Sammy Keyes and the Showdown in Sin City (3 page)

“Via Billy?”

“Yeah.”

Then I ask, “So what’s your mom doing about it? Anything?”

“What
can
she do?”

“Fly to Vegas and cause a scene?”

He laughs. “She might if it would change things. But they’re divorced, so that would be pretty over-the-top, don’t you think?”

We’re both quiet, and then he says, “Sorry for the bad news.”

I hesitate but finally say what I’m thinking. “Is it going to weird you out too much?”

“Just don’t start calling me your stepbrother.”

I pinch my eyes closed. “I hate her.”

“Why don’t you find out if your grandmother knows anything.” Then he adds, “And, Sammy?”

I choke out, “Yeah?” because I’m on the verge of crying. I mean, why couldn’t I have a normal mom and a normal life? Why did things have to be so complicated and full of all this stupid
drama
.

And then Casey says something that pushes me over the edge. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” I tell him in a really stupid blubbery way.

He laughs. “And don’t worry. Nothing’s going to change that.” Then he says, “Keep me posted,” and gets off the phone.

I was probably madder at my mom than I’d ever been, and believe me, that’s saying something. So my skateboard ride home was fast and furious, and even though
I was careful like I always am when I sneak up the fire escape and into Grams’ apartment, there was
steam
coming off of me.

Now, the thing about living illegally in a place where the walls are paper-thin and the neighbors are nosy is that you can’t go yelling or demanding or banging around.

You have to be
q-u-i-e-t
, even when you’re steaming mad.

“Grams?” I whispered, dumping my skateboard and backpack.

No answer.

“Grams!” I snapped—in a hoarse, kinda whispery steaming-mad way.

No answer.

I checked around the apartment, and since there’s only one bedroom and one bathroom, it was quick.

No Grams.

No Grams, and no note.

Now, okay. Normally I meet up with Casey at the graveyard after school or hang out with my friends a little or, you know, get sidetracked on my way home. So yeah, I was home really early—so early that Grams would probably have been shocked to see me. But still. Her
not
being here seemed weird to me, and I couldn’t help wondering … 
did
she know my mom was getting married? And if so, how long had she known?

Wait. Maybe she had gone to stop her.

Maybe she was on her way to Las Vegas right now!

Or … maybe she was going to be the maid of honor!

Or, you know, the
old maid
of honor.

Whatever!

But … she wouldn’t do that to me! If she were on her way to Vegas, it would be to put a stop to the wedding, not to be in it!

So there I am, in the kitchen, convincing myself that Grams wouldn’t go anywhere without at least leaving a note and a massive list of dos and don’ts, when all of a sudden the phone rings.

“Aaah!” I choke out as I jump about ten feet in the air. Then I just stand there, looking at the phone ringing off the hook, wondering if it’s Grams calling me from Vegas, or maybe my mother calling to confess that she’s eloping, or maybe Casey calling with an update.

Living in an ancient, run-down highrise with an old wall phone and no caller ID is no fun, believe me.

Anyway, I finally stuff my heart back down my throat and pick up the phone. “Hello?” I warble in my best old lady imitation.

“Is Sammy there? It’s Marissa.”

“Marissa!” I drop the old lady act quick. “Are you okay? Where were you during sixth period?”

“My life is
such
a mess,” she says.

“Tell me about it!” But she’s obviously really desperate about something, so I don’t say anything about my mom eloping with Casey’s dad. I just ask, “What happened?”

“My dad again, of course. Mom’s dragging me to Vegas. We’re getting ready to drop Mikey off at Hudson’s, then we’re going to the airport!”

To make a long story short, Hudson Graham is the
coolest old guy you’d ever want to meet, and his house has become a safe haven for Marissa and her brother, Mikey, when their parents are in extreme crisis mode—which has been often lately.

Still.

This was extra extreme.

“Now?” I ask her. “But why is she taking
you
?”

“She thinks me begging Dad to stop ruining our lives at the blackjack table might shock him into seeing how his gambling is hurting everyone in the family.” She sighs. “But he already knows, and I really, really don’t want to go.”

“So don’t go.”

“She’s making me!” She takes a deep breath and says, “Anyway, I won’t be at the dance tomorrow, just so you know.”

I wanted to laugh and say, Well, at least you don’t have to worry about Rudy asking you to dance, but before I could, another thought booted that one right out of my brain. A thought that made me gasp. Made me feel light-headed.

Like any second I might fall over.

Or float away.

Her voice was in my ear but seemed miles away. “Look, I’ve got to go. Wish me luck.”

“Luck,” I whispered.

After she hung up, I tried my mother’s cell number.

Sure enough, a mechanical voice told me she was “unavailable.”

I hung up and stood there, trying to remember how to breathe.

Trying to stop thinking what I was thinking.

It was crazy.

I knew it was crazy.

Unfortunately, that’s never stopped me before.

I did leave Grams a note.

I had trouble figuring out what to say, because Grams is a big worrier and this was actually something she
should
be worried about. If she didn’t already know about my mom’s latest stunt, I didn’t want to write anything that would make her go crazy, but I also didn’t want her to stop me. So I wound up writing
Gone until—? Don’t worry. I’ll call!

Then I grabbed my repacked backpack and my skateboard and tore out of there.

It’s hard to plan things out if you don’t know
how
to do something. And the truth is, I was clueless. So instead of thinking about the big picture, I focused on taking things one step at a time. Chances were really good that I wasn’t going to get past Step One anyway, so even if I could have thought things through to the end, it didn’t seem like I should waste time trying. Besides, Step One was so extreme that I couldn’t even think about Step Two, let alone how I’d make it to The End.

Now, usually when I ride my skateboard fast, it helps calm me down. Helps clear my mind. But this time it didn’t
help at all. I tore past the mall, down Cook Street to Cypress, and the way my heart was pounding had nothing to do with going ninety miles an hour on a skateboard. And then it practically exploded when I saw Mrs. McKenze’s car parked in front of Hudson’s house.

Step One was still a possibility.

I did not want to go up to the house. Hudson may be seventy-three, but he’s one of my most trusted friends, and he’d for sure figure out that I was up to something. And since he and Grams have gotten really close, telling him anything would be like pulling the plug before the faucet was even turned on.

Luckily, Marissa was sitting in the car, alone. She opened the passenger door when she saw me coming. “Hey! What are you doing here?”

“Shh!” I told her and dived in the backseat next to two small suitcases in the spot where Mikey must have been sitting.

“What are you doing?”

I crammed my skateboard out of sight and twisted out of my backpack. “Coming with you.”

“What? To
Vegas
?”

“My mom’s eloping with Casey’s dad.”

“No!” She squints at me. “Ew.”

“Exactly. Plus, I’m royally ticked. She still hasn’t told me who my father is and she thinks she can up and marry my boyfriend’s dad? I am done taking this. And if she hates me forever for busting in on her wedding, I don’t care!”

“But … Sammy, we’re not driving, we’re
flying
.”

“I know. I’ve got my reward money. I just need a ride to the airport. And maybe an adult to, you know, look like I’m with?”

She does a nervous glance out the window toward the house. “Do you have your birth certificate or … some kind of ID?”

I blink at her. “I have my school ID.”

“That’s not gonna get you on an airplane!”

“It’s not? Well … what do you use?”

“I … I don’t know! My mom gets the tickets, and I always just go with her.”

“No ID?”

She shakes her head.

“So, see? No problem.”

“But … she buys the tickets ahead of time! We’ve already got our boarding passes!” She rummages through her mom’s purse and finds two slips of paper. “We’re on American, flight two forty-six.”

I had no idea how any of it worked, but I didn’t want Marissa giving me away when her mom returned, so I just tried to sound like I knew what I was doing. “Look, it’ll be fine. I’m just gonna stow away until we get to the airport, then you distract her while I slip out and get a ticket for that same flight.”

“It would be awesome if you could come, but I—” Then she sees her mom hurrying down the steps and gasps, “Hide!” as she rips off her sweatshirt and throws it over my head.

Mrs. McKenze drives a kinda sporty Lexus, so even though there isn’t much room to hide, I squoosh down behind the driver’s seat and bite back an
Ow!
when Marissa dumps a suitcase on top of me.

Then the driver’s door opens and Mrs. McKenze gets in. “Thank God for Hudson,” she says as she fires up the car.

And before I can finish thinking that this is the craziest,
stupidest
idea I’ve ever had, she’s got the car in gear and we’re zooming away.

The ride over to the airport was weird.

Quiet.

And—even contorted and buried, I could tell—heavy with tension.

At one point Marissa said, “Mom?” but Mrs. McKenze just snapped, “Not now. I’m thinking.”

And that’s all they said until we nose-dived to a stop in the airport parking lot and Mrs. McKenze said, “We’re barely going to make it.”

“Mom?”

“Get the luggage.”

So while Mrs. McKenze puts up the dash protector and gets the windows adjusted, Marissa hustles around and opens the back door.

I crawl out onto the pavement and scurry around behind the car. Marissa’s eyes are all bugged out as she passes me my skateboard and backpack and mouths, “Unbelievable!” Then she pulls out the suitcases in time for her mom to beep the locks shut and say, “Let’s go!”

I peek around the car and watch them run to the terminal, and when enough time has passed, I get on my skateboard and fly across the parking lot.

The Santa Martina airport is not LAX or JFK or some other big place where I’ve heard you can get swallowed up or lost or tangled up in big security mazes.

It’s got one door, one counter, and one security line.

And the planes that fly out of it are nothing but puddle jumpers.

Seriously, I think they double as crop dusters.

Anyway, I spot Marissa and her mom in the security line putting stuff into bins, and Marissa spots me, too, and gives me a quick nod as I hustle up to the counter.

“Yes?” the woman behind the counter asks.

She has big plastic earmuffs looped around her neck and is wearing a bright orange vest that has her airport ID dangling from it.

“I’m hoping to catch flight two forty-six to Las Vegas.” I nod over at Marissa. “My cousin and aunt invited me last minute.”

The woman behind the counter looks over to the security line, and since Marissa’s watching me, I give her a happy wave and she waves back.

“How old are you?”

“Thirteen,” I tell her, then slip my school ID across the counter and hold my breath.

She doesn’t ask for a birth certificate. She doesn’t pull a face or, you know,
scrutinize
me. She just ticky-types at a computer keyboard and nods. “I do have a seat. How will you be paying?”

“Cash,” I tell her, and pull out my wad of reward money.

“Checking luggage?”

“Pardon me?”

“Are you checking luggage? Or do you only have carry-on?”

“Uh … carry-on?”

She looks over the counter at my stuff. “That should be okay.”

So I pay for my ticket, and after a little more ticky-typing, she hands me a slip of thick paper and says, “Here’s your boarding pass. Get through security right away. They’ve already begun boarding.”

Marissa and her mom have disappeared through the security station, and since there’s no line, I just go up to the guy in uniform and hand him my boarding pass.

“Shoes off,” he tells me. “Sweatshirt off. Bag through the X-ray. Skateboard, too. You wearing a belt? Wait. You got a computer in there?”

I’m scrambling around like crazy trying to follow his instructions, and by the time I’ve made it through the security arch, I’m half undressed and feeling really disjointed and dorky.

I grab my stuff as it comes through the X-ray machine but don’t see Marissa or her mom anywhere. And since a guy standing by a door that leads outside is saying, “We’ve got one more,” into a walkie-talkie, I’m feeling really frazzled and like I don’t have time to put on my shoes.

“It’s okay,” he tells me as I go stumbling toward him
with my shoes dangling. He takes the boarding pass from between my teeth, tears a part off, and hands the little part back. “They’ll wait.”

So I sit down right there on the floor and wrestle into my high-tops, then grab my stuff and race out the door and down the ramp.

There are two little planes on the tarmac, but only one has steps going up to it. Steps that were rolled right up to the plane’s open doorway. A woman in a blue uniform leans out of the doorway and waves me along. “Las Vegas?” she calls.

So I rush over and pound up the stairs, and when I’m inside, she gives me a sunny smile and says, “Welcome aboard.”

“Thanks,” I pant.

Her name tag says NELLY, and she eyes my skateboard. “I’m not sure that will fit in the overhead. They’re small.” She reaches for it and smiles. “How about I keep it up front?”

So I turn my skateboard over to her and say, “Where should I sit?”