Hold My Breath(61)

“Sorry,” I say, taking the grape packet from her hands and tearing the edge open. “You’re trying. I’m grateful.”

“No, it’s okay. I just saw them at the counter, and it reminded me of that time when we were working the snack bar at the club.”

I stop with the packet at my lips and laugh at the memory she triggers.

“They came out through Evan’s nose,” I chuckle.

“He was so upset,” she says, pouring a handful into her palm. Her eyes connect with mine, and we both begin to count down from three.

I tilt my head and fill my mouth with the purple candies while Maddy pushes her palm to her lips and eats the red ones. Seconds later, we both stare at one another with open mouths, listening to the crackle, smiling as if I weren’t about to climb aboard my literal death trap and she weren’t about to see me at my worst. Our lips twitch while be both stifle our laughter, and eventually Maddy gives in, closing her mouth and shaking her head.

“These are truly awful,” she says, her mouth bending with bitterness as she swallows them and reaches into the plastic bag for a bottle of water, twisting the lid and gulping down nearly half to wash the taste away.

“I think they’re one of those things where the memory is better than the reality,” I say, swallowing mine. My words bring her eyes to mine, and her smile softens.

My gaze falls to her arm, and without pause, I reach out for her hand. She gives hers back willingly, and I thread our fingers together, reminding myself repeatedly not to grip so hard that I break her.

“We should get to the gate. We’ll board first,” I say.

Her hand squeezes mine, and when I look up, she’s waiting for me. It’s quiet for a few seconds, and I can feel my pulse picking up speed again. Maddy’s hand squeezes again.

“Okay,” she says.

I wish I felt okay.





Maddy




We’re twenty minutes into the flight and I think we might get kicked out—midair.

The attendant keeps checking in. That’s the word choice she keeps using. Just “checking in on you.” I watch her have panicked conversations with the male flight attendant on the other side of the partition, then plaster that fake smile on her face and kneel next to me, as if Will can’t hear every word she says about “my friend who seems to be in distress.”

He’s convulsing in sweats, and when he’s not looking down at the focus point—aka the stain I found on the floor between his feet—he’s wringing his hands, darting his eyes side to side, and reaching for the in-flight magazine so he can roll it repeatedly. The last time our “friend” came to check on us, she tried to take the magazine away. I think she thought he was making a weapon.

That conversation is happening again, and I see her eyes on the magazine in Will’s hands. He’s twisting so hard that the spine is starting to split open, so I reach under my seat for my purse, ready to fish out five dollars from my wallet so I can tell air bitch that I am buying the damn thing so if my friend wants to turn it into papier maché, he can if he wants to.

Her fake smile is waiting for me when I tilt my head back up, but I’m done playing this game with her.

“Hi again,” she says—in an accent that I swear to God is fake. She isn’t from the South. I bet she went to some workshop once where they told her that if you say something in a Southern accent it doesn’t sound as mean. It’s actually true, only I’ve grown numb to her Southern charm and see right through it—right to the core of her cruel intentions.

“Our lead attendant,” she stops to gesture over her shoulder to the male attendant cowering behind the partition a few feet away. He raises a hand. Weakling. “He has informed me that we are supposed to place severely ill or distressed passengers near the rear of the plane, or, if no seats are available, in the back jump seats with one of us. For safety reasons, I’m sure you understand…”

“No, I don’t,” I interrupt. I make sure to close my lips and smile. For once, I wish I wore a bright red lip gloss just like she does.

“Your friend here…”

“His name is Will,” I interrupt again. I smile…again.

“Right, well, Will…”

I can feel Will staring at me, so I turn to him. He looks like he wants to vomit, and I think he’s pleading for me not to make a scene, but I know that if I roll over now, they’ll take him away from me and put him in the back, or they’ll make us both move. And while Dylan is happy now, I know that, too, might not last. I turn the other way, my eyes catching Tanya’s before moving a tick to the right, to the ones growing more impatient with me.

“Sandra,” I say, taking a cue from her name badge. She glowers when I say her name. Careful to keep my voice low and calm, I smile again, though I’m sure she can tell it’s disingenuous. “Have you ever survived a plane crash?”

Her eyebrows lift, and I think fast. Probably not the best lead in on an airplane where you’ve already triggered more than a half-dozen security flags.

“No, I mean…I ask because Will? He has. A bad one. Like…the kind that make you swear to yourself you will never set foot on an airplane ever again. Not. Ever.”

I wait for her to register my words. She swallows and leans back on her heels, her hand gripping my armrest for balance. I move close and bring my voice just over a whisper.