49. The departure.

"Which terminal?" the driver asked, as they drew near JFK. Nan felt another stab of apprehension.

"That one," Sid said, pointing to a sign organized with colorful letters. "Terminal B."

The sign revealed little, but Nan had an idea of what was to happen next. She didn't want to bring it up in front of the cab driver for some reason, and waited until they were on the curb. The conversation festered inside of her. She had just enough money with her to get them home from the airport on the train, but it would take forever.

"Right here," Sid said. The cab driver glanced back again, wondering why they didn't have any luggage. They didn't look particularly rich, but American kids these days all looked poor. Who were they? How did the boy know what he knew?

They got out, and the cab sped away. The driver hadn’t even asked for money.

"Sid," Nan started.

"Yes?"

"Not only do we not have any money, I don't have my passport or anything. Where do you want to go? These are all international departures."

"Of course they are. Here, let's go in."

Nan struggled, then decided to just go along with it. They walked through the glass doors, through the cloud of smoke where the smokers were having their last cigarettes before entering the terminal. Nan felt strange going in without any bags. She hadn't been on planes much--mostly a few trips to Europe and one ill-fated jaunt to Cancun her freshman year, plus a couple of domestic flights--but she knew the airport rituals as well as anyone.

She followed Sid to the ticketing counter, where an attendant was looking down at her computer terminal, tapping away at its keys.