That Time I Got Kidnapped by Tom Mitchell

Author:Tom Mitchell
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2020-01-20T17:00:00+00:00

Delta Force

Albuquerque, New Mexico

We were in New Mexico, a name for Google images of strange rock formations and cacti shaped like quick-draw cowboys, but it remained (stolen) coat-wearing weather. As it was night (again), the only cacti we saw were neon ones on the walls of supermarkets lining the dark drive to the airport.

Jennifer marched us to a Delta desk. At the Tulsa Greyhound station I’d been sure that the stolen card would be turned down and that FBI agents would step from the shadows. (Didn’t happen.) As we waited for the rep to deal with a man whose tuba had been damaged en route from Atlanta, I asked Jennifer if she’d still admit to kidnapping me, should we get caught.

‘We’re not getting caught,’ she said.

‘But if we do?’

‘We’re not.’

‘But—’

She held me squarely with one of her fly-killing looks.

‘How old are you?’ she asked.

The question made me feel about five.

‘You know that. I’m almost fifteen.’

She stared like she was scanning my thoughts. And then the man with the tuba moved on and we stepped up. The Delta rep’s smile hadn’t diminished an iota.

‘Jennifer?’ I said.

‘Okay, okay. I’ve kidnapped you. Jeez.’ The Delta dude so heard but Jennifer didn’t care. She addressed him, single raised eyebrow, with the sort of confidence that could freeze blood. ‘We’d like two tickets to Los Angeles, please. On the next available flight.’

‘And I’d like your ID. Please.’

Jennifer handed over the stolen driving licence. They waited, watching, as I scrambled to get my passport out of my inside pocket. Sometimes I hate my fingers.

‘Miss …’ The rep paused to find the name on the ID. ‘Gonzalez?’ Jennifer nodded. ‘What’s your relationship to …’ He opened my passport. ‘Jacob here?’

‘Family friends.’

The Delta rep nodded. But it was the type of nod that meant anything but acceptance. He indicated the sling.

‘How did you injure yourself?’

‘Falling over a princess.’

The Delta rep didn’t miss a beat.

‘Too bad. And it says here you’re twenty years old?’

‘Uh-huh.’

‘And you’re accompanying this child?’

(I mean, it took a while before I realised he meant me and surely there were a hundred other ways to ask the question? Like, in a way that didn’t make me feel as if I should currently be watching toy-unwrapping videos on a Kindle Fire, for instance.)

‘Yep.’

The Delta rep looked from the driving licence to Jennifer. I could feel my everything shrink – partly through anxiety and partly through awkwardness. Next there came keyboard tapping and the airline man, instead of telling Jennifer that all this was crazy and we were about to get in truckloads of trouble, announced that the next flight to LA was in ninety minutes.

‘How will you be paying today?’

Jennifer handed over the stolen card without speaking. Delta slipped it into a payment machine and Jennifer entered the PIN and no alarms sounded and no FBI agents appeared. The total cost of our two flights was less than the bus ticket I’d bought in Chicago all those millions of years ago.

Boarding cards were printed and, nope, we

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