Fly Away by Nora Rock

do.”
    Ms. Wilkinson reached for Priya’s hairbrush, and I handed it over. Then I leaned forward, my head in my hands, while she finished my job.

chapter thirteen
    Running away on the eve of a competition was the very last thing you would expect from Arielle. I looked out the bus window. Traffic was gridlocked on the roads, and people pushed past each other on the sidewalk. Busy city people, disappearing up side streets and into buildings with bars on the windows. Even the kids I saw looked tough. One boy a few years younger than me coasted dangerously close to the bus on a bike. He wore no helmet and steered expertly around the February slush piles, putting one hand on the side of the bus for stability. We were three hours’ drive from Stratford, but Toronto could have been on another planet. It was so different from our little town. And Arielle was alone out there.
    Maybe she’d run out to do an errand and had gotten lost.
    With her computer and her makeup bag? No.
    The bus squealed to a stop, interrupting my thoughts. I fell into step behind the other girls, lining up numbly in front of the baggage door to wait for my gym bag. I turned around when I felt a hand on my shoulder.
    â€œMarnie,” said Ms. Wilkinson softly.
    I looked up.
    She beckoned for me to take a couple of steps away from the others, and then she spoke. “I know you’re worried about your friend. But you’re our assistant captain. These girls are going to need some leadership if they’re going to get through this competition. Are you up to it?”
    I nodded, but I wasn’t convinced.
    We walked in almost complete silence into the conference center. The lobby was packed with cheerleaders, most wearing their team ribbons and stage makeup. The girls—and a few boys—were talking and laughing, bubbling over with anticipation. It was the kind of exciting, charged environment you experience only at competitions. It was an environment that I usually loved. This was a moment that I’d always dreamed about: my first time arriving to compete as a flyer.
    But that morning, my team walked into the conference center with all the energy of a shell-shocked band of disaster survivors. Arielle had been the head and heart of our team. Losing her felt like a knockout punch. We were acting like a broken team.
    Ashleigh, who was a step ahead of the group, turned around and stared at me. I shrugged my shoulders at her. What?
    She looked away in frustration and then shouted, “Starlings! This way! Team meeting!”
    We pushed our way through the crowd, following Ashleigh’s long auburn ponytail. We walked until we found our team’s gathering spot, marked off with tape on the lobby floor. Some people were sitting in our spot, and it was so loud and crowded that it would have been impossible to talk there. Ashleigh led us through a curtain and into the auditorium seating area. We followed her up three flights of steps to the empty top tier of seats. Even with the competition going on below us, it was quieter there than in the lobby.
    â€œSit,” Ashleigh said.
    All twelve of us sat.
    â€œNot you, Marnie,” she whispered.
    Oh, right. I was the assistant captain. I stood up, and Ashleigh took my seat.
    â€œUh…,” I began, “…like Ms. Wilkinson said on the bus…I know it feels weird, being here without Ari. But she…um…would have wanted us to compete…”
    Shona, who’d been unusually quiet all day, piped up. “Then why isn’t she here?”
    â€œPardon?” I asked. The other girls turned and stared at Shona.
    But Shona was not deterred. “How could she ditch us a few hours before we’re supposed to go on?”
    â€œWell, obviously,” I answered, “nobody—”
    â€œEverybody talks about Arielle like she can do no wrong,” said Shona. “But look at us. We go on in forty minutes. We’re short a base. Sharon