Notes from a Spinning Planet—Mexico Read online

  OTHER BOOKS FOR TEENS BY MELODY CARLSON

  Notes from a Spinning Planet series

  Diary of a Teenage Girl series

  TrueColors series

  Degrees of Betrayal series

  Degrees of Guilt series

  Letters from God for Teens

  Piercing Proverbs

  he past few months have been seriously depressing. At first I thought it was the letdown of normal life after such an awesome summer traveling to exotic and exciting locales with my aunt. Then I blamed my mood on the weather, which has been dreary and gray and unusually chilly. Then I thought it was probably the fact that I've been stuck on the farm again, attending community college for fall semester, since I don't get to transfer to the University of Washington until January.

  Of course, it didn't help matters that Lydia, my friend from Papua New Guinea, had to delay coming here until winter semester as well. So I've just been biting the bullet and telling myself this is simply a temporary delay. I even think I should enjoy this. Who knows? It could be the last time I live at home with my parents. I actually thought they might appreciate having me around, but suddenly I'm thinking they might be glad to see me go. I mean, it seems like they sort of enjoyed my absence this past summer, once my mom got over her overprotective paranoia, and now I realize it'll be the first time in about twenty-four years they won't have kids living under their roof. And I suppose they could be ready for a little empty-nest syndrome about now.

  Consequently, when Aunt Sid called and asked if I could go to Mexico with her during winter break, I literally jumped and yelled, “;Olé!” My mom was a little bummed that Sid booked our flights out of Seattle on the day after Christmas, but I am totally thrilled to get out of town.

  Dad and I leave for the airport before the suns even up, making pretty good time—until we get close to the city, that is, and heavy shopper traffic is backed up into next Tuesday. I try not to freak, but I feel fairly certain I could miss my flight. Finally we're at Sea-Tac, and I beg him to drop me at the terminal, convincing him that ?11 be just fine. I even hold up my cell phone as proof.

  “Look, as soon as I'm with Aunt Sid, I'll just call you, okay? That way you don't have to park, and hopefully I won't miss the plane.”

  He seems relieved. “Sounds good, Maddie.” Then he kisses me good-bye and tells me to be careful. I lug my stuff up to the ticket counter and quickly check in with the electronic ticket Sid e-mailed me last week. Simple as can be. Or so I think as I jog toward the security gates, getting my boarding pass and photo ID ready. And then it hits me. I look back toward the ticketing area and realize it's too late. If I'm going to make this flight, I better just keep going.

  I get through security without a hitch, although the woman behind me sets off all the alarms and ends up being searched. I grab my backpack and start running for the departure gate that's written on my ticket. When I get there, I'm out of breath, but there is Sid, standing by the counter and waving at me.

  “Hurry, Maddie,” she yells, like I haven't already been running my legs off.

  “Sorry,” I say breathlessly. “Traffic.”

  “That's all you're bringing?” she asks as we hand the gate agent our boarding passes. “I mean, I told you to pack light, but that's incredibly light.”

  I sheepishly smile as I sling my backpack over my shoulder. “I didn't even realize what I did until I was at the security check,” I explain. “I was in such a hurry.”

  “You checked your bag?”

  I nod as we go down the Jetway that leads to the plane. “I'm sorry, Sid. The guy just grabbed it from me. And he even offered to take it over to the scanner for me so I could take off to meet you.”

  She forces a smile. “Wow, I just hope it gets there okay. They've already loaded the flight.”

  “I thought about going back to see if I could get it,” I say as we wait for the last stragglers ahead of us to get onto the plane. “But it was so late.”

  “Don't worry,” she says. “Maybe it's for the best. A big bag might've slowed you down in security, and we really could've missed our flight. We'll sort it out in Cabo.”

  Then we're on the plane. Just like that. But to my stunned surprise, instead of heading toward the coach section as usual, Sid stops in first class, nodding to a pair of seats that look extremely roomy and comfy. I think she must be kidding.

  “I decided to upgrade us,” she explains as the flight attendant politely takes our coats and carry-on bags. “My frequent-flier miles were about to expire, and while I was waiting for you to get here, I found out they still had first-class seats available.”

  “Cool,” I say as I sit down and rub my hand over the smooth leather chair. “Wow, I feel like I'm famous.” Then I glance around to see if there's anyone recognizable up here. I think I see a couple of guys who play for the Seahawks. I ask Sid, and she nods in confirmation. Then she whispers that the guy directly to my right is one of Seattle's richest computer moguls, but the woman sitting with him is not his wife. The pretty blonde looks young enough to be his daughter, but I'm guessing by the way he's treating her that she's not.

  “Did you guys have a good Christmas?” Sid asks as she thumbs through a Forbes magazine.

  “It was okay. It was kind of hard not having Jake home. But I suppose it helped that Aunt Betsy and her family came.”

  “How's your mom's sister doing anyway? I haven't seen her in years.”

  I sort of laugh, remembering how glad I was to get away from Aunt Betsy's hyperactive five-year-old twins. “I think she's still pretty frazzled. Tyler and Taylor are a handful. Mom thinks that just because Betsy waited so long to have them, she spoils them rotten. Mom doesn't say this to her face, of course. But the decibel level at our house was about ten times the norm. Dad was so glad he had to drive me to Seattle today—just for the peace and quiet.”

  Sid grins. “Guess I won't beat myself up too badly now for not coming to your house for Christmas.”

  “So Ian didn't make it out after all?” I ask a bit hesitantly. The last I heard, it didn't look good. Sid was really hoping he'd be able to come from Ireland for Christmas. I'm not sure how serious they are, but I suspect she was pretty disappointed.

  “It was just too busy at the restaurant,” she explains. “It'sounds like Christmastime is becoming a hot tourist season, and Ian didn't want to make extra work for his employees by taking off.”

  “That was thoughtful.”

  She nods and sets the magazine aside. “Ian is a thoughtful guy. He actually suggested that I should come to Ireland for the holidays.”

  “Oh, why didn't you?” I ask.

  She frowns slightly. “Well, I'd already booked this trip. It'seemed like that'd be cutting it pretty close. Not to mention I'd have some serious jet lag.”

  “Oh.” Now I feel a little bit guilty, like if it wasn't for me, maybe she would've blown off this Mexico trip in favor of Ireland. Still, there's nothing I can do about that now.

  “Besides,” she laughs, “sunny Mexico or chilly, wet Ireland in the wintertime? Hmm. Which would you choose?”

  “Mexico wins, hands down.” I nod eagerly. “So did you and Ryan have a good Christmas anyway?” Based on the e-mails that my friend Ryan and I have been exchanging lately, I know he pretty much hung with Sid during the holidays, although I'm not sure what they did. Still, their being together is a relief to me. This is Ryan's first Christmas since his mom died, and Sid, his godmother, is probably the next best thing. I considered inviting Ryan to come stay with us at the farm, but then Aunt Betsy and her family decided to visit.

  “Yes, Ryan and I stayed with Vicki and her family.”

  “Is Vicki your friend from college?” I ask.

  “Right. She and Ryan's mom and I were very close. Anyway, Vicki and Ed, her husband, have this gorgeous place on Fox Island. And Vicki, as usual, went all out for Christmas—the tree, the food, everything was just perfect. All their kids were home, and I think Ryan really had a good time with the young people. Vicki and Ed really know how to make folks feel at home.”

  “And its their condo we're going to stay in?” I ask.

  “Actually, its a time-share. Ed and Vicki bought it last year, but they haven't even been down there yet. Her parents talked her into getting it. I guess it was a pretty good deal, and knowing Vicki, it's probably very nice. They'll be going to check it out at the end of January.”

  “Just being down there with the sun and the beach sounds awesome to me,” I say as I lean back into the seat and sigh. “Thanks so much for inviting me!”

  “Hey, you're turning out to be my favorite traveling companion, Maddie. And after all we went through in Papua New Guinea, I figured you deserve a nice vacation.”

  “Hey, I loved New Guinea,” I remind her.

  She nods. “I know, but it was a little rustic.”

  “That's just part of its charm.”

  “Well, my article about the AIDS crisis there was well received. And I did a second one about traveling to Papua New Guinea as a tourist. You know, what to see and what not to do. It comes out next month.”

  “Did you mention how people can repurchase their stolen passports at the airport?” I ask.

  She laughs. “I did indeed.”

  “Good thing that didn't happen to us,” I say. “We were in such a hurry when we left we might not have had time to find the right rascal to buy them back from.”

  “I had an e-mail from Lydias mom yest
erday,” she says. “It'sounds like everything's all settled and that Lydia made it safely to their relatives in Oregon. She should arrive in Seattle just a few days after we get back from Mexico.”

  “And I'm all packed and ready to move too,” I say. “You sure you're ready to have two new roommates?”

  “Well, you know how much I'm gone anyway. And you girls are both pretty thoughtful and mature—not to mention self-sufficient. I don't think I need to worry.” She winks at me. “Besides, if you give me any flak, I'll just send you both packing.”

  “Hopefully, we'll find an apartment on campus before too long. I told my parents about my plan to sell my car to pay rent.”

  “And they're okay with that?”

  “Yeah. I think Dad's actually relieved, especially after driving me to Seattle today. He thinks I'll get killed driving in that traffic.”

  Sid shakes her head. “Hey, well, unfortunately, it happens.”

  “According to Uncle Eric, Betsy's husband, that happens in Mexico too. He said that driving down there is taking your life into your own hands.”

  Sid just laughs.

  “And I told him that I've seen you drive in Ireland, where the roads are about a foot wide and you have to drive on the wrong side, and that you managed to make it through just fine.” I smile at her. “I'm not worried.”

  Sitting here in first class and being treated like a celebrity, I don't feel a bit worried about anything. Apparently neither does Sid, who's enjoying a complimentary margarita. But if I've learned anything from my travels with Sid, it's that when you feel least worried is often the time you should be looking over your shoulder. Of course, it's usually a hindsight sort of thing.

  he flight goes smoothly: no turbulence, no delays, not a single hitch. But once we're down on the ground in Los Cabos, I can tell the smooth part might be over. For one thing, we're all just sitting here in the plane, which is getting pretty hot. I don't think the air conditioning is working. The pilot keeps making these funny little announcements that don't really tell us anything, well, other than the fact that it doesn't look like we'll be disembarking anytime soon.

  Even the flight attendants are starting to act frustrated, and their smiles look slightly strained now. Mr. Computer Mogul Man asks the one in our section why we're not getting off the plane, and she gives him a plastic smile and says that the gate's backed up and that we'll have to wait our turn. Then she offers him another margarita, which seems only to suggest that this is going to take awhile. It's almost four o'clock Cabos time before we finally taxi for what seems to be less than ten feet and are allowed to get off this stuffy plane. Even first class has gotten old.

  “Wow, we're really here,” I say as we go down the exterior steps and onto the tarmac, where we're instantly hit with a wave of heat. “Mexico!”

  “It feels like it must be in the nineties,” says Sid as she peels off her jacket. “I don't see what the big delay was.” She nods over to the other planes lined up, open and unloading, along the side of the runway. “It's not as if we were waiting for a loading bridge or anything. It looks like all the planes unload directly onto the tarmac. It doesn't make sense.”

  “Get used to this,” grumbles a man in a business suit as he walks alongside us toward what I assume is the terminal. “This is how it is down here. Hurry up and wait, and then just wait and wait and wait.”

  Sid winks at me. “Well, we re on vacation anyway. Guess we don't need to worry about the time so much.”

  Then we stop behind the long string of travelers who are standing outside the entrance, most of them complaining about the heat and the delays. I peer inside the building to discover the line in there is about six times as long as this one. And no one seems to be moving at all. Meanwhile, the line behind us is growing as more passengers from our flight line up.

  The businessman glances at his watch and lets out a loud groan. “We're the first plane to land and the last to deplane. It just figures.”

  “Do you come down here a lot?” asks Sid with a slightly impatient tone.

  He wipes the sweat from his brow, then nods. “Yeah, and it gets worse every time. I swear I need to let go of this account.”

  She gives me a glance, and I can tell she thinks this guy's just a big complainer.

  “So did you ladies fill out your immigration cards already?” he asks.

  “What cards?” asks Sid.

  He holds up a white card that he's neatly filled in. “It helps speed things up if you've got this all ready to go.”

  Sid just shrugs. “Guess we're on the slow track today, Maddie.”

  Once we're inside the building, which feels a few degrees cooler than outside, we find that the passengers are being sorted into two lines. One line for those with filled-in cards and one for those of us without. Sid tracks down the cards, and we scramble to dig out our pens and quickly fill them in. Thanks to three years of high-school Spanish, I can attempt to help Sid with the language barrier, and we dig out our passports and try to be ready. But by the time we're finished, we find ourselves, once again, standing at the end of a very long line.

  “Oh well,” says Sid. “Nothing we can do about this.” Despite her words, I sense her frustration is growing. And I remind myself that this trip is supposed to be a vacation. Hopefully it will get better soon.

  We eventually reach the visitors’ counter, where a Spanish-speaking man carefully examines our paperwork, asks us a few questions, then stamps our passports. We think we are free to get out of this place.

  Think again.

  “Your checked bag,” says Sid just before we head out through what looks like an exit. “We need to get it first.”

  “Oh yeah,” I say. I turn around and attempt to translate the signs to determine where to find my bag. “It must be over there.” So we push through the crowds of people to one very large and overloaded baggage carousel turning slowly. An enormous lake of luggage pools off to one side. I quickly discover that the luggage here isn't really sorted by flight, and since my bag is black and looks a lot like the others, I realize this isn't going to be easy. Sid waits as I climb through the pile in search of my bag. Finally, after about forty minutes of waiting and digging and breaking two fingernails, I spot my bag circling on the carousel.

  I lug it over to where Sid is standing and waiting. She looks tired. “Ready to go,” I tell her in what I hope sounds like a positive tone. “Sorry about the delay. Next time I'll be sure not to check my bag.”

  She nods over to another long line that's snaked around in the shape of a squashed S. “Guess we might as well line up again.”

  “What's this?” I ask as we take a place at the back of the line.

  “Another security check,” she explains. “I guess its to make sure we're not bringing in anything illegal. I've been watching it, and it's not moving too fast.”

  It takes about twenty minutes to get through this checkpoint, and fortunately we get through without having to open and unpack our bags. I feel a mixture of pity and relief as I watch an elderly couple with their bags fully opened and spread out across a table. Really, what do they think senior citizens would try to sneak into this country?

  Finally we're outside the terminal, where it's now dark, but as a result the temperature is cooling down. Fortunately, our rental-car shuttle is waiting, and we hop on. As the driver takes us to only he knows where, I wonder how difficult it would be to imitate a shuttle bus and kidnap unsuspecting tourists. But I keep these thoughts to myself. Sid's been through enough already.

  To my relief, we end up at the rental-car place. Sid goes into the office to pick up her car while I “guard the bags.”

  “This would be so much easier in the daylight,” says Sid as we finally drive away. “I just hope we don't get lost.”

  I try to peer into the darkness alongside the road, unsure of what lurks out there. “There don't seem to be a whole lot of places to stop and ask directions.”

  “So let's not get lost.”

  There's a steady stream of traffic, and for the most part we try to just move with it. Our plan is for me to be the navigator, which seems simple enough, especially since I can read Spanish, but we quickly discover that the side roads aren't well marked. Getting off and on the main highways can be rather tricky too. Fortunately, there are few main highways.