The cab ride was entirely silent, except for the driver's occasional attempts at conversation. When he saw that both boys in his back seat were unwilling to talk, he gave up and listened to the calls coming in over his intercom system.

The day was gray and cold, and while Neil had grabbed a jacket from his house before the cab arrived, Eric hadn't had the chance to get his coat from his school locker. So he was shivering from the dampness in the air, which the cab's heating system couldn't seem to get rid of. Eric was frantically going over all the things he was lacking. In his school bag, he'd had two changes of clothes, some snacks, a wad of cash he'd saved up since his seventh birthday, and a travel guide on Ireland. He'd also, of course, had a coat. Now, he had absolutely nothing except his parents' credit card and his passport. On one hand, it was nice not to be burdened with luggage. On the other, he felt certain that he'd be lost without the things he'd planned on bringing. He felt lost already.

Neil, however, was feeling rather exhilarated. Even freaking out teachers on Friday with the red line around his neck paled in comparison to what he was doing now. This would top anything he'd done in the past or had planned on doing in the future. This would get people's attention. Especially—he hoped—his father's. He hoped his dad flipped out. He pictured the man's face, gaping mouth and goggling eyes, his bottom lip moving slightly up and down as he searched for words. And the image of that bottle smashing onto the floor again. It was a great picture. Neil would've kept it in his head forever if he hadn't been yanked away from it by Eric's voice telling him to get out of the cab.

They'd arrived at the airport. Neil had never been to it before. He stared at the busyness of the place, wondering suddenly whether they'd be found out before anything interesting happened.

But Eric knew what he was doing. He'd been on several trips with his parents in the past, and he was good at finding his way around large buildings. He had an innate sense of direction—or at least, that was what his mother told him. She'd always said that he could be stuck in the middle of a dark forest at night and automatically find his way out of it. Remembering that, he felt better about not having his Ireland guidebook with him. He was good with directions. He'd be all right without a map.

"Come on," he said, motioning for Neil to follow him inside after the orange-haired boy had paid the cab driver.

Check-in was easy enough. They retrieved their tickets from the automated ticket machine. All Eric had to do was swipe his parents' credit card and out came the tickets. Neil seemed impressed by the simplicity of it. Eric had to sigh. No doubt such a device would seem incredible to a second-year-eighth-grader moron.

Then they made their way through security, showing their passports and tickets as they went. Eric had no trouble getting through the security check, but Neil seemed to have enough metal on him to set off the detectors for twenty years without break. He was made to empty every pocket in his pants (a feat which took nearly fifteen minutes in itself, seeing as his pants had about thirty pockets in them), remove his flame-painted shoes, and then take off his jewelry. The safety-pin necklace, the earring on the upper portion of his ear, and a massive belt he was wearing that happened to have dog-collar-like spikes poking out if it all around his waist. The security guards weren't looking too nicely at him by the time he finally made it through without setting off any beeping. A nice, long line of aggravated people had formed behind Neil, but he didn't care; in fact, he seemed to be enjoying the attention he was getting, as was evident by the crooked smirk he wore as he rearranged all of his paraphernalia.

Eric could only sigh, shake his head, and pretend he didn't know the guy.

When they reached their gate (with a good several hours to wait before their flight began boarding), the boys split off from one another. Neil didn't want to be around a geeky little hypochondriac, and Eric didn't have any desire to be associated with a Gothic Neanderthal. So they avoided each other entirely. It was easy to do. The airport was crowded, and the terminal was long. Eric, being somewhat paranoid and a bit of a perfectionist, decided to park himself at the gate and wait there. It was a long time until boarding began, but Eric didn't care. He wanted to be in the right place at the right time. Neil, however, couldn't sit still for more than about twenty minutes at a time. Plus, he didn't want to be around the little blond kid if he didn't have to. So he made up his mind to wander up and down the terminal. That way, he could occupy his time and mind with watching people and wandering in and out of the stores selling souvenirs and duty-free items. And when that got boring, he used some of his spare change to get a coffee, which he'd grown to love after having to make it for his father most mornings.

Their avoidance worked relatively well during their long wait. They only ran into each other once, on accident, when both of them had to go to the bathroom. But when Neil actually boarded the plane (Eric was on way ahead of him, having procured a spot at the front of the boarding line) and realized with the help of a stewardess that he was going to have to sit next to Eric for the flight, he shook his head.

"Forget it, lady!" he said, rather too loudly for Eric's comfort. "I'm not sitting by that nerd for seven hours or whatever. Make him sit there." And he pointed to a bewildered old man in the row behind.

The stewardess explained (kindly, at first, and then a bit irritatedly, after Neil's second protest) that the number on his ticket was the number of the seat he had to sit in. If he didn't want to sit there, maybe he should get off the plane. So, grumbling and scowling, Neil climbed across the person sitting in the aisle seat and planted himself in one of the middle chairs, next to Eric, who refused to look at him.

"What's going on, blondie?" Neil snidely remarked, elbowing the kid in the shoulder.

Eric's face pinched together, like he'd just tasted something really sour. Then he shook his mouth loose and replied quick and quietly, "Why don't we make this more comfortable for both of us and refrain from speech?"

Neil rolled his eyes. "Whatever. Sounds good to me."

And they left it at that.

Settling himself back into his chair, Neil tried to get comfortable. He was tall for his age, and the seat in front of him was practically on top of his lap. There was no room for stretching out. If he had to go to the bathroom or get up, he'd have to crawl over the overweight woman in the aisle seat (who was already hogging the armrest and a third of his space as it was). The only decent thing about his position was the small TV screen in front of him, in the chair back. They'd show a movie, and that would occupy his brain so he didn't have to keep it plastered on his lack of comfort.

Everything calmed on the plane. People found their seats. Luggage bins were loaded and shut. The TV's came on and showed something about safety. As Neil watched the program, he secretly tried to absorb every mote of information. Where the exits were, what to do if they lost cabin pressure and that mask thing came down. "Always assure your own mask is appropriately on and working before assisting anyone else," said the voiceover, and Neil snickered at the thought of trying to help the wuss next to him get his oxygen mask on properly. What he didn't pick up on right away was the fact that, as he watched the video screen, and as the plane's engines began to rev, a kernel of panic started to roast in his belly. There's a lifesaver under my seat . . . the cushion is a flotation device . . . his head said inside when he recalled that they were going to cross the Atlantic Ocean. Images of flames and being stranded on a boat with Eric for weeks in the middle of the ocean flashed across his mind, and he nearly let his fear show on his face. Real panic was beginning to emerge in Neil. Why was he so freaked about being on a plane? He really couldn't figure it out, but there it was: that was definitely a sickening panic in his stomach.

To try and hide his fear, the redhead yanked the airplane sickness bag out of the seat in front of him and tossed it into Eric's lap. "You might be needing that," he sneered. "Little guy like you . . . understandable if you've got to barf."

Eric, having looked up from his reading when the paper bag fell onto the in-flight catalog he was perusing, bitterly shot back, "My stomach lining is perfectly capable of dealing with an air journey. You, on the other hand, are looking a bit green in the face." He flicked the bag onto the floor with his finger and took up reading again.

Had his panic really showed? Was his face really beginning to look a bit green? Neil instinctively touched his cheeks, but then he realized that Eric had probably just been trying to annoy him. Everything was fine. Everything was going to be great. Smooth. Calm. Neil closed his eyes, sat back in his chair, breathed in and out, just like he was trying to take a pre-departure nap, and the plane continued to glide slowly toward the runway. Everything . . . was . . . fine . . .

The cabin lights went off. Neil's eyes popped open. His breath faltered. Why were the lights off? Who turned off the lights in the plane? He'd read articles before about airplanes blowing up before leaving the runway. Before even getting fifty yards into the air. Something must be wrong! There was no electricity . . . or an engine had died! Or something! But no—everyone around him seemed totally fine. Nobody was freaking out or looking around wildly, as he was. He caught Eric's questioning eye and quickly turned away. There was no way he wanted that kid to know how he felt. Neil never got so panicked over things! Sometimes he was afraid of his father, but that was it! Nothing else ever bothered him! And now some stupid flight was about to send him screaming down the aisle? He couldn't let that happen.

Back against the seat. Closed eyes. You're fine. You're ok. You're in your bed, on a Saturday morning. Neil forced his thoughts onto something happier. Saturday mornings, when he could just lie in bed for hours, were the best times of his life. He tried to picture himself in his bed. Feel the comforter around him, the pillow against his face. No sound from his slumbering father, who was probably downstairs in his chair, passed out or just waking up with a hangover . . . at least it would be some while before Neil would have to go down and put on a pot of coffee . . .

The engines got louder. The plane moved faster . . . faster . . . faster . . . and then, Neil felt his stomach jolt to the back of his body. The plane tilted upward at the nose. Neil squeezed his eyes tighter. Flames and chunks of twisted metal tried to shatter the image of his bedroom, but he held strong. Saturday morning. Saturday morning. Saturday morning. He repeated the phrase over and over in his mind. It became his mantra during those first several minutes of takeoff, and he continued to repeat it to himself each time he began to feel panicked during the long flight to Dublin.

The flight wasn't that bad, all things considered. Once Neil got over the initial shock of takeoff and figured out how to work the little TV screen in front of his face, he immersed himself in a couple of movies and ate the food that the airline fed him. He didn't bother trying to sleep (much to Eric's annoyance, because he kept his light on and purposely laughed aloud at funny parts in the movies). And he had a great time forcing Eric to move the seven times he claimed to have to pee (because the overweight woman on his other side was too asleep to budge). About five hours into the flight, though, someone stunk up the bathroom, which they were pretty close to, and Neil suddenly stopped having to go, loudly proclaiming that Eric should have waited until they got off the plane to do a two, which caused the blond to turn a mortified shade of fuchsia.

Eric, on his part, was regretting having Neil there more and more with each passing minute. He wanted to sleep in order to try to keep his internal clock on track and certainly had not taken a dump in the filthiness of the airplane's bathroom. He knew Neil was really looking for methods of irritating him, and the delinquent was doing a great job of finding them. Eric was easily annoyed anyhow, and the fact that he was heading off into the unknown with some jerk who'd bullied him into bringing him along didn't help his bad-tempered mood any. During the entire flight, he did his best to block Neil and his nerves from his mind by listening to headphones and attempting sleep.

Overall, the ride was uneventful, and when the plane bumped to a stop on the Dublin airport runway, the two boys were more than ready to get off.

"We're there," Eric muttered, half to himself and half to no one in particular (certainly not half to Neil, at any rate).

"Don't talk to me," retorted the orange-haired boy. "You have some serious morning breath."

Eric simmered. "Yeah?" he snapped. "Well maybe if you'd let me get my things before you dragged me from school, I'd be able to brush my teeth!" Despite his snarly reply, he became severely conscious of his breath after Neil's comment and wouldn't even thank the pilot as he exited the plane.

The two left the plank and entered the airport, where they both suddenly seemed to realize how far from home they were. Neil sort of stopped when he got into the terminal. He looked around, and it dawned on him that he had no real plan. He didn't know where to go, or how to get there, or what to do when he got to wherever he decided to go. In a way, it was freeing to feel so blank. But it was also a little scary.

Eric, at least, had a goal. He'd planned a course of action before buying his plane ticket. He, unlike Neil, had come to Ireland for more of a reason than just because he felt like it. The first thing he needed to do, he knew, was get some local currency. So he started walking with two purposes—getting cash, and losing his baggage: Neil.

The terminal was a bit crowded, and Neil, who'd been looking around disinterestedly, turned just in time to see his little blond acquaintance disappear into a group of people. "Hey!" he called, enjoying the stares he received. He bolted in the direction he'd seen Eric go and scanned the people for a blond buzz cut. It wasn't hard to find the kid. When he caught up to him, he yanked hard on his arm. "Quit trying to lose me; it won't work."

Eric pulled his arm out of Neil's grip. He rubbed his sore shoulder, angry at nearly having it dislocated. "I couldn't lose you if I tried! Your pants make more noise than a tin can full of nails with all that stupid metal on them. What's the problem?" he added in a calmer, sneakier tone. "Are you scared of having to fend for yourself?"

"No," Neil immediately blurted.

Eric crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, right. Admit it—you have no idea what to do or where to go. What did you expect when we got here? For me to just say, Sure! Come with me and live off my parents' hard-earned cash! Geez. You flunkees are so dumb it kills me."

Glowering at the boy opposite him, Neil felt real loathing. This kid had no idea what he was talking about. He was assuming more than was good for him. Darkly, he said, "You seem to think I'm too stupid to figure out things for myself."

"Yes, that's obvious," quipped Eric, getting nervous at the look that had crept across Neil's face. He was about to take back what he'd said, but his mouth went suddenly dry.

Neil displayed an acidic smile. "Fine. I don't need you, that's for sure. Good riddance." He turned and headed toward a sign reading TAXI.

Eric just watched him go, then continued on his own way, trying to ignore the strange sliver of disquiet that had just formed in him.

Unlike his obnoxious schoolmate, Neil didn't even want to figure things out. He was beginning to like the idea of having absolutely no plans. He'd never felt more free in his life! Although he didn't know that much about Ireland, he did know that the capital was Dublin, that they drank a sort of black beer called Guinness, and that it was where leprechauns came from. St. Patrick's Day festivities back home hadn't taught him much. One March 17th, before his mother had left, he'd gone into downtown Chicago with his parents. They'd dyed the Chicago river bright green, and the memory of it still stuck vividly in his mind. There'd been a parade, and he and his family had gone to some Irish-pub-themed restaurant for lunch. It'd been freezing cold, too—that he definitely remembered. Hopefully, Ireland wouldn't be as chilly as the windy city.

After locating a money exchange and changing some US Dollars over for Euros, the boy left the airport and found that, to his slight annoyance, the weather was cold, misty, and gray. He'd probably need to go somewhere and buy a coat and hat, but he didn't want to make that a mission. Plan? Who needed one. He'd wander the city, take in its sights and sounds, talk to some locals, sample a pub, find some coffee shop, slink around the cobblestoned alleys—really experience the place. If he came across some outerwear store in the process, he'd get what he needed to stay warm. Hailing a cab, Neil jumped in and directed it to Dublin, feeling, for the first time in years, kind of excited.

Neil was hopping into his cab before Eric had even found an ATM. The blond liked to take his time and be precise in everything he did. Sometimes he even fancied he had a bit of an obsessive-compulsive inclination when it came to details. He was scrupulous in everything he did, except, he realized with a shudder, watching out for Neanderthals in the library.

Making sure he'd pulled out enough currency to last him over the next several days, Eric then spoke with an information person about various stats, including what the weather was going to be like during his stay, the Euro/Dollar exchange rate, and the best way to get to Dublin from the airport. During it all, he was, as always, able to keep his calm, self-possessed attitude on the outside, so he was unsure why he was experiencing some inner turmoil. He didn't feel bad about Neil, that was for certain. There was no way he'd lower himself to feeling bad about a jerk like that. Besides, he'd wanted to come to Ireland alone anyhow, as he'd somewhat explained to his parents in the short note he'd left on his pillow and which they'd probably read by now. So he was definitely not afraid of being on his own. He was entirely independent.

And then it hit him, just as he was walking toward the airport toilet so he wouldn't feel uncomfortable in the cab ride to Dublin: he felt responsible for Neil. As bizarre as that was, it was true. Eric couldn't help feeling as if it was his responsibility to keep track of the guy. It wasn't so much because he felt sorry for him; it was more because he was afraid he'd unleashed a demon upon the Irish. If Neil did anything wrong, or if anything serious happened to him, Eric would feel loads of terrible guilt and would no doubt be given some of the blame for whatever had gone on. It would all come back to the fact that he'd purchased a ticket for Neil and not told anyone about it.

Did feeling sickly responsible for Neil mean that he wanted to go find the brute, though? Definitely not. Eric felt guilty, but he wasn't about to hunt the monster down. He was somewhat contented, now that he at least understood his inner turmoil. Neil was gone. Later, he'd get into trouble for forcing Eric to buy him a plane ticket and drag him along to Ireland. Everything would work out in the end. It was all good. Sure, Eric didn't have much in the way of luggage and toiletries, but he'd do what he came to do and then let his parents find him and believe it had all been the delinquent's fault.

He left the airport and searched for an empty cab. It was Saturday morning, and a dreary one at that, but Eric was entirely assured that everything was going to be just fine.