AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Grant moves on, and Maverick turns to me. “Sorry. What were you saying?”
I turn a page in my book, even though I haven’t read anything. “I forgot.”
Finally, he takes a hint and turns away. I keep my gaze fixed on the words in front of me, comprehending nothing. My heartbeat increases at a steady clip; my chest grows tighter and tighter. Nausea churns in my gut.
My heart sinks as I start to realize that this is worse than usual. I’ve always been a nervous flyer, but I’ve also never done it without my dad. I’ve never been in a plane without him beside me, holding my hand and giving me gum and keeping a steady flow of conversation going. For some reason—maybe the fact that I have no other family—I’ve never really gotten past that little kid thing where I feel like my dad can do no wrong and will always keep me safe.
He’s not here now, though.
I breathe in deeply as the plane pulls away from the gate. The flight attendant begins her safety spiel and I tuck my hands beneath my thighs, clutching at the seat as tightly as I can.
“Hey,” says Maverick, and I squeeze my eyes shut, realizing I’ve been caught. “What’s the matter?”
I need to breathe. “Can you get me a bag?” I ask quietly. He shuffles around in the seatback and produces a plain white paper sack. I snatch it from him. “Thanks.”
Maverick watches, concerned, as I place the opening of the bag against my mouth. It expands and contracts with my heavy breathing. He stares at me for a few more seconds before getting to his feet and looking behind him. As soon as I realize that he’s about to get a teacher, I reach out and close my hand over his wrist. When he looks down, I pull the bag away from my face just long enough to whisper, “Please don’t call attention to me.”
“Sir,” says a flight attendant, “please have a seat. We’re preparing for takeoff.”
From somewhere behind us, another voice hisses, “Maverick Weaver! Sit down!”
He sits.
“Are you afraid of flying?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I’m claustrophobic,” I say into my bag.
“Have you flown before?”
The plane is on the runway now, gathering speed as it prepares to lift off the ground. I’m about to be launched into the air, trapped inside this cramped metal tube. There’s no stopping the tears that well in my eyes. “Yes, but always with my dad. Never alone.”
“Okay,” Maverick says uncertainly. “Well, you’re not alone. What would you dad do to help you if he were here right now?”
The roar of the engine is deafening as the plane speeds across the runway. Then we’re lifting off the ground, and there is officially no escape.
I begin to cry. I don’t even have the capacity to be embarrassed; it feels like the walls are closing in on me. I’m still struggling to catch my breath.
“Hey.” Maverick’s voice takes on a new urgency. “What would he do?”
I breathe in. Hold it. Breathe out. It brings me a sliver of calm, even as silent tears trickle off the end of my chin and fall into my lap.
“He’d hold my hand,” I murmur eventually, dropping the bag into my lap.
Maverick hesitates for about half a second; then, to my surprise, he reaches over and wraps strong fingers around mine. Our joined hands hover awkwardly in the air for a moment before he brings them down to rest on my thigh. “Done. Would the aisle be better for you? We can trade seats.”
I shake my head, using my free hand to dry my face. I take a long look at the orange-streaked sky outside and picture myself free of this confined space, resting leisurely on a fluffy cloud. It’s a visualization that I’ve used to help me through plane rides since I was young. “No, the window is better. I just… I try to distract myself. Or sleep.”
Maverick removes an earbud from his ear and hands it to me. “Here.”
I take it gingerly, furrowing my brow at him. He motions for me to put it in my ear, and I do. I use my sleeve to dry my face as he queues up an episode of a comedy I’ve seen a few times, tilting the phone to show me the screen. “This okay?”
“Yeah.” I sigh, my shoulders relaxing a little as I take another glance out the window.Breathe in. Hold it. Breath out.My exhale sounds shaky to my own ears. I chew my gum vigorously, using my free hand to rub at my chest, trying to loosen the knot there. “Yeah. That’s good.”
Maverick pulls down his tray table and places his phone on it, angling it so we can both see the screen. We lapse into silence, still holding hands. I wonder if I should pull away, but then he gives the tips of my fingers the tiniest squeeze. I focus on the warmth of his hand, on my breathing, on the sky outside, on the spearmint, on the canned TV laughter. As the minutes tick by, my heart rate slows. My ribcage expands back to its normal volume.
I only got a few hours of sleep last night, and as I calm, my eyelids begin to droop. There’s a nudge in my side, a gentle order to spit out my gum. I sit up long enough to deposit it in the white bag in my lap. As soon as I settle back in my seat, my head lolls to the side, landing on something steady just before I pass out.
Iammortified.
