Page 52 of The Statistically Unlikely Reunion

“Perfect.” I refuse to look at Lucas, refuse to think about why I’ve let myself give up the opportunity to spend a few more hours alone-not-alone with him. “I need to use the washroom.”

I don’t bother saying I’ll be sitting somewhere else when I return.

I’m sure they both already know.

UNKNOWN: That wasn’t very nice of you.

ME: Sry. Who dis? # not sav’d

UNKNOWN: You know who I am.

UNKNOWN: And I know why you did that.

Lucas and Khloe board first, looking well matched. Her bleached-blonde frailness is a nice juxtaposition against his now-sturdy frame.

As far as I can tell, Lucas is no longer the least bit scared of flying. He looks relaxed when I pass him, not bothering to look in my direction. His jaw is tight with annoyance. After I’m settled, just two rows back, I watch as he declines the preflight bubbly, and though I can’t hear his replies, the deep register of his voice is steady as he replies to Khloe’s comments.

I’m exhausted from a late night spent grading makeup assignments and final exams, submitting grades and responding to regrade requests, but I don’t want to miss out on the warm almonds and Brazil nuts so I try to stay awake. From the corner of my eye, I hear Khloe turn down the nuts and champagne, asking for a Moonlighter Vodka Spritz because of course she flies enough to know the first-class cocktails.

The seat next to me is empty at takeoff, which is a small blessing.

I’m hungry.

I want my stupid warmed nuts.

But I’m also just so tired.

Before I even ask for a blanket, while we’re still taxiing, I fall asleep listening to the low rumble of Lucas’s voice, saying something indiscernible.

I wake to find myself burrowing under two blankets. There’s a pillow tucked under my neck and a folded origami Star Wars X-wing on the empty seat next to me.

I look toward Lucas and Khloe, but given the angle, I can’t even tell if they’re awake. When I disentangle myself enough to pick up the origami, something that looks like it took real time to make, I see the note.

Red—

Call the attendant when you wake.

He didn’t need to bother. While I’m still staring at the folded paper, wondering whether Khloe watched him make it, a middle-aged woman named Sky with a kindly face and a fake rhinestone-bedazzled eyeglass chain comes with the dinner menu and two containers of warm nuts. “Mr. Murray said to give you these as soon as you woke up. I brought the extra blankets he requested, and also there are some slippers on the chair next to you.”

My voice is hoarse as I ask, “I slept through supper?”

“I can heat up whatever you like,” Sky reassures me.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

Sky leans in. “He’s quite the tipper. And my mother always said, the tippers are the keepers.”

I let out a small chuckle. “That man’s not mine to keep.”

Sky stands back up, and I’m struck by how odd of a conversation this is. “Speaking as a professional people-watcher? Yes, he is.”

16

HARVARD HERMÈS IS CLEARLY PISSED

BEFORE

We win bronze at nationals, lower than where we’d placed in mock rounds, but good enough for us to advance to worlds and split a $6,000 prize.