Dulles International Airport was packed with people talking in every language from Hindi to Swahili. Women in colorful saris towed their luggage behind them, and Russian men in fur caps walked through the terminal, thick coats at odds with the weather.
I hugged my family goodbye and joined Dr. Crane and Arietta at the gate.
"Take pictures," my mom called.
"Write," dad said.
Mo waved. "Don't get bit by an anaconda!"
I laughed. "I won't. And mom, remember to feed my spiders."
We made our way through security and boarded the Lima Internacional plane. I sat next to Arietta, with Dr. Crane behind us.
Arietta reached into her backpack and brought out two bottles of home-brewed root beer. She handed one to me and uncapped the other for herself. "From dad and my family. We're worried about you, after the mess in London." Arietta shook her head. "I can't believe the angels let that happen. Are you okay?"
