The Denver airport is way bigger and much busier than the one in Arkansas, and after a stop at the bathroom, I lose sight of Becka. Luckily, a man in a pilot’s hat notices me looking confused and helps me get to the next gate. There, I find Becka with her earbuds still in and no apparent concern for my whereabouts. I decide to do the same. Scrolling through my playlist, I choose a song by Linkin Park, crank it up loud, and find my Zen. When Becka stands to get in line, I follow behind her, and since this plane isn’t full, we leave an empty seat between us. By the time we land in Flagstaff, I’ve made it through roughly a third of my songs and the Xanax hasn’t let me down yet.
I have no idea where we’re going, so I stick close to Becka after we get off the plane. It’s funny, because I hadn’t really noticed how short she was until now. She’s maybe five-three, tops, but those short legs can sure move. She walks like she’s hoping she’ll lose me, but I manage to keep up.
“Do you even know where to go?” I ask when we reach a dead end in the airport and have to turn back around. She doesn’t answer. I sigh and pull up the itinerary again. Grand Canyon Shuttle, that’s what we need to find. “Hey, there’s a sign.” I point up ahead.
Becka turns like she’d known that all along, even though I’m pretty sure she didn’t. When we board the shuttle, she moves toward the back, and I choose a seat near the front. Sitting next to a window again, I watch the unfamiliar scenery pass as we head west. Huge pine trees line the roadway, and the jagged outline of mountains is visible in the distance. Arizona’s prettier than I would have thought, and a lot greener, but now that the Xanax is finally wearing off, excitement and nervousness play a game of tug-of-war in my gut. I’ve never been this far away from home before.
My stomach rumbles loudly, but I’m pretty sure it’s from hunger this time. Guess I never ate lunch today. I glance at the lady next to me, but she doesn’t seem to have noticed the noise. Or maybe she’s just too polite to act like she did. Remembering the two bags of peanuts I’d saved from the airplane, I grab one from my pocket and tear it open, but after finishing the second bag, I’m still starving. Hopefully, there’ll be something to eat at the hotel. Never been to one of those either.
Becka and I are the only two people to get off at the Maswik Lodge. By now, the sky has turned orange, and the chilly air causes goose pimples to pop up on my arms. Bags slung over our shoulders, we trudge into the office without saying a word. While Becka checks us in, I fish a gray hoodie out of my bag and pull it on. She seems to know what she’s doing, so I just follow after her as she gets the key cards and starts toward our room. I did hear the lady say it has two queen beds, which I’m extremely grateful for. I’d sleep on the floor before I’d crawl in bed next to Becka.
The room is small, with southwestern style bedspreads and matching desert artwork hanging above each bed. It smells a little flowery—probably some kind of air freshener—but it looks like a pretty nice place. Mom would approve, I’m sure. A twinge of something like homesickness comes over me for a second but disappears almost as quickly because what’s there to miss at home, really? I kick off my shoes and fall onto one of the beds while Becka carefully unpacks a few things from her bag.
“I’m taking a shower,” she says without looking my way.
Like I care. After she disappears into the bathroom, I decide I’m going to make the best of my alone time, so I turn on the TV and flip through the channels. There’s nothing interesting, and I don’t really feel like watching anything anyway, so I turn it back off and pull out my phone instead. Only there’s no Wi-Fi. I sigh and set it on the table beside my bed. With nothing to distract me, my empty stomach commands my attention again. Surely there’s some place to eat around here. Guess I better go look. Stuffing my feet back into my shoes, I grab some money out of my bag.
“Gonna go get some food,” I yell toward the bathroom. “Want anything?”
“No,” Becka replies from the other side of the door. “I brought some snacks.”
She doesn’t even thank me for asking, but whatever.
I push the cash into my pocket and head outside into the chilly night. The lady at the front desk points the way to the food court, where the only thing still open is the pizzeria. Works for me. When I return to the room with two to-go slices of pizza and a drink, plus a Twix bar from the snack machine, I balance the food on the crook of one arm and search my pocket for the key card. Only it’s not there. Shit. I check my other pockets just in case, dropping my candy bar in the process. Nope, definitely forgot it. I knock on the door, but all is quiet inside. I knock again.
“Becka, it’s me. Let me in.”
Nothing but silence.
I use the side of my fist to pound a little harder. “Hey, open up!”
The curtains move in the window of the room next door, but there’s no sign of life in ours. What the hell? Is she still in the bathroom? I turn and slide my back down the door, sitting on the cold cement walkway. I’m too hungry to wait any longer, so I open up the cardboard container and shovel a piece of pizza into my
