Page 3 of Lucky 22

So, I do.

I’m a rule follower, mostly. I mean, I’ve been known to pusha few boundaries here and there, but only if it’s for a good reason. Like thetime I lied about my age when I auditioned for the role of a much younger girl.The thing is, I look young for my age. Always have. So maybe that wasn’t anactual lie. More like a lie of omission.

Maybe.

“Thank you for your attention. We wish you a pleasantflight.” Our flight attendant finishes her speech, and we start taxiing to therunway.

I shift slightly and go back to my drawings. I could turn ona movie or something once we’re in the air, but for now, I’m perfectly contentdoing this. Besides, it’s sometimes nice to unplug and be creative.

Even if it’s just doodling.

I pause and peek out the window because we seem to be barelycreeping along. The runway queue is stretched farther than I can see.

Well, that’s disappointing.

Returning my focus to the paper, I’m about to start anotherblocky twenty-two when the guy next to me gently clears his throat.

I look up and meet a pair of piercing blue eyes.

“Excuse me,” he begins quietly. “I don’t mean to be nosy,but…are you drawing the number twenty-two?”

I look up from under my hat and smile shyly as I nod. “I’mjust trying to pass the time until we get in the air. I wasn’t ready to watch amovie or anything yet. But, um…yeah.”

His eyes go a little wide, but he doesn’t say anything elseright away. Just when he seems about to, the captain interrupts with anannouncement.

“Hey, folks, this is your captain speaking. Just wanted tolet you know we’re all set and taxiing out now. We’ve got a couple of planesahead of us, and we’re currently number four for takeoff. Shouldn’t be toolong—maybe ten, fifteen minutes tops—and we’ll be on our way. Sit back, relax,and we’ll get you up in the air shortly.”

“We are never going to take off,” I murmur, more to myselfthan the guy next to me. “It’s just been one delay after another.”

“Yeah. Sorry about that.”

Looking over at him, I frown and whisper, “Excuse me?”

“That first delay was my fault. Well, mine and anotherguy’s. Our flight from Atlanta was delayed, so we landed late. I honestlydidn’t expect them to hold the plane, but I’m really glad they did. The nextflight to LA doesn’t leave for something like four hours, and I would have beenon standby.”

“That would totally give me anxiety,” I tell him. “I need toknow that I have a seat and will get where I’m going.”

“Same.” He nods at my drawings again. “That’s your favoritenumber, huh?”

I smile. “It is!” I say, and then immediately lower myvoice. “It may seem silly, but it’s more than my favorite number. I guess youcould say it’s my lucky number.” He’s looking at me, his expression completelyneutral, and I wonder if he thinks I’m unhinged. “What about you? Do you have afavorite number?”

He nods again but doesn’t answer. Instead, he quietly asks,“Why are you whispering?”

It’s a valid question. After all, plenty of people arespeaking in normal tones all around us. But I’m purposely keeping my voice downso I don’t draw attention to myself.

I nod to the seats in front of us and silently mouth, “That’smy ex and his wife. I don’t want them to see me.”

Now, he’s frowning. “What?”

I mouth it slower this time. “That’s…my…ex…”

He shakes his head, and I realize I’m either going to haveto say it aloud or just let it go. But then inspiration hits, and I write itdown on the paper in my lap instead.

That’s my ex and his wife with their new baby in frontof us. I really don’t want them to see me, so I’m trying to stay quiet.

“Ah, got it,” he murmurs, giving me a thumbs up. His smileis sweet, but I can tell he’s not comfortable with this conversation. After asmall nod, he shifts in his seat—like he’s putting some distance between us—andjust like that, we’re done talking.

I’m about to ask again about his favorite number, but I seethat his arms are crossed, his head is back, and his eyes are closed.