The Secrets of Flight by Maggie Leffler Page B

now you want us to buy you a train ticket across the country?”
    â€œShe has to go,” Mama suddenly says, oh so quietly, it almost breaks my heart.
    â€œYour mother and I need to talk,” Uncle Hyman says.
    â€œShe’s going, Hyman,” Mama says, and I’m surprised and grateful. “You heard her: twenty-five thousand applied. They picked Miri.”
    I want to hug Mama, but before I can move, Uncle Hyman snaps at me to go to my room. “Both of you!” he says, jerking his head at Sarah.
    I want to tell Mama I’m sorry for wanting so much and sorry for all that I’ve hidden, but Uncle Hyman is glaring so furiously that I run upstairs, light on my feet, with Sarah on my heels, and we close the door to our bedroom, and shut the shades, and we hug and scream and laugh and dance, all with complete, tiptoeing, arms-a-waving silence. What is it about being on the precipice of change that makes one capable of joy and fear simultaneously? As if she’s read my mind, Sarah gives my shoulders a shake and whispers, “You can do it.”
    â€œBut what about you?” I ask, suddenly worried.
    â€œWhat about me?” she says, shrugging her thin shoulders. “I’m going to be fine.” Then she shoots me her unforgettable smile and adds, “I already am fine.”

CHAPTER 9
Mock Marriage
    I kept hoping that Mrs. Browning was right, and that the fight between my parents was just a small shower on the weather map of their marriage that only seemed like a hurricane. But on Friday morning, Mom flew down to Key West for the weekend, which meant things were seriously screwed up in the state of the union if she was desperate enough to tell Grandma about it.
    Five years ago, right after Huggie was born, and right when my mother “needed her most,” my grandma Margot moved to Key West. Mom decided the best way to let Grandma know how much she missed her was to never let us visit Florida and to never call to say hi and to always let the machine pick up. Mom also couldn’t get over that Grandma had a boyfriend, “this Ray guy,” as in, “What do we really know about this Ray guy?” Mom’s been suspicious of him ever since our one and only visit four years ago, when he took us on a kayak tour through the mangroves and pointed out rare species of birdsand plants that my brother Toby later told us were not indigenous to Key West.
    Mom got back from visiting on Sunday night, and the only thing she would say at breakfast on Monday morning was that Grandma “sends her love.”
    â€œDid she have any—advice for you?” I asked, my mouth full of cereal, as Mom spackled peanut butter all over the bread for our sandwiches like a tile guy who has to move quickly before the cement dries. “You know . . . helpful tips . . .” I said, and Mom stopped and stared at me, her face grave.
    â€œThere are things I need to tell you, but now is not the time.”
    Watching her shove all the sandwiches into Baggies, I stood there gathering all of my questions: What if you tried to be more fun? What if you weren’t such a hater? What if Daddy changes his mind?
    â€œElyse, please get moving, before you miss the bus,” Mom said.
    I left for school kind of glum, especially when Holden Saunders drove by the bus stop in his MINI Cooper and didn’t even look my way.
    A T LUNCH, T HEA CAME OVER AND PLUNKED HER TRAY DOWN SO forcefully her soda tipped over, and then she said, “Oh, shit!” as she mopped it up, like somehow I’d shoved her from across the table. I guessed she was pissed because Mrs. Desmond announced who our spouses were for the “Marriage Project,” and I got Holden Saunders and she got Carson Jeffries, this kid who always wears shorts, rain, sleet, or snow. Although in some ways, they kind of look perfect for each other: there’s Thea with her black hair and combat boots. And there’s Carson in