We pull up to the gate, and my fingers hover over my seatbelt as the lead flight attendant activates the announcement system.
“Welcome to Minneapolis. Cabin crew, arm doors and crosscheck.”
Ha. Crosscheck. I’m fine with hearing that on a plane, but on the ice? That’s a different story.
As soon as the doors open, I’m in the aisle. Inching forward, I follow everyone in front of me off the plane, and once I’m out, I march straight to the light rail station, get on the train, and sit myself down. A couple of stops later, I dart out, follow my map directions, and then I’m there.
The camp is being held in a nondescript university ice rink next to a massive mall, but it’s still the most beautiful thing I’ve seen all day.
Right as I’m about to walk in, I remember that I have to talk my way through securityandexplain my backpack and roller bag.
I’ll say they’re Erik’s. That should work, right?
Maybe.
The receptionist scrutinizes me with clear suspicion when I walk up to him.
“Hi, I have a delivery for…” I pretend to check my phone, “Erik Norberg. Air Sweden lost his bag when he flew over two days ago, and he listed… here as his address in the US?” I do my best to feign confusion at delivering lost luggage to a university building.
“He didn’t inform us of any incoming delivery.”
Okay, time to be bold.“I get it, but I’m just doing my job. That isn’t my problem.”
“He needs to inform us of the delivery before we can accept anything for him,” the guy says.
“Look, I have another ten bags in my truck outside,andI’m expected to deliver them by the end of today. Can someone go to Erik now and tell him that he has a delivery? If he isn’t expecting anything, he can send them back and you can send me away.”
Two sighs later, the receptionist summons another employee from the back and whispers something to her, and then the new employee turns to me.
“Okay, I’ll find Erik and tell him about this delivery,” she says, walking toward the door that leads to the rink.
“Thank you so much. Oh, also, you need to tell him my name so he can check it against the confirmation email.”
She spins around. “Makes sense, what’s your name?”
“Luke Tremblay.”
“Okay, got it. Delivery for Erik Norberg from Luke Tremblay. I’ll only be a minute.”
Oh my god, it worked. They’re actually getting Erik.
My heart pounds. I have no idea what Erik is gonna say, but I know what I will.
26
ERIK
Richard stands across the room from me, his arms crossed and a humored smirk stretching across his face. “Getting tech withdrawals, Norberg?” he asks.
I turn away from the laggy office computer for a second to face him. “No, I’m trying to reach my parents. And my partner. They all probably want to know if I’m still alive, given that they haven’t heard from me in over twenty-four hours.”
Richard’s face falls. “Oh, right, yeah. Sorry.”
Shrugging, I turn back to the computer, attempting to log into my phone provider’s website for the fifth time.
It’s impossible not to groan when I get hit with the dreaded “please enter the verification code sent to the phone number on file.”
The second I’m about to shut the aging computer down and admit defeat, Ivy, one of the camp’s admin staff, walks into the office and approaches me.
