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Elsa said. “An oyster girl. I knew it. We’ll get along.”
    There were a few minutes of concentrated pizza-eating after this bizarre interlude. It was good pizza. The crust was thin, and the cheese was smoky. There were large leaves of fresh, peppery basil on top. After eight hours on an airplane, during which she’d only had a greasy (and small) chicken casserole and a wilted salad (the cause of the ranch-dressing incident), this pizza was heaven. Clio had to stop herself from eating too fast and searing the inside of her mouth. She carefully sliced the pizza into tiny bites.
    Aidan wasn’t taking the same precautions. Clio looked up to find that he had sliced his into two halves, folded them, and eaten them in about five bites each, washing each one down with a swig of his Coke. The whole thing was over before Clio had even started into hers properly.
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    “You’re the girl from the Dive! box,” he said, pushing his plate away.
    It had been a long time since Clio had been called the girl from the box, but she couldn’t deny it. She’d been featured on the box of the board game and the spin-off video games.
    “When I was twelve,” she corrected him. “It’s not me anymore.”
    There was an announcement in Italian. Elsa perked up.
    “That’s us,” she said. “We have to go. They’ve already started boarding. How did we miss that first call?”
    “Let’s hit it!” Clio’s father stood. He pulled out his wallet and took out a large handful of euro notes, dropping them on the table. “That should cover it.”
    They grabbed up their stuff quickly. Clio was the last to leave the table. As she walked off, the waiter came over and took the money. From the joyous look on his face, Clio could see that her father had overpaid by some ridiculous amount.
    Some things never change, she thought.
    40

    Dangerous Contraptions
    The thing that was standing ready to take them to Naples could hardly be called a plane; it was more like a flying minivan. Clio and her father’s little gang, sitting in groups of two, took up about a third of the seats. Clio and Elsa sat together. Their seats were directly off one of the tiny wings. Instead of jet engines, there were propellers.
    Clio knew from experience that tiny planes often made for bumpy, crazy rides and was about to say this when the propellers whizzed to life, filling the cabin with a low buzz and a slight shake. Elsa leaned down and looked out the window.
    “Oh my God,” she said. “What is this thing? How old is this plane?”
    “I guess they couldn’t use a big plane because it’s such a short flight,” Clio said. “We’ll be there in half an hour.”
    “I don’t really like to fly,” Elsa said. “My mum tells me it’s all in my mind, but I really hate it. I don’t know if I can do this.”
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    The look of fear in her eyes was real.
    “I’ll get you through it,” Clio said, taking Elsa’s bag, an elegant white circular thing that kind of looked like it might contain a large-brimmed hat, and shoving it into the micro-scopic overhead compartment. It didn’t want to fit in there, but Clio finally managed it. Then there was no room left for her own backpack. Behind them, Aidan and Martin were stowing their own bags. Aidan just had a computer and a novel. A thick one.
    It looked like sci-fi. He was pretending not to listen to the conversation, but Clio saw his eyes flashing in their direction.
    “Can I share?” she asked.
    “Sharing is good,” he said. “We should all share more.”
    “I meant, can I put my backpack in your bin?” she said, rolling her eyes.
    “Well, I guess you could, but I don’t know what to do with this parachute in here. That’s weird. . . .”
    Elsa spun around fearfully.
    “Shut up , Aidan,” she said, her voice getting more high-pitched and British but not sounding terribly angry. “Don’t be such a prat.”
    He smiled. It was a slowly unfurling smile, revealing a wide expanse of thin lips. Clio hadn’t