Chapter 22

I sat in the airport, staring out the window.

I recognized the emotions that were flowing through me.

But at the same time, these were different. I was angry this time, and I knew that no matter what, there was never going to be anything I could do to change what was happening to me. My perfect lives, first in France and then in California, had been taken away from me. And now my parents were going to try and recreate another perfect life for us back in France.

I knew things would be different.

I thought about breaking the news to everyone. Both times.

When I had left France, things were different. So much more phony, we had had a stupid going-away-for-only-a-little-bit party for crying out loud! The people I left behind had moved on quickly, yet pretended they wished I was there.

When I left California, things were hard. The six of us had gotten together and spent the night at my house. Yeah, I know ... a coed sleep over if you want to call it that. But that had been the most amazing night of my life. I had grown so much closer to my best friends, and it made the departure all the harder. When I had left, they had cried, and it had hurt.

I pulled myself out of my pity party when Peter mentioned he was going to get something to eat. I jumped up and joined him. Anything to get away from the truth.

Together, we walked over to the food court. I looked up at him, my brother. The brother who had lost everything. I thought that the journey I had been a part of had been hard. But I realized he was having to withstand even more than I did. Being constantly switched from grade to grade, and having to know new people who were not even his age. Especially this year when we got back to France. He had been supposed to graduate the past year. But he hadn't, because he had been moved back a grade. Now he was going to have to go back to senior year with the people he had looked down to as a year younger than him.

We got a few drinks, some gum of course, a few magazines, and some food. I paid, because Peter was in a daze. I waved my hand in front of his face. He wasn't talking. In fact, he had almost stopped since our parents had announced we were moving back. Finally, I grabbed his arm, and made him look at me.

"Peter, talk to me," I said, looking him straight in the eyes.

He just looked at the ground. "Peter, be mature! You're seventeen! You will have to talk eventually, and now is as good a time as any. Mom and Dad are going to get really fed up with this you know. It's just going to make the transition all the harder. Please Peter."

His eyes told me he understood what I was saying, but still he just stood there.

Without saying anything, he hugged me. I hugged him back, and I felt the tears rushing to my eyes again. I felt a drop of water hit my shoulder and I knew he was crying too. "I miss her," he muttered. I knew he was talking about Hayley.

"I know, come on, we'll talk on the plane." I let go, and quickly whipped away my tears. We tried to laugh together, but it didn't work. I looped an arm through his, and led him back to the gate.

We arrived to find people boarding. The family was waiting for us.

I grabbed my bag, and he grabbed his. I took my last glimpse around the Beverly Hills International Airport as I handed my ticket to the lady standing at the gate. I took what she handed back to me, and walked down the tunnel, trying really hard not to cry.

This time on the plane, Adrienne was the one sitting next to a business man halfway through the giant cup of coffee. He was again preparing for a business trip, but this time the guy next to her didn't speak French and was a golden tan instead of a French paleness. I was sitting next to Peter, thank God. I stuffed my carryon shoulder bag under the seat in front of me, and rested back into my seat, only to reach across Peter and pull up the white thing that covered the window. I looked out at Beverly Hills for the last time. Peter leaned back against his First Class seat and sighed. I knew what was running through his head. He didn't want to leave, just like the rest of us. But at the same time, he had a really deep loss.

My thought cycle was interrupted by Peter pulling out his wallet and flipping it open. I sat up, and buckled my seat belt like the flight attendant in the front was motioning. He slipped a finger into the area where he kept his money, and pulled out a small "wallet sized" photograph. It was Hayley's class picture. On the back, she had written a message. In her delicate, beautiful bubbly handwriting, she wrote: "Peter, I'll never forget you. Love, Hayley."