“But you think I can do this?”
“I hardly would have agreed to fund something I believed was destined to fail, would I? Yes. I believe you can do this. But whether you’ll return with all your possessions remains to be seen. And please don’t let some pickpocket steal your wallet.”
Just once, wouldn’t it be great if Dad gave a vote of confidence minus the critical add-on?
THIRTY-SIX
The plane rattled down the runway. Was it even airworthy? Would bits drop off? Harry imagined himself trapped inside some alien science experiment that shook humans around as if they were stones in a rock tumbler. Was he going to barf? Suppressing the urge to be a total wuss and grab Max’s hand, Harry gripped the armrests. So many things could go wrong during takeoff. Even more on the final approach.
Sixteen percent of fatal crashes occur during takeoff and initial climb, twenty-nine during approach and landing.
What would happen to Dad if he and Mom died? Would Eudora look after him?
“Dude!” Max said. “Look at the view.”
Harry shook his head. No, no, and no. That meant opening his eyes. Boarding hadn’t been so bad ’cause Max had talked nonstop about how far he’d progressed in Assassin’s Creed IV. But now they were in a metal tube in the air. About to fly too close to the sun and die.
“If humans were meant to fly, they’d have wings, right?” Like that had helped Icarus. Harry screwed his eyes shut even tighter.
Max leaned in close. “Your dad said I should remind you to take another Klonopin on the plane. You did, right?”
“Not working. Not yet.”
“Pop another one.”
“No, dude.” Harry opened his eyes and stared at the headrest in front of him. He had a strange desire to kick the seat again and again, to see how many times he could kick it before the large businessman squashed into it noticed. “Took two already.”
“Take a third.”
“Can’t. These are serious meds. Two is my max, Max.” Shit a brick. He was going to die without holding Sammie’s hand one last time, without smelling her hair, without tasting her breath.
“C’mon. What’s there to get anxious about?” Max started humming Green Day.
Harry tapped his leg. Tap, tap; tap, tap.
“We’re going to rock that campus. And hey—we’re not in school! Love that a college visit is an excused absence.” Max paused. “I need to get me a few more of these,” he said in his best redneck accent. Max, with his finely tuned ear for any sound, had a whole repertoire of accents.
“When’re you going to tell your parents the truth?” Harry said.
“About not going to college?”
“No, that you’re pregnant. Duh. Of course college.”
“Figured I’d wait until after spring break; otherwise, they’ll stop me from touring with the band. Thankfully, they’re not as anal about the college shit as your parents. Dad’s too busy figuring out his soccer coaching schedule; Mom’s too busy with some corporate takeover. When they’re not doing either/or, they’re pecking away at poor Dyly. He’s much happier when he’s alone with me. Our boy Dyly is pretty chill.”
Maxi-Pad was a good big brother. The best. Dylan adored him. “The band really going to tour over spring break?”
“Yup. Well, Greensboro counts, right?”
“Sure does, dude.” Harry never doubted that Max was going to be mega famous one day. “Why do parents have to make everything so hard?”
Max held up his fingers and curled them into animated bunny ears. “Parents know best.”
“Your mom’ll go apeshit when she figures out you’re not on track to be the next Albert Einstein.”