She rummaged through her bag again and pulled out another boarding pass. This one looked thinner, slightly creased, as if it had already had a troubled life at the bottom of her bag. She reached over and dropped it into my hand.
It wasn’t handed to me. It fell to the ground. “Here.” I looked down.
34E. Economy class. Middle seat. Toward the back. Chloe approached, her scent enveloping me like a luminous, expensive cloud. “I thought you’d be more comfortable near the bathroom,” she said softly. “It should look familiar.”
My father laughed. He really laughed.
Vance sipped his champagne and added, “We were actually generous. ‘Standby’ would have been more in line with your budget.”
My mother made a small sound behind her glass. Not quite a laugh. Not quite a protest. That was her specialty: letting cruelty happen quietly enough that she could deny it later.
I slipped my boarding pass into my jacket pocket and stood up.
Chloe blinked. “That’s it? No reaction?”
“The seat looks fine.” That answer annoyed her more than a full-blown argument ever could.
My father shook his head. “You should have tried harder, Harper.” I slung my backpack over my shoulder. “I did.” The remark passed him by without affecting him.
A boarding announcement crackled in the waiting room. Chloe showed me her gold-bordered card, almost as a final gesture of thanks.
“First things first,” he said. “Coach’s out there somewhere.” I nodded. “Good to know.”
The main terminal felt like another country. Noisy. Crowded. Authentic. Kids sat on the carpet staring at their tablets. A man in a Lakers sweatshirt argued with a gate agent over a carry-on bag. Somewhere nearby, someone was eating cinnamon pretzels, and the sweet smell of butter wafted down the aisle. Everything seemed more real than the lounge had ever felt.
At the gate, I stepped out of line and pulled out my second phone.
Government-issue. Matte black. No logo.
I entered a memorized sequence and waited for the secure line to connect. “Control,” a voice replied. “Commercial Eagle One boarding,” I said softly. “Maintaining passive monitoring for reported regional traffic. Pacific Corridor.”
Wait a minute. “Roger, Eagle One.” I ended the call and returned to the line as boarding began.
Seat 34E was exactly where Chloe had promised me: close enough to the restroom that I could hear it click every few minutes. The cabin smelled faintly of cold recycled air, coffee, and industrial detergent. I tucked my backpack under the seat, buckled up, and watched the other passengers settle in.
Shortly after, my family walked down the aisle to head to first class.
Chloe looked me up and down with a dazzling smile. “Comfortable back here?”
“Very.” My father snorted softly. “Maybe next year.” Vance slowed next to me. “You still work on computers for the Army?”
“Something like that.” He chuckled and continued walking.
About twenty minutes after takeoff, the cabin became more relaxed. The seatbelt sign went off. Passengers immediately stood up. Bags were opened in the overhead lockers. Ice clinked in glasses. Up front, the first-class curtain moved as passengers made their way to the rear lavatory.
Vance approached my row with a paper cup of coffee and his laptop in hand.
“I couldn’t sleep up there,” he said. Then he moved. The cup spilled.
The coffee splashed onto my jacket and down the front of my shirt, hot enough to sting but not enough to burn. The empty cup fell to the floor and rolled under the seat in front of me.
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