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CHAPTER ONE
“Please, don’t freak out.”
“They can’t sit near us.” BamBam’s voice echoed through the entire airport terminal, drowning out my whispered plea for calm.
“It’s not a big deal, Bam—” I caught my grandma’s warning look and switched to her Public Grandma Name, hoping it would magically make her less inclined to turn into a cartoon villain. “Mini, it’s not like she’s sitting next to you.”
“How do you know that?” BamBam growled.
I glanced down at my shoes, unsure if this was a real inquiry or one of my grandma’s world-famous rhetorical questions, designed to get you in trouble. BamBam was a lot of things: a popular #Granfluencer, expert in all things over-fifty fashion and beauty, Chicago area reigning pai gow poker champion, and my biggest fan. What she wasn’t was patient. BamBam suffered fools with about as much grace as a panda in a packed space. After a beat, I decided to take a risk and answer the question. “Statistical probability. There will be hundreds of people on this plane. That, and I’m already in the middle seat.”
“Probability, my foot.” BamBam used her I’m-in-public curse, then snatched up her purse and grabbed the handle of her roller bag. “Out of all the flights leaving Chicago O’Hare, of course she would choose mine.”
So much for calming her down. Exhaling slowly, I tried not to notice that people were staring. More specifically, the two people who had just gotten off the moving walkway. I could almost feel Buzzy Timmons’s eyes burning into me as I hurried to keep up with my grandma.
“Jamie, come here, please. This nice young person needs to see your ticket.” I walked the last few feet over to where BamBam stood laying on the charm with the airline attendant, her slight Alabama accent thick as honey when she was trying to get her way. BamBam winked and smiled at the haggard gate agent as I held out my phone for them to see my boarding pass. “Isn’t it lovely? We were able to upgrade our tickets to first class. This young person is giving us a deal, too. And while you can’t have champagne, you know I’ll have a glass.”
“I think my mama would be disappointed in me if I didn’t give Ms. Mini the very best.” The gate agent smiled.
“Well, Jamie here will have to take a picture of us. You can text it to your mama when we’re done. And you tell her hi from me.” BamBam laughed, and I almost groaned. Of course someone at the airline would be a fan of Ms. Mini’s Makeup Counter. While they chatted, I peered over my shoulder toward the source of our problems.
Buzzy Timmons, sworn enemy of my grandma and a fellow #Granfluencer from Chicago, was engaged in what looked like the same not-that-woman process with her grandson, albeit in a more passive-aggressive fashion. Her gray hair was pulled back by a large fabric bow as she furiously pecked at her phone with one finger. Her coral-colored sweater was wrapped around her shoulders like she was a country-club tennis pro, perfectly matching the suitcase set that her grandson, Ethan, was trying to drag off the walkway toward a row of seats far away from us. I couldn’t see much of him from where I stood, but he seemed different from the last time we’d crossed paths. Taller, maybe?
Buzzy’s expression grew pleased, and she said something I couldn’t make out; then both of them turned in our direction. My whole face got hot as my eyes shot down to inspect the carpet. I was praying they hadn’t caught me staring. Not that I was staring. I totally wasn’t. More like trying to memorize what this grown-up Ethan looked like for self-preservation purposes. I hadn’t seen him in at least three years. Back then, he’d been almost the same height as me and skinny, with a close-cropped haircut. If he and Buzzy were going to be at TrendCon this week, I needed to know who to steer clear of or risk getting caught in the cross fire. That was the only reason I was looking. Obviously.
“Jamie, can you take a picture for us?” BamBam’s voice rang out as if she were making a flight announcement for the terminal.
“Um . . . sure,” I said, hoping the color had left my cheeks. Stepping forward, I took the gate attendant’s phone and began snapping photos, changing my angle slightly to crop other people out of the picture and mitigate the shine coming from the fluorescent lighting. I could tell BamBam was getting impatient, but she’d be grateful later when this person, or their mom, posted these online.
“And maybe a quick video? You could say that line? My mom thinks it’s so funny. She is always quoting you,” the gate attendant said.
“Of course, honey. What’s your mama’s name?”
“Sherry.”
“Got it.” BamBam nodded at me, and I quickly switched the phone to video, then gave her a thumbs-up so she knew I was ready to record. Pulling her shoulders back, BamBam winked at the camera, then said, “Sherry, I’m here with your baby, and I heard you’re a fan. Real Bad Mama Jamas recognize each other. We’ve both been fine since your kid was in pajamas. Stay bad, Sherry.” BamBam blew the phone a kiss as she delivered her signature catchphrase Stay Bad, then laughed as I cut the video off.
“Here you go.” I adjusted my baseball cap and pushed my long braid over my shoulder before handing the phone back to the gate agent. “Hopefully, one of those pictures will work.”
“Oh, they will,” BamBam crooned. “Jamie doesn’t like when I brag, but she is very good with cameras.”
“Well, thank you,” the gate agent said, waving the phone in my general direction. “Ms. Mini, you just sit right there until we start calling first class to board.”
“Thank you,” BamBam said, honey still coating her words. Winking at me, she tilted her chin up, then began strutting toward an open chair. Once we were out of earshot, she whispered, “That two-bit, wannabe-me, knockoff Buzzy can enjoy herself at the back of the plane. We’re getting leg room.”
While BamBam cackled over her victory, I glanced back at Buzzy and Ethan. Buzzy was grinning at Ethan and holding on to his arm as they walked toward where he’d stashed their carry-on suitcases. I wondered if he still had freckles or if he’d outgrown them . . .
Not that I needed that information. I gave my head a little shake. BamBam had her reading glasses on and mini-keyboard out. Her phone screen was blown up, so I could see her answering fan questions on her most recent video, about removing makeup stains from white shirts without bleach.
Without glancing up, BamBam asked, “So did you look at that list I sent you? What’d you think?”
BamBam had recently decided it was time for her to reach a younger audience. As she put it, there was more money in marketing to young people without money than there was in marketing to women over fifty who got money.’ When she’d been invited to be on the Silver Influencers panel at TrendCon, the biggest content creator’s convention of the year, she’d taken it as a sign that it was time to start collaborating with more beauty influencers who were closer to my age. In true BamBam fashion, she’d spent the week before the con studying the videos of younger beauty creators and whittling her top-tier “to work with” list down to six names. One of them, Sterling James, was also a Chicago-based influencer. If only he were on the plane instead of Buzzy . . .
“I think any of them could be good. Except that Jackie person who does Halloween makeup.”
“You don’t think that could be fun for me?”
“On Halloween maybe? Goth girl is not your vibe, BamBam.” I laughed.
“If you say so.” She shrugged and looked up over her bifocals at me. “So, you’ll do a bit of scouting when we land? Try to make some new friends for your grandma?”
Technically, this was a question, but I didn’t dare answer no. She considered it part of my job to track these creators down and speak to my “fellow young people” until we met someone it made sense for her to collaborate with. Never mind that I personally knew almost nothing about beauty. Not to mention no one knew who I was, which was how I liked it.
“Yup.” I nodded.
“That’s my girl.” BamBam smiled and turned back to her keyboard.
I sighed and started digging through my bag for my laptop. I’d shot some footage of BamBam going around the airport so I could do a travel recap of her getting to TrendCon. Might as well start editing it now. Sticking on my headphones, I put on the soundtrack to one of my current favorite movies, Direct Mail, and got to work, hoping the magic of the music would inspire me to do something new and cool with otherwise mundane images of moving walkways and BamBam’s cheetah-print jacket.
“What?” I nearly dropped my laptop when BamBam tapped me on the shoulder, startling me out of my concentration.
Waiting for me to take my headphones off, she smirked. “Time to go.”
“Oh.” I looked over at the boarding line. The gate agent was already scanning in an early-boarding family. “That didn’t take long.”
“It took twenty-five minutes. You were just focused.” BamBam waved her hand in a hurry-it-up gesture, but she was smiling. My grandma was about the only person in the family who didn’t really care how much time I lost trying to get an edit right.
Leaving my headphones around my neck, I slipped my laptop back into my backpack and stood just as the attendant started the call for our group.
“Hurry up. I want Buzzy to have plenty of time to see me in line.” BamBam cackled. “That upgrade cost me a vital organ, but it’ll be worth it to see her face.”
“Maybe we should get really obnoxious luxury luggage next time. Go full-on flashy.” Despite promising myself that I was not going to encourage this stupid rivalry, I giggled.
“You get me to one million followers on YouTube, and then we’ll talk.” BamBam smirked at me until something over my shoulder caught her eye. All the humor left her face, and she suddenly looked like she smelled something foul.
“Once again, now boarding our Group One passengers. That’s those passengers seated—”
“Oh hell no.” BamBam’s voice cut through the announcement, and my heart stopped.
In the movies, moments like this were in slow motion so the audience had time to recognize the horror of an impending train wreck. I would have killed for even an extra thirty seconds to process the sight of Buzzy and Ethan walking toward us. Buzzy’s expression as sour as BamBam’s. Next to her, Ethan was furiously whispering something that looked like It’s not a big deal over and over.
“BamBam, get in line first.” I nudged my grandmother forward and prayed that a one-person buffer would be enough to keep the two of them civil during the boarding process.
“I’m Mini, remember,” BamBam said as she strutted to the front of the line with far more speed than one would expect a sixty-seven-year-old to have.
“Right. Well, Mini, keep it cool, okay?”
“Baby, I’m always cool. Unlike some people.” BamBam fished a pair of sunglasses out of her purse pocket and put them on, then turned to face forward in the most dramatic fashion humanly possible right as Ethan and Buzzy approached.
“Grammy, why don’t you let me go first so I can deal with all the luggage?” Ethan stepped in line directly behind me, clearly sharing my body-block strategy.
“Of course, darling. I have such a thoughtful grandson.” Buzzy beamed at him, her voice loud enough for BamBam and half the airport to hear. Sounding like she’d been asked to eat nails, she added, “Hello, Mini. Funny running into you here.”
“Hi, Buzzy. Small world, isn’t it?” BamBam turned as if startled that anyone behind her would have the impunity to speak to her. My grandmother’s voice had the tone of someone who would rather drink motor oil than exchange niceties with this person. To me, she said, “Jamie, make sure you have your boarding pass ready,” then marched toward the gate agent, who hadn’t asked her to step forward.
“Nice to see you again,” I said to Buzzy, my expression somewhere between a smile and a grimace. At the rate things were going, this would be the most awkward flight in the history of aviation. To her credit, Buzzy glanced at me with more pity than disdain, which, while not exactly how I wanted anyone to think of me, was good enough for now. I nodded in Ethan’s general direction and avoided eye contact. Talking to him was a bad idea for about 453 different reasons, not the least of which was that I’m not the most extroverted person. If I was going to make awkward small talk with anyone, it would absolutely not be the grandson of Buzzy Timmons.
Turning away, I scanned my boarding pass, then hustled to catch up to BamBam, who was already halfway down the jet bridge.
“She always has to copy me,” BamBam said through gritted teeth. “That woman has never had an original idea in her entire life.”
Part of me wanted to point out that, for all BamBam knew, Buzzy had booked her first-class tickets months in advance. She probably thought BamBam had copied her. Not that I’d ever say that to BamBam. I value my life.
The smell of recycled airplane air interrupted my thoughts, and I stopped just short of walking right into BamBam. The family that had boarded in front of us was trying desperately to herd two toddler twins down the aisle with little success. Instead, the tots kept pausing to wave at literally the entire plane, including empty seats and each other.
BamBam started waving back, which made the twins wave harder. My grandma loved kids. And unlike the twins’ parents, BamBam had no qualms about holding up an entire plane, so it could be a while before we made it to row six. I smiled, then took out my phone to text my parents that we were boarding our flight.
“ ‘Come to Vegas,’ they said. ‘It’ll be fun,’ they said.” A low voice came from over my shoulder, startling me. Leaving my text unsent, I whipped my head around to find Ethan, half a smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “You got suckered into this, too?”
His mop of sandy-brown hair curled at the edges, just a little too long, so it framed his pale face and hung in his eyes when he looked down at me. He’d gotten taller and filled out, the once-gangly line of his shoulders replaced by muscle. His face was still round, but the edges of his jaw and cheekbones had sharpened. Even with his eyebrows raised at our precarious situation, there was no other way to put it: Ethan had gotten hot.
