Grounded, page 7
“What?” Feek asks, tipping his head to try to get a look at my phone.
I turn it around so everyone can see. “It’s from RainingCatsNDogs! We were in the wrong luggage store! Snickerdoodle was sighted in the Zoomi in the international terminal!”
I look at their faces and see that they don’t get it. “We need to get on the plane train immediately! And get off at the international terminal! Let’s go!”
Sami stiffens. He swivels from Feek to Nora before sputtering, “Nope! No! Not getting on that train! This is . . . it’s a terrible idea! I’m not doing it!”
“Hmm, just because Snickerdoodle was spotted there doesn’t mean we’ll find her there now. That sighting was a few hours ago,” Nora says, doubt clouding her face, “and we saw the domestic Zoomi store closing.”
This is why you need people to be actual animal allies. It takes commitment to pursue justice for all.
I cross my arms, shake my head, and turn my voice quiet and serious because they still don’t get it. “If we want to save Snickerdoodle, if we want to do the right thing, we need to get on that train. Even if there’s just a small chance she’s there, we have to check it out. She could be in serious danger.”
I start walking toward the train terminal without checking to see if they’re following me. Feek was the only one who looked like he was sort of considering it.
But it doesn’t matter.
Because maybe I’ll just have to do this whole Snickerdoodle rescue operation all by myself.
I don’t know if we’re going to find Snickerdoodle in that Zoomi store, but I follow Hanna anyway. I posted a quick video of the collar and us on the movator with #SaveSnickerdoodle, and it’s seriously the best thing that’s happened to me all weekend. Not only did I get a bunch of new followers, but in the comments, Mackenzie and Kennedy were cheering me on. Sumaya even commented with praying hands and “hope you find her,” which is really generous because she’s angry with me.
Before I board, I hit record and give my followers a quick update. “Guys, we’ve had news of a Snickerdoodle sighting in the international terminal. I’m headed onto this plane train to check it out, so be sure to favorite me and get all my updates. This rescue mission is just getting started!”
I follow Hanna and Nora toward the train, but this time instead of seeing another Ruqi joyride, I see the El train back in Philly and a younger Dad, who still had most of his hair under his kufi, standing in front of it. I’m suddenly small again. So small my hand disappears into my dad’s as he pulls me onto the train so fast my feet can barely keep up.
Dad’s jaw is tight. He’s going to perform again. Back then, no one ever liked Dad’s train performances except me. He steers me into a seat and moves to the aisle. He announces that he’s going to share a poem. Like all the other times, people look away from him, look down at their phones like he’s not even there. But this time, this time, a few seconds into the poem, something different happens.
A woman yells, “All right now!”
A few people snap.
“Tell it!” another man shouts.
People are looking and listening, enjoying my dad!
He says a line, loudly and boldly. People whoop and shout out at this one, clap their hands. The whole train is a mess of cheering, encouraging voices.
I jump to my feet and run to Dad.
“That’s my daddy! That’s my daddy! I’m with him!” I yell, jumping up and down. Some people laugh.
Dad’s eyes, which had just been lit up, widen in shock. “Go sit down. You’re ruining everything,” he whispers harshly.
Yeah, I ruined my dad’s first successful performance even if it was just on an El train. I wonder if he still sees me that way, as a silly kid who doesn’t get it. A kid who gets in the way of special moments like Ruqi does. Maybe if I find the Hoffa cat, that would change? Dad would have to see me differently if Doc Hoffa rewarded me with an appearance on Storm the Stage. Would Doc let me?
“Watch, watch, watch! You have to watch her!” Sami interrupts my thoughts as I step onto the plane train. Ruqi is behind me.
“Sorry . . . it’s . . . She almost went into the gap,” Sami continues, pointing at the space between the platform and the train.
“Oh no! Ruqi! Sorry, I was recording,” Nora says, rushing over from her spot on the train.
“She’s fine,” I say, irritation in my voice as Ruqi skips inside the car. “That gap is barely two inches. Ruqi is small, but not that small.”
Nora looks, and I can tell she also sees it’s far too narrow for Ruqi to get trapped in. She still rolls her eyes at me, though. Hanna, for her part, is typing furiously into her phone, not seeing any of this. Other than us, the train is completely empty. I guess with no planes taking off, there are no terminals to get to.
I stand in the doorway looking at Sami, who is still standing awkwardly on the platform.
“Are you coming in?” I ask, irritated.
“I . . .” He looks around, at the sky lounge across the hallway, at the potted plants to the left, like he’s looking for a way to back out.
Suddenly, we see a woman in gray clothing and a dark vest with SECURITY emblazoned on it headed in our direction. Sami inhales sharply. “That Zoomi guy did say he was calling security . . . She’s . . . coming straight for us?”
A robotically perfect woman’s voice chimes, “Next stop, international terminal. Doors are closing.”
We both look at the guard. Is she quickening her pace?
Sami almost knocks me over jumping into the train, and the doors slide shut.
After a couple of moments, Sami is still shaking. I feel bad for him and say, “We’re fine. I’m sure she wasn’t after us. That Zoomi guy just kicked us out. That’s all. He didn’t really call security.”
He whispers something I can’t hear.
“What?”
He speaks, and I still have to strain to hear it. “I said . . . maybe you should worry a little.”
“What’s that supposed to mean? It’s good to stay calm and not worry,” I say, a little louder than I mean to. Sami winces.
Nora says flatly, “Yes, don’t worry about anything at all. Let your sister get lost in the airport. She’ll be fine.”
“I worry about her enough! I keep Ruqi safe!”
Sami looks at me for a split second, clearly confused, before catching himself and quickly looking away.
Nora chuckles at this.
“Just mind your business!” I bark at them.
Sami retreats to the corner of the train, where Ruqi is twirling and stumbling, and Nora barks back at me not to talk to her like that.
I look up at the train ceiling, ignoring Nora, who is still telling me off when the train begins slowing down. Worry more? Like Sami? Nah. Staying calm—staying sure that everything will be fine—is what makes everything work out. And everything will work out. We will find this cat.
The robotic female voice tells us, “Please step out for the international terminal.”
Hanna finally looks up and grins. “We’re here!”
We’re still in the airport.
It’s not like we’re in Siberia.
But as we spill into the international terminal, it feels like we’ve stumbled into totally different territory. I can tell from Feek’s expression and Nora glancing around curiously that it’s not just me. Beethoven, Bach, or Mozart—one of those folks—is playing low in the background, and there’s a raised cathedral-type ceiling with gold and silver flowers etched in a geometric pattern. There are cushy sofas all over with people camped out, many of them sleeping, and—
“Are those trees?” I ask.
“Looks like it.” Feek nods at the leafy not-fake-at-all trees planted in enormous multicolored pots all around this area.
The far wall is designed to look like a floor-to-ceiling window, but it’s not a real window because it’s daylight in there, and there’s a rotating display of shimmering art overlaying it.
“So . . . now what?” Nora asks. She’s got her phone in her hand.
“Now, we go there.” Hanna points to the back wall lined with shops.
Following her gaze, I see a makeup store, a perfume shop, a watch store with a huge board advertising gold watches, and there it is—the Zoomi luggage shop. There’s just one problem.
“They’re closed,” Feek says. “The luggage store is shut down.”
He’s right. Metal grates cover all the shop entrances, including the Zoomi store’s.
“I told you it would be closed,” Nora says. “It’s almost nine thirty. Most retailers share the same hours.”
Hanna’s eyebrows furrow together. “Well, just because it’s closed doesn’t mean . . .”
Her voice trails off. Thunder rumbles in the distance. She crosses her arms. I feel bad she has to concede defeat, but I’m also relieved. We’ve officially reached a dead end. There’s no way we’re prying open the metal grates like Hanna is probably considering right now. We’ll have this little adventure and head right back to our gates, and I can show my mother that I “made a friend” and Hanna can feel better because she tried her best. A win-win in a pretty lose-lose situation.
Just then, a door swings open in the distance, and someone exits.
“Whoa!” Hanna is no longer confused or flustered. She’s smiling like she just spotted an enormous banana split with her name written all over it.
“Uh-oh,” Nora says.
“The door!” Hanna says. “The one that he just came out of. That must be the corridor that the employees use.”
Feek nods. “My cousin works at a clothing store in the mall. They have a hallway just for employees.”
We hadn’t noticed the door before, but now we can’t unsee it. It’s white with a white handle. Probably so it blends in with everything else. Probably so people won’t notice it. Probably so annoying kids won’t get ideas to go on an adventure . . .
“Hanna.” I need to stop her. But it’s too late. She’s marching toward the door.
“Hanna!” Feek calls out. “Hold up!”
But Hanna is there now, and she’s pulling at the door that very clearly says RESTRICTED: EMPLOYEES ONLY, but that, to my relief and Hanna’s obvious disappointment, stays completely and absolutely shut. She puts a hand on her hips.
“There’s got to be a way in,” Hanna murmurs.
“Then what?” Nora asks her. “What would you want to do if you were able to get in?”
“It’s a hallway,” Hanna explains. “It’ll lead to the back entrances for all the stores.”
“You really think the cat’s still in that luggage store?” Feek asks, his eyebrows raised. “That tip came in a while ago, right?”
“No, don’t you understand?” Hanna says excitedly. “We’re never going to find Snickerdoodle out here with all these people.” She looks at the tired passengers in the distance and lowers her voice. “Cats want quiet. Especially a lost and terrified elderly kitty. Even if she’s not in the Zoomi store, she’s probably hiding somewhere back there.” Hanna eyes the door wistfully and gives it another unsuccessful yank. “Getting in here is the key.”
“The door is locked,” Nora reminds her. “If you want, we could peek through the grates? We’ve come all this way. May as well check before we head back.”
That sounds fair. I nod. And then we do need to get back. That’s what I’m going to say. That we should get on the train. I’m feeling smug that my mom might realize shooing me away to hang out with a total stranger wasn’t a great idea, but I am getting antsy about being so far from our gate.
I don’t get a chance to say this. Before I can open my mouth, the handle turns, and the door parts. We hurry aside as a woman in a blue apron walks out with her clear plastic purse. She saunters toward the escalators. In a flash, Hanna sticks her foot out and blocks the door just before it can swing shut.
“Hanna.” I stare at her. “What. Are. You. Doing.”
She brings a finger to her lips. Looks straight at me. “Sometimes it’s better to ask forgiveness than permission.”
I open the heavy door and step into the narrow cinder-block corridor confidently, knowing that the rest of them will follow if they see I know what I’m doing.
The back entrances to each of the closed stores are probably in that hallway up ahead. Once we get there, we’ll turn right and find the one that opens into the Zoomi store—where, tucked into some cozy nook, Snickerdoodle may be dreaming of her rescuers bursting in at any moment.
I haven’t figured out how we’ll get into the store through a locked door, but as my math teacher always says, every problem needs to be solved in steps and only when you come to that step.
The step we are at right now is called Casing the Joint.
This joint—the corridor leading to the hallway behind the stores—is narrow, with dim yellow light beaming down from the ceiling. The floors are concrete, and the walls are made of big white glossy bricks.
We just have to reach that hallway up ahead. And we’re in business.
And if Snickerdoodle is not there—she’s got to be here somewhere.
This is the perfect quiet space for a scared cat to want to hide.
“Um. Hanna.” Feek’s voice carries over my shoulder. I turn around and see he’s stepped inside after me, but with one foot still out. “I’m all for finding this cat. Don’t get me wrong. But it’s probably a really big deal to walk through a locked door at an airport.”
I start walking.
“Feek’s right,” says Nora, peering over Feek’s shoulder. “I’m pretty sure there are laws against that kind of thing.”
“Well, it was open, right? My brother’s friend Zayneb—she’s like my sister—tells me that sometimes when things are meant to be, doors just open, and look how easy it was for us to have access to this place!” I’m now in the hallway, which stretches in front of me for a dizzyingly long distance. I can’t even see the end of it. But what I can see are doors spaced apart on the right side, the side we entered through.
The side that has stores facing out into the airport.
Bonanza. I point ahead. “Snickerdoodle is probably behind one of those doors.”
When I say that, Ruqi scoots by Nora and runs through the corridor to catch up with me at the junction. Feek’s other foot moves in, and Nora sighs and walks in too. Only Sami’s feet remain firmly outside, but his head and shoulders stick all the way in. He looks shocked, and I immediately look away. Seeing his expression might make me worried about being here too, and the only thing I should be worried about right now is Snickerdoodle.
“You guys!” Sami hisses. “We can’t break into places!”
“Sami, we’re not breaking in!” I hiss back without looking at the half of his body that technically is “breaking in” too. “We are finding a lost cat!”
I start walking again before Sami can say anything else. Ruqi keeps pace at my side and Feek and Nora bring up the rear, their feet hurrying, like they want this done with.
I quicken my steps too.
A door slams shut behind us.
We all turn in slow motion.
Sami has stepped into the hallway too, and maybe he forgot how heavy that corridor door we all came through was, but he just let it shut behind him.
Uh-oh. I hope it isn’t a self-locking door. Maybe one of us, maybe Sami, should have kept the door open a crack in case.
It’s too late for that now.
Sami catches up to us, whispering, “I’m here to make sure you guys don’t get yourselves into any more trouble.”
We all walk quickly but quietly down the eerily silent hallway, Nora muttering the names of the stores she thinks we passed by. There are some hallways on our left, but we’re concentrating on everything to the right of us because that’s where all the stores are.
I silence my phone because Operation Rescue Snickerdoodle requires noiselessness, and there are presently twelve different meows set for a variety of notifications.
“I think the Zoomi store is going to be the next one, once we’re past that other hallway,” Feek whispers.
“I think so,” I whisper back. “We should just—”
But as we’re about to reach the hallway, a loud metallic sound clangs from it.
Then the sound of keys jangling.
Like we’re inside some kind of superhero comic, all of us—even Ruqi—press ourselves flush against the wall and fall completely silent.
But I have to see. This could be it.
This could be another door opening, like Zayneb told me.
I crane my neck and peek into the hallway on our left, where the sound came from.
Yes, another door is open. I can’t see whoever is there. The sound of keys clinking against one another continues.
Then, all of a sudden, the person steps out and, before I can pull my head back, I see a uniform like a person working in a hospital wears. Scrubs, I think they’re called.
I risk another peek.
The person is walking away, their back to us, still going through keys. Suddenly, wisps of something I’d read somewhere comes to me: something about hospitals and animals and an airport in California.
Something bad. Sad.
Terrible, actually.
But I can’t remember what it was.
I step forward quietly, and as the door the person in scrubs left from is about to shut—a door that says AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY in big red writing—I fold my fingers on the handle. And stop it from closing.
Then, like a ghost, I sidle inside.
It’s dark in the small room, so I keep the door opened a crack but not wide enough for the person in scrubs to notice.
Just wide enough for a bit of light to spill in and reveal the truth.
When I see the needle-disposal container with a huge red skull sticker and the rows of medical equipment neatly arrayed on the shelf inside the small closet-like space, it all comes back to me—what I couldn’t put my finger on before.
Being in this nightmare place, I remember what they did to traveling animals in that airport in California.
