"Look, we're right over the Statue of Liberty!" someone shouted from the back of the plane.

Jessie Witt pushed her curly brown hair out of her eyes. She leaned across the girl next to her, Chi, to gaze out the window, long enough to see a tiny, glowing speck in the harbor below. It looked pretty in the late June afternoon light.

The symbol of freedom, she thought. It fit her frame of mind. She'd arrived at the city where singers made it big. As maybe she would someday. This was the place she'd wanted to visit for years. Nothing was going to get in the way of her having the time of her life.

When the plane finally touched down, tires squealing on the runway, Jessie cheered along with many of the other passengers. A few minutes later, all twenty-five in Jessie's group-select members of the PYC, or Prairie Youth Chorale, here in New York to sing at a youth chorus festival-headed down the corridor in La Guardia Airport toward the baggage claim. She was glad to be off the plane. Something in that stale air had been making her cough almost all the way from Chicago.

"La Guardia, isn't that something you can get from the water?" a familiar voice joked.
Jessie glanced at Mike Ribert, who'd obviously hurried to catch up with her. She couldn't imagine why.

"No, Ribbet," she shot back, "it's a disease you get from never keeping your mouth shut."

"Ha, ha," he retorted. Then, in a quieter voice he added, "Do me a favor? Don't call me Ribbet." He walked swiftly away from her.

Jessie realized all of a sudden that she had hardly said one word to Mike all year, even though they were from the same school and had several classes together. From fourth grade all the way till the end of seventh, he had teased her every chance he got. A day without some silly comment or joke at her expense from "Ribbet" (one way she'd learned to fight back was to give him this froggy nickname) usually meant he was out sick.

But all that seemed like long ago. She felt tongue-tied as she rode down an escalator surrounded by the excited chatter of the other PYC-ers and entered the baggage claim area. It isn't as if you're buddies with anyone in the group, she reminded herself. True, she'd been singing with them for the past few months. But only two other kids besides Mike came from her school. The rest were from five other junior and senior highs scattered all over the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul. She couldn't possibly get to know all of them.

Besides, making friends quickly had never been her forte.

Carousel A was designated for their flight. Mr. J. (for Jacobs), their music director, waved them toward the end of the belt nearest where the luggage came out. Some other passengers from the plane seemed disgruntled as they moved away to make room for the large group. Jessie found herself standing near enough to Mike to take another look at him. He must have sprouted about a foot since seventh grade, and he was, she had to admit, somewhat cute, with longish black hair that spilled over his shirt collar and eyes that looked bluer than she remembered. Then his face turned toward her, and she quickly looked away as Kendra Roberts walked up to Mike and set down her two overstuffed carryon bags. One of them, Jessie knew, was filled with makeup. Kendra had spent the whole hour of the Chicago layover putting on her face in the ladies' room. At fifteen, she was one of the older kids in the choir, and by far the best soprano. She'd made it clear on every possible occasion that she was going to become an opera singer.

"Have you seen my suitcase?" she asked Mike, tossing her sleek cornrows over her shoulder. The gold beads at the end of each one clacked noisily.

"No. I have no idea what it looks like," Mike answered.

"You know," Kendra replied, in a sing-song voice, "it's the one with all the stickers on it, from all the places I've traveled."

Jessie turned away, rolling her eyes. Kendra had everything she needed to become an opera diva, she thought--including an ego the size of North America.

"Oh, no!" someone cried out. Chi pushed forward until she was right beside the belt. Her small frame exuded nervous tension. Jessie stood on tiptoes and saw a pink, hard-sided suitcase coming around the bend, open, its contents spilling out between thick pieces of tape: a pair of jeans, a nightshirt, a mashed paperback, and a green stuffed animal. Jessie watched another girl, named Vicky, help Chi drag the damaged suitcase through the thick cluster of kids. Chi's eyes were filled with tears. What bad luck, Jessie thought, hoping her own suitcase had arrived intact.

Only two other kids were still standing at the belt, waiting for their luggage: Kendra and Justin O'Malley, a seventh grader whose round, freckled face was deceptively innocent looking. One lonely suitcase was going around and around.

"I need my suitcase," Kendra went on, her voice growing louder and more agitated. "It's got my concert outfit in it. And my Juilliard application."

"Juilliard?" Jessie blurted, turning to stare at Kendra.

"Of course. I want to go there, and I can get in."

At fifteen? Jessie wondered. It was a wild possibility, though she had to admit, part of her was envious of Kendra's self-confidence.

Just then Mr. J. came rushing out of a small office next to the baggage carousel. His salt-and-pepper hair was unusually ruffled. "Guys," he said, frowning owlishly as he waved a bunch of printed forms overhead, "I have some bad news for you." He handed a form to each of them. "Please fill these out. Your bags got on the wrong flight."

"No!" Justin cried out, melodramatically pretending to topple off the belt.

With a sigh, Jessie took the form and joined the other two at a nearby counter to fill it out. There were photos of various kinds of suitcases all over it. She circled the one that looked closest to hers.

"I can't believe this," Jessie mumbled. Suddenly she started coughing again and had to take a drink from her water bottle. "What are we going to do if we can't get them back?"

"Go on a massive shopping spree," Kendra said.

With a snort, Jessie tried to concentrate on the form. She failed. "Some of us don't have that kind of spending money," she muttered.

"Don't you have a credit card?" Kendra replied incredulously. "All parents should give their kids plastic in case of emergencies."

Fixing her eyes on Kendra, who was signing the form with an elaborate signature, Jessie decided that she would simply ignore whatever the budding diva said from now on.

She had to list the contents of her suitcase. That was easy enough. It had taken so long to pack that she'd memorized every item. For all she knew, someone in Australia would be enjoying her favorite sling-back sandals and cut-off shorts, not to mention what she was supposed to wear to sing on Wednesday: the long black skirt, lace-trimmed white blouse, and red bow tie flecked with gold stars. And what about the gifts for her aunt, uncle, and cousin that her mother had packed in her suitcase? Would she have to shop for presents for her New York family, too?

Unfortunately, Mr. J. did nothing to lessen her fears. When he reemerged from the lost-luggage office after having submitted their forms, he still wore a grim frown. "Well," he told them, "I have some good news and some bad news. It seems they've located your bags, Kendra and Justin, on a flight to Dayton, Ohio. The other one--"he turned to Jessie--"hasn't been found yet."

All the air went out of Jessie's lungs. She felt as if someone had just punched her in the stomach. The next breath she took led right into an uncontrollable fit of coughing. Mr. J. patted her back.

"Jessie, Jessie, are you okay?" he asked.

"She's just bawling," Kendra said.

"I am not," Jessie started to reply, just as her vision grew blurry with tears . . . big, fat, cough-induced tears.

Her dream trip was turning into a nightmare!