A Nose for Adventure Read Online Free

cab,” she says.
    “Well,” says the policeman, rubbing his mustache. “I guess that’s okay. The street doors are … now, let’s see. Which way are they?” He frowns.
    “I know the way out,” says Frieda.
    “Right. Good. Okay, then.”
    The policeman turns to look at me. I open my mouth. I don’t know what I’m going to say, exactly, but I don’t think I’m going to be proud of it. Back home in Cobourg I’d been so sure of myself. “Of course I’ll be okay,” I told my mom. “I’m thirteen,” I told her. “I’m independent. I can manage. Don’t you worry.” Now, I’m the one worrying.
    Before any words leave my mouth, Frieda says, “He can come with me.”
    “Huh?” I say.
    “Great!” says the policeman. He’s relieved. “That’s fine. And if you kids run into trouble, don’t hesitate to, um….” He pauses. Neither of us says anything. “Well, you know where I am. Only I’ll be off duty soon.” He turns, and vanishes back into the corridor.
    “Did you mean it?” I say to Frieda. “About me coming with you?”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “You sure?”
    “I’m sure,” she says, over her shoulder. “Come on, kid, you won’t last a minute on your own. Come to my place. You can wait there.”
    “For the last time, my name’s Alan.”
    “Okay. Alan. Pleased to meet you. Won’t you come to my … to my
hoos
?” she says, with a snicker. She thinks that’s how Canadians say
house
. The way she says it sounds like
howse
.
    “Thank you,” I say.
    “You can hang on to my suitcase,” she says, and sets offinto the crowd. I take one last look for my father, then follow, laboring.
    Actually, there isn’t much labor. I carry my soccer bag over my shoulder, and her suitcase in my hand. Before Frieda has arm-pushed three times and I’ve taken twenty steps, we’re on a moving sidewalk. A perfect vehicle for the big city; you can go fast even when you’re standing still. I put down the bags and rest.
    “So, who’s Beatrice?” I ask. None of my business, I just want to make conversation. “An aunt or something?”
    “She’s my nanny.”
    “Oh.” I’ve never met a kid with a nanny. I started to read a book about one once. The kid was so polite and nice, I wanted to punch him. You know what they say on book covers:
I couldn’t put it down! Well
, I could put that book down all right. And I did.
    “Do you want to phone your nanny?” I say.
    “No,” she says.
    The voice that comes over the loudspeakers in airports and train stations – the voice no one can understand, even if it’s speaking in their own language – tells us about an incoming flight from … home, I think.
Home
is what I hear. Unless it’s
Nome
. Nome is in Alaska, isn’t it? I’m a long way from Nome. Home, too.
    This section of moving sidewalk ends. Two other sidewalks go off from it in two different directions. There’s a sign beside one of them: CLOSED TO PUBLIC – MOVIE EXTRAS THIS WAY . A man with uncombed hair stands beside thesign. His eyes are closed. He’s got a headset and a clipboard. He slurps coffee from a Styrofoam cup.
    “Hey, they’re shooting a movie,” I say to Frieda.
    “Yeah, so?” she says.
    “Right here in the airport. Cool.”
    “Cool? You say that, where you come from? Cool?”
    “I wonder who’s in the movie?”
    “I don’t care.”
    No one else seems to care either. I guess New York is used to movies. I’m not. They shot a made-for-TV movie in Cobourg a few years ago, and we’re still talking about it. My mom and her girlfriends spent an entire weekend walking up and down in front of the set, hoping to get a glimpse of a star who used to model underwear.
    “Watch it, kid!”
    Frieda reaches to push me – hard. Clutching our bags, I stumble out of the way of a motorized cart full of other people’s luggage. The stickers on the bags say LEONARDO DA VINCI AEROGARDE, ROMA, ITALIA . Rome, I guess. Probably what the loudspeaker voice was saying. Not
Home
,