On Little Wings by Regina Sirois

adventure. Of course I’ll miss you.”
    “I just didn’t think about it till now,” I admitted. Cleo gave an insulted huff and I scrambled to clarify. “I mean we’ve done all of this together. Some part of me thought that I’d get there and you would still be nineteen houses away when I wanted to talk.”
    “ Nineteen hundred miles, maybe…”
    “Don’t be mad.”
    “I’m not,” she said. “Just…”
    “Jealous.” I finished for her with a grin.
    “Jealous,” she repeated with a radiant smile. She doesn’t usually turn those smiles on the helpless population of Riverhurst. I think she frowns so often because it is the expression that invites the least attention.
    “I’ll miss your face,” I told her. A reflexive shadow passed through her eyes.
    “I’ll miss yours,” she said, forgiving me for the compliment.
    As we pulled up to the airport, Cleo narrowed her eyes in intense concentration. She eased into the drop off lane, cut the engine and gave me a solemn look. “Remember,” she commanded while she shook her finger at me, “call me as soon as you can. Don’t forget anything so you can tell me everything. Take lots of pictures. Tell Sarah all about me because next time you go, I’m going with you.” Her smile flashed teasingly on that point, but quickly grew serious again. “If you get stuck in a riptide, swim parallel to the shore.” I gave her a you’ve-got-to-be-kidding-look but she plowed on. “And no boys. If you come home in love with some small-town, summer beach fling I will disown you. It will be like a bad scene in Grease, but without the songs. So just don’t.”
    “I would never tarnish my good name like that,” I said in mock astonishment. “And it goes for you, too. No playing footsies with Barry while I’m gone.” Cleo gave me a snarl that could freeze water and I sobered. “I will tell you everything. I’ve got all my pictures to show Sarah and she’ll be sick of hearing about you.” I unbuckled my seatbelt, feeling the lightheartedness leave as I went to step out the door. Gravity seemed too strong all of a sudden, making my limbs heavy as I pulled myself out of the car. I looked at Cleo, the first signs of panic showing in my face.
    “Don’t,” she commanded as she pulled my suitcase from the backseat and wheeled it to me. “You’ll be fine. Better than fine. Take deep breaths. Think of funny things.”
    I grasped the telescoping handle. “I’m sorry you won’t be there.”
    “I will be,” she reassured me. “At 2:00 I will be sweating bullets and walking off the plane with you. And at 2:01 I better get a phone call telling me all about it.” She was only half joking. I would have laughed but I couldn’t unclench my teeth. The idea of going proved much more bearable than the reality of taking these last steps.
    “Go,” she pointed to the doors. “Leave me to my boring, normal life and go.” I must have looked positively helpless because she took my arm and began pushing me toward the wide automatic doors. I shook free of her grip and turned to give her a tight hug. She pried free first and gave me another gentle shove.
    “If you miss your plane then you’ll have to do this all over again and it will be very anti-climactic. I love you. Go.” She kept command of her voice but her green eyes glinted with emotion.
    I nodded, trying to gather my courage. “I love you, too. I’ll call you later.” I entered the airport, dodging a steady stream of travelers to look back through the glass doors. Cleo pulled back into traffic and I watched the closest thing I ever had to a sister drive away.
    Going to the ticket counter and through security by myself felt too mature and foreign. I tried to keep a calm, bored face, as if I knew what I was doing, but my pulse was fluttering hard and fast inside my chest. I made my connection in Detroit after sitting in a plastic airport chair for over two hours and picking at a dry, soft pretzel. Boarding the