Sammy Keyes and the Showdown in Sin City Read Online Free PDF Page B

walked for a ways, she asks me, “Is she meeting you in baggage claim?”
    “Uh … I didn’t check any luggage.”
    She looks me up and down. “Aren’t you in the wedding? Don’t you have a dress?” Then before I can figure out how to wiggle out of
that
one, she decides the answer for herself. “Oh, she’s probably doing one of those rental packages.”
    I nod. “I don’t really know what the plan is.”
    “I’m surprised your grandmother isn’t here with you.” She eyes me. “I wouldn’t send Marissa to Las Vegas alone.”
    And since there are obvious holes in my story, I try to change the subject before she asks me any more questions. “I’m really sorry about your problems. I wish there was something I could do to help.”
    She sort of shakes her head. “I wish there was, too.”
    Then we walk—actually, more like march—through the airport, past glitzy shops and restaurants and slot machines.
    Loads and loads of slot machines.
    And when we get down to the bottom of an escalator, Mrs. McKenze looks around and says, “Well, this is baggage claim. I’d think your mother would be waiting for you here.”
    So we follow her past these big metal luggage carousels, which are mostly just sitting there empty, to one that’s going around and has luggage on it. “This is the one for our flight,” she says, looking at the people hanging near the area. “Do you see her?”
    I walk to the other side of the carousel, checking here and there and all around, and finally I come back and shake my head. “I don’t see her.”
    “Hmm. Well, the two of you wait here for her while I take care of the car rental.” She points across the building. “I’ll be right over there.” Then she gives Marissa a stern look and says, “Do not go anywhere until I get back!”
    The minute she’s gone, Marissa says, “This is insane! What are you planning to do here? How are you going toget around? You don’t even know where your mother’s staying or where they’re getting married or anything? And my dad’s in jail. Jail! If my mom finds out your mom isn’t coming and that you just jumped on a plane, she is going to kill me.”
    “You? Why you?”
    She tilts her head. “
How
did you get to the airport?
Who’s
going along with your crazy scheme? Sammy, there’s no way she’s going to believe I didn’t know anything about this.”
    “So we’ve just got to find my mother.”
    “We?”
    I shrug and look down.
    “Sammy! My dad is in jail, do you get that? We’re having a family crisis! I can’t excuse myself from it to find your ditzy mother!”
    “I know, I know.”
    “So what’s your plan? What are we supposed to do with you?”
    “Nothing. I’ll be fine.”
    She rolls her eyes.
    “Look. I have money. I’ll just get a room.”
    “What if they won’t rent you a room? What if you need a credit card in case of damages?”
    “What?”
    “You know—like you throw the television out the window or rip up the couch.”
    “What?”
    “People do that, you know.”
    “Why?”
    “ ’Cause they think they’re rock stars. ’Cause they’re stupid.”
    “Well, I’m not a rock star and I’m not stupid.”
    “But they don’t
know
that.”
    “Look at me!”
    She eyes my ripped jeans and high-tops. “You could pass for a rock star. Some of them dress like that.”
    “I’m thirteen!”
    “Exactly! And nobody’s going to rent a room to a thirteen-year-old rock star. You would totally destroy the place.”
    “I’m not a rock star!”
    She shrugs. “They don’t know that.”
    I throw my hands in the air. “Good grief.”
    So instead of talking about things that maybe could have helped the situation, Marissa and I argued about dumb stuff like that, and then all of a sudden Mrs. McKenze is back and our time is up.
    “Maybe she’s outside?” Mrs. McKenze asks, and she’s looking pretty frantic.
    So we go to a pickup area outside big glass doors, and after I’ve pretended to scour the sidewalk