“I will yeah,” he said, which meant that he absolutely would not.
“Bye,” she breathed with a brave smile, waving as he drove off.
She turned around, took a deep breath, and walked inside the terminal.
There were several trembling and ashen-faced travelers about Hailey’s age standing inside, but they each had a pile of luggage next to them. Some had several clear plastic bins, which were filled with sheets and blankets, pillows and comforters, parkas and boots, hair dryers and curling irons; others had giant duffle bags and snowshoes and skis.
Hailey’s jaw fell.
Nobody had “one piece of luggage—purse size.” Her heart splashed into her stomach. What’s worse—all of them carried a winter coat and a sleeping bag separate from their bags.
This was bad.
She looked around for a sign or airport worker or anything that could direct her to the Bear Towne kiosk.
As she scanned the area, her eyes fell on a young man with multicolored hair and trendy eyeglasses, who was standing in front of a mountain of luggage, clutching a large silver envelope in one hand and holding onto a bulging duffel bag with the other. He looked exactly how Hailey felt: absolutely terrified.
Hailey crept up to him.
“Are you heading to Bear Towne?” she said, and he started. Loudly.
“Oh God, why?” He retreated away from her, clutching his swollen bag against his chest as if she were going to steal it.
“I just…I’m going too, and I was wondering if you knew where the kiosk was.”
“No.” He looked at her like she had warts, and then he turned his back on her.
That worked well to chase her bravery away.
“It’s over there,” said a girl with bright eyes and long, beautiful braids. She jabbed her thumb at a garbage bin.
Hailey looked at the bin and back to the girl.
“No,behindthe trash can,” she said.
With her mouth clamped shut and her one, small bag, which held absolutely nothing, she strolled to the trash, and to her delight, she found, sitting on the opposite side, and butt-up against the recycle bin, a small, unassuming metal box with 2 blank screens, three buttons, and a slot. “Bear Towne” was stamped in faded black across the front.
She tapped the bigger screen, but nothing happened. Maybe it wasn’t plugged in, she thought, and she tried the smaller one, pressing her finger against the screen before she tried the buttons. A large man with a pony tail stood behind her and huffed.
“Sorry,” she said with a weak smile. He stuck his hand out, palm up, and motioned her to finish, annoyance etching a line across his smooth chin.
“Come on,” she coaxed the machine, once again tapping the screen, and a static charge arced up her finger, a streak of tiny blue lightening.
“Ouch!” she yelled, yanking her hand away, and the machine spit out a paper.
Hailey tore it from the slot, turning it over.
BOARDING PASS, it read.
Flight: Luftzeug/Traumzeug
Her name was printed along the side, along with her seat number (Cargo Hold) and her meal choice (Human).
“You done?” asked the man.
“Sorry,” Hailey said again, as she scooted away from the kiosk, still staring at her boarding pass. She watched as the machine shocked the man and spit out another slip of paper. When he turned around, she gasped. His face was covered in stubble, like long stubble. Like fur.
“It’s very rude to stare,” he growled, and Hailey bowed her head.
