to do, and the wrong thing, leaving the airport to find Jennifer’s house, I knew that there was only one way that this was ever going to end.

England could wait. Me and the Princess were going to surprise Jennifer. Just a flying visit. A cup of tea and a slice of cake. As small an adventure as there could be.

Because there’d be flights to Heathrow tomorrow. I wouldn’t even miss school. Because America had taught me that sometimes the wrong decision’s the best decision. Because now my story had come to an end, I realised that I didn’t need to be a superhero. Being a teenager who wasn’t afraid of getting in a bit of trouble now and again was exciting enough.

That said, I’d probably not take a bus to Jennifer’s school. I’d try a taxi this time.