MAY 3—While Elizabeth awaits the CAB verdict on the reopening of Newark Airport, a new era of airplane travel began today with the flight of a British De Haviland Comet jet airliner from London to Johannesburg, South Africa. The British Overseas Airways Corporation plane carried a full payload of 36 passengers on this first-ever commercial jet trip. The journey was expected to take 24 hours, with intermediate stops in Rome, Beirut, Khartoum, Uganda and Northern Rhodesia.
With a top cruising speed of 480 miles per hour, the Comet is 50% faster than propeller aircraft such as the DC-6, and its proponents say it provides smoother and quieter travel.
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Miri
On May 8 news spread that another plane had crashed in Elizabeth, smashing into Levy Brothers department store. Miri was eating lunch at her usual table in the cafeteria when she heard. She felt sick to her stomach and had to swallow again and again to keep down the egg salad sandwich she’d just finished. She thought of the lady who worked in the teen department at Levy Brothers, the one who was having her nails done the morning Mr. Roman gave Miri her Elizabeth Taylor haircut. Had she been at work today? Was she dead now?
The teacher who was lunch monitor that week shouted, “Everyone under the tables. Now!” She was one of the new, young teachers. She wore small pearl earrings that gave her face a glow. But now she wasn’t glowing. She shouted, “Quiet, please! Another plane may be on the way. Cover your heads with your hands.”
Kids were screaming. Someone vomited on the floor. The smell of sweat mixed with the vomit and the uneaten lunches. They had grown complacent, Miri thought, more interested in ninth-grade graduation and going off to high school than about planes crashing. They’d been moving on with their lives, which is what their parents urged them to do. They were trying to be regular kids, happy kids, to please their families. But this proved you never knew when something terrible would happen. Miri wished she could be with Mason. If she was going to die she wanted to die in his arms. Oh, god—please let him be all right. She and Suzanne held on to each other under the table. Some girls were whimpering. For once, the boys shut up.
Miri could smell her own sweat, the sweat of fear, the sweat that deodorant didn’t prevent. Robo was probably so glad she’d moved away from Elizabeth. But not everyone could afford to buy a house in Millburn or South Orange or some other fancy town where planes didn’t crash. Suzanne’s eyes were tightly shut. Her lips moved silently. Probably she was praying. But praying wouldn’t save them, would it? It didn’t save the people on the planes. Not that Miri knew if they’d prayed, but she was betting they had. Was Suzanne praying to Jesus? Did it matter who you prayed to? Did anything matter?
It seemed like they were under the lunch tables for hours. Finally, an all-clear whistle blew. As they came out, they saw Donny Kellen, that idiot, standing on a table, shouting into a bullhorn. “April Fool! April Fool, everybody!”
“It’s May, you asshole!” Charley Kaminsky yelled, throwing his half-finished plate of spaghetti and meatballs at Donny. That’s when all hell broke loose. Kids rushed at Donny while he danced around on the table trying to avoid the food being hurled at him like bullets—half-eaten sandwiches from home, the daily special from the cafeteria, apples, oranges, candy bars.
Miri pitched her milk carton at him and clipped the side of his head. “Ow!” he yelled. “Stop…come on…it was just a joke! Can’t you take a joke?”
A group of boys pulled him down from the table and started pummeling him.
Was he evil or just stupid? And why should they believe him when he said it was just a joke? He wasn’t someone you could trust.
The young teacher couldn’t begin to control the madness. “People, please…people!” But her pleas didn’t stop them. She sent Eleanor to the office to get help.
Minutes later the principal’s voice came over the loudspeaker, telling them it was a hoax. “Boys and girls,” Mr. Royer said. Just the sound of his voice was enough to infuriate Miri. “There is no danger. There was no plane crash. Return to your tables immediately and give your attention to Miss Jensen.”
None of them liked Edith Jensen, the vice principal. She probably didn’t like them, either. She marched into the cafeteria, grabbed Donny Kellen by the arm and demanded that he apologize. “Apologize to your classmates right now.”
“But I didn’t do anything.”
“Apologize!”
“I’m sorry,” Donny Kellen said. “I thought—”