Mindstorms

PACIFIC RIM Your escape begins here. The sign on the door of the travel agency screams out the words in bold purple letters. I want to believe it, because escape is something I desperately need. So does Mom. Ever since Dad left, Mom's been going on and on about taking a real vacation. Europe maybe, or an African safari. "I want to do something on the edge," Mom keeps saying, "something special." I'm all for it. After all, I've lived my whole life in Phoenix, and the farthest away I've ever been was a vacation in Disneyland, which wasn't too adventurous, if you know what I mean. So anything that involves passports and places where they don't speak English would be the best thing as far as I'm concerned. So Mom and I walk into the travel agency, all wide-eyed and gawking, ready to see the world. The place makes me feel like we're already on vacation. Colorful balloons are suspended everywhere, and loud Caribbean music fills the air with such a contagious beat that I feel like doing the limbo. The staff are all wearing bright Hawaiian shirts, and the walls are plastered with exotic destinations so beautiful that I want to visit every single one of them. A woman with perfect hair, perfect, teeth, and earrings much too big steps up to greet us. "Welcome to Lifetime Travel," she purrs. "How can I help you?" "We want a vacation," my mom says. "Somethingdifferent." The travel agent snaps open a drawer and pulls out one brochure after another. "How many will be traveling?" My mom tries to hide the pain the question brings, but her pursed lips and sorrowful eyes tell all. "Just me and my son, right, Alex?" I force a weak smile, and the woman looks away. She can't know all the things that happened between Mom and Dad before he left, but she knows enough not to ask any more questions. I suppose she dealt with shattered families like ours before, trying to find a vacation that will somehow, magically, fix everything. The travel agent fans out the brochures like they're an oversized deck of cards, babbling on about prices and meal plansbut I can tell Mom's not listening. Something's caught her eye. There on the corner of the desk, a brochure sticks outsomething the woman didn't seem anxious to show us. There's enough of it visible to show the bow of a boat. Mom pulls it out from beneath the pile. On the cover is a cruise ship, tall and wide, with a least a dozen decks. It's a magnificent thing, with a shiny white hull and ocean-green portholes. Bright letters across the top of the brochure read pacific rim cruises. The name of the ship is theHeavenward. The pages of the brochure are filled with happy people swimming and dancing and eating, in a kind of splendor I can barely even imagine. The travel agent eyes us warily. "Oh, you don't want that," she says, waving it off. "It's...uh...out of your price range." My mother snaps her eyes up. "How wouldyouknow what our price range is?" "Well...uh...I mean, I just don'trecommendit." She quickly digs into another drawer. "If it's cruises you want, I can book you on dozens of others." But Mom holds her ground. "Tell us about this one." The woman looks to Mom, then to me, then reluctantly begins to speak as Mom and I leaf through the brochure. "TheHeavenwardis a new ship," says the woman, "from a new and inexperienced cruiShusterman, Neal is the author of 'Mindstorms', published 2002 under ISBN 9780765341891 and ISBN 0765341891.