I wrote this piece for Furious Fiction and was longlisted as one of their winners.
Eloise pushed her way closer to the guide—not to hear better, but to rub her stupid elephant backpack in my face. I loved it. It made my stomach clench with jealousy, and she knew it. She was always showing it off, with a half-smile directed at me. Followed by a hair flick. That bitch.
“Fifteen. Sixteen. Why do I see seventeen of you when there should be eighteen?”
“Sandy has wandered off, Miss.”
“Everyone, keep an eye out. I can’t lose another one.”
I hope they sack you, this time. Ms Yellow is way nicer.
Miss Day asked some of us to look for Sandy while the rest continued the tour.
I trudged along, thirsty and sluggish from the relentless heat.
“…and this is just a small fraction of the planes that would come in. This airport would have been used by hundreds if not thousands of people.”
The front of a decaying plane sat facing away from us—creamy and sharp-edged like a bird-less eggshell I’d seen in a book.
Miss Day and the others cupped their hands around their mouths and called for Sandy.
Eloise retrieved something invisible from her elephant backpack, zipped it up and returned it to her shoulders, completing the action with that smile aimed at me. The back of my neck prickled.
“…it wasn’t just people from here that used this airport. This was an essential port for trade and supplies. International fliers. That means they were from all over the world.”
Children weren’t eligible for the watches, but we’d learnt the sun directly above us meant lunchtime was soon. I just had to get through the tour. My brother had warned me it was boring. He was right. Old planes are lame.
“What if she’s had an accident in one of the old planes?” fretted Miss Day.
Then it would be bye-bye Miss Day and hello Miss Yellow. Sorry, Sandy. Your death would not be in vain.
“I’m sure Sandy will be fine – and over here is where they’d store the planes. A hangar.”
I kicked a pebble on the dusty ground.
The dry desert wind drowned out the persistent shouts for Sandy. But a distant reply sounded from behind one of the crusty eggshells.
“I’m here, Miss.”
“Sandy!” Miss Day embraced her student. Sandy looked over the teacher’s shoulder and grimaced as some of the class made smooching faces, teasing their classmate.
“Now that we’re all accounted for, I’ll carry on. As I was saying, these planes really were an engineering marvel. Our best minds today still aren’t quite sure how they worked, but they’ll figure it out one day. It’s hard to imagine now, but our ancestors could fly in the sky—anywhere in the world.”
Some of the group gasped.
“Isn’t that fascinating, class?” Miss Day asked rhetorically. “Next week’s history lesson on the before times, we’ll learn about cities, farms, and what they were.”
I yawned and checked the sun, wondering how many minutes until lunch.