Roman Jackson had not expected to fly on an airplane ever in his life, let alone twice in one day. It was only the one trip so far—from Birmingham to Jackson Hole—but changing planes in Denver had technically put the flight count at two. By the standards of anyone Roman had ever met in his life, he was now officially well-traveled. Anything else the summer might bring was already just icing on the cake, and he wasn’t even at the school yet.
Miss Williams had sent a limousine to drive him into Birmingham, launching Marquon into a jealous fit, but Roman had been spared another beating because his mother had gotten up early to see him off. She had said it was the least she could do, given what his stipend would mean to the family.
Her proud dotings didn’t make Marquon any friendlier, but Roman didn’t care. He had finally done something to make his mother happy, and nothing was going to spoil that for him. She had even bought him a new set of colored pencils as a going-away present, a simple gesture that had made him tear up with gratitude. Gifts were not even guaranteed on birthdays in Roman’s family.
After she had hugged him good-bye, the limousine driver—a tall, white man who looked to Roman like he was wearing a red-checkered lumberjack shirt over his suit—had picked up Roman’s second-hand duffel and threadbare backpack and placed them both gently in the car as though they were a wealthy man’s luggage. Roman had enjoyed that immensely.
At the airport in Birmingham, the driver had stayed with him until Miss Williams had appeared to supervise the next leg of the journey, as though Roman were some kind of precious cargo—an attaché case, perhaps, full of diamonds and handcuffed to a government agent, to be escorted across the country by personal courier.
But Roman wasn’t embarrassed by the attention. He was relieved not to be flying by himself, and from the moment he met Miss Williams, he saw her wearing tall, golden boots, with a shimmering golden cape draped across her shoulders, as though she were his own personal superhero. He spent a lot of the trip just trying not to giggle.
When they finally arrived in Jackson Hole, it was still only mid-afternoon, and Miss Williams said they had some time to kill before the others would be landing. She led him to a small restaurant—Roman had not known there were restaurants in airports, but it made sense once he thought about it—and she surprised him by telling him to order anything he wanted. He asked whether he might just have a small order of fries and a drink, if that wasn’t too much trouble.
Miss Williams explained that the money she was offering to spend on him was not her own money, that it had been given to her by her employer to pay for meals on the trip, and that if she didn’t use it, she would have to return it, so Roman’s efforts to save it could not benefit her, personally, in any way.
When he suggested she could just keep the money and pretend they had spent it, she then explained, in substantial detail, the specific ins and outs of corporate expense accounts and the overarching importance of receipts, at which point he warmed up to the situation considerably. He finally ordered two cheeseburgers, a large fries, a side of biscuits, a side of hash browns, a soda, and a milkshake, ingesting so much of it at once that he ended up feeling as though he might never eat again. (But he squirreled the biscuits away in his backpack anyway, just in case.)
The last bit of the afternoon passed by in a hazy bliss of fullness, the likes of which he had never before experienced in all of his eleven years on this Earth, thereby leaving him in a wonderful mood, despite the long day of traveling, and more than ready to greet his fellow students when they finally arrived.
? ? ?
Daniel flew in on a nonstop flight from Los Angeles. He wasn’t sure how he felt about being away for the summer, having only agreed to it upon his mother’s gentle insistence, but the mountain view was already lifting his spirits, and the Jackson Hole airport made him feel as though the plane had accidentally landed at a five-star ski resort.
The terminal was inspiring “Billionaire” by Travie McCoy on replay, and it was all he could do not to strut to the beat. His favorite six-string and bass guitars were slung across his back in a double bag, and he carried a small, portable amp in his hand. The song in his head only turned up the volume when he was greeted by a woman carrying a pre-printed sign that said “Daniel Walker.”
“Daniel!” she exclaimed as soon as she saw him. “You look just like your photograph. I’m Christina Williams, but you may call me Christina, and this here is Romario Jackson—”
“Roman,” the boy said quickly.
“Oh, yes. Yes, of course. I’m sorry, Roman. This is Roman Jackson, who will be one of your fellow students at the ICIC.”
“Hey,” Daniel said, feeling a little awkward.
“’Sup,” Roman replied.
“I apologize, boys, but we need to hurry. Another student will be arriving soon at the other end of the concourse. If you’ll follow me?”
“Sure,” Daniel replied. Roman said nothing, just falling into step behind her.
In truth, Roman was trying not to stare at the new kid, who had a rainbow of light cascading over him like some kind of perpetual cosmic waterfall. Roman found himself even more grateful for the new colored pencils, but he wasn’t sure he would ever be able to capture on paper what he was seeing around this blond-haired California surfer. He kept his head down, staring at the floor, but flashes of light sparkled in the corner of his eye whenever Daniel’s feet came into view.
Daniel, for his part, was equally intrigued by this small boy who refused to look at him. It wasn’t just that the kid was so young; it was the subtle way he would dart his eyes in tiny little glances when he thought no one was looking. The lyrics to OneRepublic’s “Secrets” played in Daniel’s head—a mellow song, its rhythm fitting the late afternoon sunshine—and Daniel let its melody carry his mind away, content to let the evening unfold in its own time.
The airport wasn’t especially large, and it wasn’t long before they were standing at another gate, a new pre-printed sign having been produced from Miss Williams’ briefcase, this one with letters that spelled out “Samantha Prescott.” They waited for a few minutes, Daniel nodding his head along with “Secrets” and Roman stealing glances from time to time at Daniel’s living, shifting raiment of color, until the door finally opened and people started filing in off the tarmac.