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me.
    "Thanks," I said, between gasps.
    Jazmin jumped off the bus and waved. "Good luck!"
    "You, too!"
    The driver pulled on a lever. The door clapped shut. Air hissed from the brakes or something. I fell into the nearest seat, and the bus started to roll.
    Jazmin cupped her hands around her mouth and shouted, "Your parents would never send you into a dangerous situation!"
    I shrugged. We'll see. Parents don't always act in their child's best interest. Just ask Sophia.
    The bus made a sharp left turn and eased down the incline to the lower parking lot before turning again as it headed for the main road. I deposited my backpack on the empty seat beside me.
    What would Gong Li and Maggie Q do? Inside my skinny half-Scot, half-Norwegian body lurked the soul of an Asian martial arts star-slash-astrophysicist. Which would totally work out if not for my OCD. "Gong Li and Maggie Q would quit the pity party and kick butt," I muttered under my breath.
    So on Friday, I burned my lunch hour taking my AP French final. By the time school ended, it felt as if aliens were gnawing at my empty stomach. Mom was a strict advocate of healthy eating, but she caved and picked up a burger for me on the way home. She even let me eat it in the car. So much for the new car smell.
    "How did your French final go?"
    I downed more chocolate malt before answering. "Taking it early cost me at least half a grade. So much for my perfect grade point average and chance to get into Columbia University."
    "I'm sorry."
    "Me, too."
    Mom responded with silence, which lasted until we pulled into our driveway. "We need to be at San Francisco International Airport by six. So we have to leave by five."
    "So basically, I have less than an hour to pack."
    "I can help."
    "No, thanks." You've done enough. I stalked up the stairs and threw my stilettos on my bedroom floor. Before I forgot, I plugged my two lifelines — my cell phone and laptop — into their chargers, then shoved random outfits into my suitcase.
    "Don't forget your meds," Mom said as she wheeled her suitcase past my door. She and Dad were meeting in San Francisco for dinner before taking the red-eye to Rio de Janeiro, where they'd catch their ship.
    I detoured into the bathroom.
    "You won't need any rain gear," Mom reminded me.
    I tossed my meds in my purse, then plucked my rubber boots and collapsible umbrella from my suitcase and dropped them onto my silk carpet. I filled the void with my leather jacket, ballet flats, and flip-flops.
    "Pack your hiking boots and some socks!"
    "Agghh!" Mom's interruptions were making me lose track of what I had already packed. A headache loomed behind my forehead. I needed a checklist, but thanks to my early French final and the showcase, there had been no time to make one or pack ahead. Feeling a panic attack gathering like a tornado inside me, I grabbed the brass handles of my bedroom's double doors and firmly closed them.
    Seemingly within nanoseconds, Mom knocked. "Time to leave."
    "I'm not finished."
    Mom opened the doors and entered. "Sorry, sweetie." She crossed to my suitcase, zipped it closed, and hauled it off my bed.
    "Wait! I need to check what I've packed." My jaw ached from grinding my teeth. My head pounded. "I'm sure I forgot a bunch of stuff."
    Mom extended the handle on my suitcase then handed me a prepaid credit card. "This is for emergencies and taking Terra and Esmun out to dinner. It has three hundred and fifty dollars on it."
    "Thanks." I stuffed the plastic card into my pocket.
    Mom shouldered my backpack, hurried down the stairs, and opened the front door. Cold air stole in. She had left the car in the motor court, so I dragged my bulging bag down the grand staircase. Left, right, left, right, left, landing. The wheels squeaked as I made the turn. Left, right, left, floor. The wheels thumped onto the polished wood floor, then up onto the area rug.
    "I forgot about rush hour traffic and people heading into the city for Friday night dates," Mom said.