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I sigh and push out of my seat following Nova to the bathroom.
I can hear her inside, running water.
I knock on the cheap door. “Nova? Are you okay?”
The door slides open, and I find her leaning against the small sink with her face damp like she’s splashed it with water.
“I thought I was going to throw up,” she states the obvious, “but I didn’t. I think I’d feel better if I did, but my body is rebelling against me.”
I chuckle. “Or maybe the sickness is in your head.” I tap the side of her forehead.
“I wish it was made up.” She inhales a deep breath. “Can we drive home?”
I chuckle. “Nice try, Clarke. I like you but I don’t want to take a whole week to get home. Besides, think of all the classes you’d miss.”
She crinkles her nose. “Yeah,” she mutters. “I suppose flying is better. I still hate it, though.”
“Can we go back to our seats?” I ask her. “Or are you still worried you might get sick?”
She hesitates for about ten seconds, gauging the way she feels. After a moment, she nods. “Yeah, I think I can.”
I guide her back to our seats, and on the way, I ask the flight attendant for a ginger ale, or something like it, and crackers. She takes one look at Nova and hurries off. I’m sure the last thing she wants to do is deal with a sick person on the flight.
I take the window seat again, since Nova most definitely didn’t want to sit by the window, and then she sits down beside me.
The flight attendant drops off the soda and crackers and is gone before I can even say thank you.
I open the soda and hand it to Nova. “Drink,” I command, and then open the crackers.
She takes slow sips and smiles gratefully. “Thanks. This helps.”
I nod in acknowledgement and hand her a cracker.
She takes small bites of the cracker in-between sips of soda and the color slowly begins to return to her cheeks. I think if anything it’s helping her by focusing on the task of eating and drinking instead of thinking about being however many feet in the air.
I spend the rest of the flight distracting her in any way I can. I tell her stories about the guys and me in high school which are mostly stupid and funny and then I move on to singing softly under my breath so I don’t disturb anyone else on the flight.
I think Nova likes it best when I sing, which fills me with some sort of sick satisfaction, because for some strange reason I love singing for her.
When the flight lands, we all grab our bags from the overhead compartments—we all only brought carry-on since we’re not staying long—and head outside to grab taxis to the hotel.
It only takes us twenty minutes to get to the hotel, even with traffic.
It’s already grown cooler back home, even though it’s late August, but not here. Even at night it’s hot enough that guys walk around shirtless and girls are in bikini tops and shorts. The palm trees blow in the slight wind and a guy passes us on his skateboard.
It’s been years since I’ve been to Florida. My dad preferred to vacation in exotic locations, like Bora Bora and Costa Rica. My mom brought me to Orlando once, when I was about eleven, because I’d been begging forever to come to Disney World and we’d never gone.
It was just me and her, and for a while, it was the best trip of my life.
Until the last day, when she sat me down and told me she was dying and only had six months max left to live.
I’ve hated anything to do with Disney since then and I guess this place too.
I haven’t been back to Florida since and until now I didn’t realize the disdain that had grown in my heart to this place.
It’s funny how the human mind attaches certain emotions and feelings to a place or object.
For me, Florida will always represent the loss of my mom, and that’s not something I ever like to think about.
