"Oh My Gods" - читать интересную книгу автора (Tera Lynn Childs)

тАЬYeah,тАЭ I say, tossing the curtain panels into Box Four, тАЬitтАЩll have to sustain me for the next year. YouтАЩd think we could at least get satellite on that stupid island.тАЭ

ThereтАЩs not much to do on a ten-and-a-half-hour flight from L.A.

to Paris while your mom is sleeping in the next row of a nearly empty plane. The movie selections were repulsive at best and the 14



line at LAX security was so long I didnтАЩt have time to buy the latest RunnerтАЩs World.

тАЬLadies and gentlemen,тАЭ a French-accented male voice announces,

тАЬwe have begun our final descent into Charles de Gaulle airport and should be on the ground in approximately thirty minutes.тАЭ

That was another thing. Our flight to Athens routed through Paris, but did I get to hop out and see the city of lights? No. We have forty-five minutes to get to our connecting flight and IтАЩll be lucky if I have time to look out the window at the clouds over Paris.

тАЬMadame.тАЭ A flight attendant gently shakes Mom awake. тАЬWe are landing, you must sit up.тАЭ

Mom stretches in a big yawn and manages a sleepy, тАЬMerci.тАЭ

The flight attendant throws me a skeptical lookтАФlike I can help it if Mom sleeps like the deadтАФbut moves on to wake the other sleeping passengers.

I go back to scanning the clouds below for a peek at the Eiffel Tower or the Louvre or something monumental. Even a beret would be acceptable at this point.

тАЬDid you sleep, Phoebe?тАЭ Mom asks as she slips back into the seat next to mine.

No, I want to say, I didnтАЩt sleep. How can I be expected to sleep when IтАЩm crossing an ocean for the first time? Or starting at a new school for the first time since kindergarten? Or landing on foreign soil knowing it will be months, if not longer, before I get back to the land of shopping malls and French friesтАФand donтАЩt even try to trick me with the whole there-are-McDonaldтАЩs-everywhere argument because I know it just wonтАЩt be the same. Not when IтАЩm eating 15



the fries alone and not splitting my large order with Nola and Cesca over a big pile of ketchup.

But, since fighting never got me a new pair of Air Pegasus Nikes, IтАЩm more content to pout than fight. Pouting leads to guilt-induced presentsтАФsome of my best gear came from dedicated pouting sessions. I just shrug and keep my eyes on the clouds.

Maybe I shouldnтАЩt be proud of manipulating Mom this way, but itтАЩs not like she asked me if I wanted to move to the opposite side of the planet. I deserve a little questionable behavior.

тАЬLook, Phoebola.тАЭ

Mom nudges my ribs and points to the other side of the plane.

I want to ignore her, but there is some serious excitement in her voice and I canтАЩt help following the direction of her finger.

Through the tiny oval Plexiglas I can see an expansive city divided by a meandering river.

Ignoring the illuminated FASTEN SEAT BELTS sign, I climb over MomтАЩs knees and slide into the window seat across the aisle.

The flight attendant walks up just as I land and gives me a serious frown. I make a big show of buckling my seat belt, pressing the tab into the slot just like she showed us before takeoff.

Appeased, she moves on to the next row.