Page 2 of Roaming Holiday

Rather than panicking about being thousands of feet in the air with nothing between me and the hard ground, I’m panicking about my life path that has absolutely no traces of light.

“Teach me some Maldanian,” Ruby says as she packs her phone away.

“Oh!” I squeal, reigning in my thoughts. My stepmom may not have given birth to me, but she knows when I need a distraction from anxiety.

I tamp down my bubbling excitement; talking about a language is the quickest way to calm me. I can’t wait to be completely immersed in the Maldanian language. I repeat plenty of basic phrases and give her tips on remembering them. Maia slides off her headphones to practice with us.

I avoid falling into a lesson about the foundations of Maldanian because then I’d lose both completely. “Okay, let’s try a conversation,” I say to Ruby. “Ciao, bueninera. Cómi stara?”

She clears her throat. “Stari bueni, gracea. Ke tu?”

“Bueni, gracea. Tu fimare?”

Ruby opens her mouth, but no words come out. Her gaze wanders as she tries to form a reply. “What does fimare mean again?”

“‘Tu fimare’ asks if you’re hungry.”

She huffs. “This is the extent of my knowledge.”

“That’s okay!” I exclaim. “To help with your accent, remember that it’s almost a perfect blend between Italian and Spanish, with a dash of Greek elements.” The line moves slowly along the jetway, and I eventually drop my duffle on the ground to nudge it ahead. I roll my aching shoulder.

Maia snorts. “Step one of learning Maldanian: master three other languages.”

“You took Spanish in high school,” Dad says to her. “Some of it should come easy to you.”

“Why even try, though? I have a translator right here.” She jabs her thumb in my direction. Languages have always frustrated her to the point of tears. A jetway isn’t the place to lecture my younger sister about her own brilliance. She’s a genius in her own right and doesn’t give herself enough credit. I don’t tell her this. I’ve said it so often that it has less value with each utterance.

I sling an arm around her shoulders. “And I have a botanist to tell me all about the flora in Maldana. Which fruit is edible, which isn’t…”

Dad beams with pride at us. “I’m so proud of you girls.” He releases a sharp breath. “Twenty-four with a master’s in linguistics and twenty-one with a bachelor’s in botany. Wow. I’m the luckiest father.”

“Plant biology,” Maia corrects, blushing, “but I get the sentiment.”

I wouldn’t call it lucky that our combined debt is over 200,000 dollars. And if not for scholarships and financial aid, it would have been much worse. My five-year program lasted six, but stretching it out was worth it.

I look over at Maia and her button nose and high cheeks and remember the weekend she’d visited and demanded I cut my workload. The stress would have killed me; she saw it before I did. Gratitude swells in my chest. I spent my whole life taking care of her, and it feels good to know she takes care of me, too.

“You have your inflatable thing for your back, right?” I ask her.

“Psh, of course. I checked five times before we left.” The vacation would start off horribly if her chronic back pain flared because she didn’t have her proper support. I would have given her my neck pillow and then I would be miserable.

At this point, we reach the plane entrance and step onto the winged tube of death. Maia notices my discomfort. She removes the headphones from her neck and places them over my ears. With a couple of swipes and clicks on her phone, soothing ocean and seagull sounds fill my ears and block out the world. My sister smiles at me, and my anxiety dims.

2

WESLEY

KOSITA, MALDANA

“Why don’t you just stay with me for the summer?”

“Because you have enough on your plate,” I say, folding an arm behind my head. To prove my point, Joey begins crying, and Peanut barks in the background.

Cora huffs and yells off-screen. “Babe!”

I hear John’s distant “I got it,” as my sister focuses on me again.

“Told you,” I say, situating my hand around my phone so I don’t drop it.

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