What Adults Don't See

They’re right behind me.

“Eleanor! Left!”

My best friend shouts from my right. We pound through the maze of tunnels that has become the JFK Airport on the one day a year it’s closed.

“Copy that, Maya!” I pant, the Federal Bureau of Investigation seconds from tackling us.

Just at the point where my lungs are about to burst, Maya and I split. She ducks into a corridor, then bolts down a staircase while I sidestep into the ladies’ room and plunge into the aroma of Febreeze and cheap bleach. The eight FBI agents chasing us part ways, too, with five after me and three hunting Maya. Their guns are out threateningly, but I can tell by the looks on their faces that they’re not ready to shoot two scrawny twelve-year-old girls.

The joke is on them.

The ones pursuing me explode through the flappy bathroom door. All six of them are sweaty and pallid. Their team has spent the last three months tracking down my crew like hunting dogs daring rabbits to race them for the poor creatures’ lives.

Except that we’re not poor, or unfortunate.

Maya and I are legit geniuses.

Not in school. In life. We’ve calculated the next year of our lives down to the last minute. The people we’re working with are shady, mysterious, and sly. But, a week from now, when we act like innocent children and spill the secrets of Cousin Milo’s illegal organization to the cops, they’ll shut it down faster than I could say ‘mother.’ Who is the person we’ll live with, after Milo and her thugs are in prison. My and Maya’s mothers. Both single moms, they were collateral damage when we first started. I miss them with all my heart.

“Stop in the name of the law!” A female agent shrieks as she charges past the stalls. As soon as I had entered the restroom, I knew that their perspiration would be in complete vain. I almost feel badly about it, but then I remember why I’m doing this in the first place.

Eight stalls down,

I think to myself.

Eight stalls down.

The FBI is so close to my flailing form, they probably could reach out and touch the ends of my wavy charcoal hair. The fastest one, a bald Black man, is almost on top of me.

Just two more stalls!

And. . .

YES!!!

I fling myself into the one and slam the door shut, locking it as soon as it glances the wall. I’m relieved, but I know it won’t hold them for long. I stand as tall as I can and slide my hands against the squalid bathroom wallpaper.

“Open up, kid!” A woman barks. “OPEN THIS DOOR OR WE’LL KNOCK IT DOWN!”

A pause, my hands feverishly sweeping the wallpaper.

I could have sworn it was right here!

“Eleanor Mariah Jackson!” Another lady shouts. “We know you’re there! It’s not your fault! Come out, and we’ll fix all this!”

Pleasepleasepleasepleaseplease!

“ENOUGH! We’re coming in!” A deep-voiced man shouts, and, on the count of three, his team knocks down the stall door.

I’m so scared.

Maybe I am just a girl.

Maybe I should turn myself in, forget my and Maya’s plan, just be normal, for once.

Maybe that’s what I would have thought if I was still in the putrid stall.

No. Now I’m halfway to HQ.

I’m creeping through a wasteland of mouse traps, insulation, and splintered wood plates on a narrow platform. If I fall, I will plummet what looks like thirty feet to the ground and die as a pancake.

“There you are!” Maya’s voice bounces off soundproof walls. “I was honestly worried!” She wriggles on a platform parallel to mine, maybe six feet away. We’re on our stomachs–the closer we are to the platform, the less likely we are to fall off it. Awkward as it may be, I’m immensely grateful to see her. “Do you have the rock?”

BANG!

My blood turns cold. My heart starts hammering, and my eyes widen. “Did you do that?”

“No!” Maya whispers. “Eleanor, you don’t think–”

“FREEZE! By order of the Federal Bureau of Investigation, you two are under arrest!” We turn and see no less than twenty agents shoulder to shoulder in the cramped space sporting harnesses and irate expressions.

We’ve been caught.

I know it. She knows it. And the FBI agents definitely know it.

No time to waste.

“Alright!” Maya and I are adroit actresses. She does her best petrified girl expression. “What do y–you to kn–know?” I voluntarily turn my nose and eyes crying-red, and a legit tear rolls down Maya’s rosy cheek. She blubbers: “W–we’ll t–tell you e–everything! P–Please don’t hurt us!”

Youth is our disguise.

Acting is our costume.

And while the first one is a cloak that we will eventually shed, I know from this moment right now that me and my friend will always carry the gift of feigning.

“Oh,” A maternal agent touches a hand to her collarbone. “No, no. Of course we won’t hurt you! We’re just going to need you answer some questions for us.”

Maya and I nod, shivering. The FBI forces us out of the walls, into the deserted airport.

They pat us down. We stole nothing.

They give us water. We drink it.

They ask us questions. We answer them.

All in the back of the van driving us to the police office.

It’s eleven o’clock at night. To all adults, that is way to late for tweens. At the police station, we’re given a room, a notice that there will be a formal inquiry first thing in the morning.

Then they give us more water. We’re not parched, but we drink. Even though it’s evident that they put sleeping pills in it. We both can use a good night’s sleep.

Then we’re alone, save for about a million security cameras scattered around, scanning. Before our eyes close until morning, Maya and I share a secretive smile.

Oh yes.

We know exactly what we’re doing.

Morning comes.

We admit to illegally breaking into the JFK Airport, but deny that it was on our free will.

All in all, it went pretty much how we had planned it, except a week in advance.

A month later, Milo’s organization is busted, we’re ‘innocent’, and the moms are now our legal guardians. There’s some talk about moving into a home together. We’re to start school in the fall again.

Oh! And Maya and I cured cancer.

The whole reason we were in the airport in the first place? To collect a rock. Yes. A very special rock, but a rock nonetheless. Stardom, we’re calling it.

Anyway. Stardom has this almost-magical property. Its molecules boast this perfect c-shape that draws in infected cells and traps them. Becoming oncologists won’t be easy for Maya and me. But nothing in our lives has been easy.

We’re ready.

We’re unstoppable.