Jumping to my feet, I give Jeff a quick hug. “Thank you, Jeff.” My voice breaks. “Thank you. Please don’t leave the area so I can find you when I’m back.”
He chuckles and pats me on my back. “Go get ’em, kid.”
7
Maeve
“You’ve been upgraded to first class!” The woman behind the counter smiles, the white gardenia in her hair bouncing as she gestures to me cheerfully.
The first leg from New York to Los Angeles was cramped, and I was in the middle seat. Of course. I had a very smelly gentleman on my right who very much likes eating onions before flights, and on my left, I had a lady with a runny nose who was blowing it every minute. Charming neighbors.
“I have?” I blink a few times. Through the marathon of bad decisions and sad events that have made up my life recently, I can’t remember a time where something has worked out in my favor.
“Yes, Ms. Wrong!” Her smile practically touches her ears. “Here’s your boarding pass. We’ll be boarding first class shortly.” She points toward the line for pre-boarding.
Of course, my mother would never buy me a first-classticket and all the perks that come with it, so I didn’t even count on being comfortable. I haven’t flown on my own since that evening I escaped from my childhood home. I simply couldn’t afford buying any plane ticket or going on vacation farther than Brooklyn.
“Thank you! Thank you so very much!” I quickly grab the pass in case she checks her computer and finds out there was some sort of cosmic mistake. Bouncing on my feet, I ride the high of knowing I’ll be spending my many hours in the air in first class and not cramped between two strangers. I can already taste the mimosas I’ll be drinking and all the food I’ll be eating under a cozy blanket, sprawled out as I wait for the hours to tick by.
I make my way to the waiting area and plant my ass on a seat, grabbing aNational Geographicmagazine someone has left on a chair and adjusting my beanie that’s keeping my unkempt hair at bay. I don’t have to wait long; the announcement blares through the speaker, letting me know that first class is boarding. A surge of excitement pounds through me as I quickly collect my things, jump to my feet, and run to the front of the line. I don’t get very far before my bag falls from my shoulder, everything spilling out onto the floor.
“Crap,” I mumble as I drop to my knees to collect it all. I’m reaching for the last tampon from my stash for a bloody day when the tip of a shiny, expensive shoe hits it almost out of my hands, sending it flying twenty feet ahead.
I expect the person to stop and apologize, but of course he does no such thing. I lift my head to give him a piece of my mind, but I’m met with a wall of a man in a suit with the widest shoulders I’ve ever seen. Only jerks and true assholes fly wearing suits. They’re uncomfortable. Doesn’t matter if you need to be in the air for one hour or ten. I wouldn’t be caught wearing anything but sweats or leggings. I bet his ass would look good in leggings. Or gray sweats.
Kill me now—I haven’t even started my mimosas.
The man proceeds angrily talking on his phone without paying me an ounce of attention while I scramble to gather all my things.
For a moment, I get a feeling of déjà vu. I’ve seen that ass. And those shoulders. I’ve heard that voice. But I quickly push it to the back of my head because everything about this trip gives me a bad feeling. While I’m drilling a hole in the douche’s back, he barks something at the lady at the gates and heads inside the jet bridge toward the plane with an angry stride.
Verbal reprimanding wouldn’t do anything. Men like him think they shit glitter, and it would be just a waste of time and breath. Instead, I flip him off (which does make me feel slightly better) and go back to collecting my belongings.
By the time I get everything back in my bag, the last person from the first-class line is boarding the plane, and I run to the gate, trying to get inside with my group. I’m planning on getting drunk and full before the plane takes off, and I can’t do that if I’m not seated.
Once successfully boarded, I hobble to my seat, hoping there’s some nice old lady to chitchat with. She could tell me about her interesting life, and we could spend the trip drinking and gossiping about other passengers.
I’m about to stretch my neck and glance at my neighbor when, right in front of my face, an enormous hand pulls up a divider between my seat and theirs, so I can’t even see the person.
But I have a pretty good hunch of who it might be. Huge fingers and the sleeve of a gray suit. There goes my fantasy of a nice flight and gossip.
“Do you need any help, madam?” a smiling flight attendant asks me. She has the same white gardenia in her hair as the other woman who told me I had been upgraded.
Deciding not to give the jerk in the next seat any power over my mood, I push the dark clouds away and smile back. “A mimosa would be lovely. Thank you.”
“Of course, madam.” She nods with a smile and walks to the front of the plane, hopefully to get me a drink.
Making myself comfortable, I finally take my beanie off since I’ve lost the fear of showing my greasy hair and get ready for the next eight and a half hours ofmetime. I have my newfound magazine, my thoughts, and three seasons of theSurvivorshow I found on the screen. My oversized sweatpants and worn-out T-shirt are my best companions right now. I have a skirt for me to change into when I get to the Bora Bora airport because God forbid my mom sees me looking like I do right now. I’m planning on tucking my T-shirt into the skirt and hoping that it looks like I just stepped out of church, because this is pretty much my only surviving outfit after all the disasters that have been following me around lately.
As for the jerk in the next seat, I don’t see him or his face after he pulled the divider between us and stopped hissing to an unfortunate person on the other end of the line.
8
Ezra
I hate clumsy people—they make life more complicated for everyone. And more than that, I hate people who think that the world needs to bend for them, and everyone around needs to adjust to their needs because they like to pretend how unfortunate and ‘cute’ (I nearly vomit at the word) they are.
So, when the beanie-wearing klutz drops her shit in front of the boarding line, making the old dude behind her nearly fall over her, naturally, it irritates me.Who the fuck wears a beanie in the airport when it’s warm outside? Idiots, that’s who.I grab the old man’s arm in time to steady him and rush past, annoyed that she’s on the same flight. I hope she’s on the very opposite side of it, so we don’t have to meet again. Ever.
