“How may I help you, ma’am? The captain still has the fasten seat belts light on. You should proceed to your seat.”

“What color is my hair?” I ask awkwardly.

His forehead scrunches. He looks around at other passengers who are watching us.

I clear my throat, making eye contact with a bunch of randoms looking at me. “Please, sir, what color is my hair?” I say through some fresh tears.

“It’s an ombré … brown and neon orange?” he answers hesitantly.

“I’d say it’s more of a sunset orange,” a teen boy tells me from a window seat on the left side of the plane. I’m definitely having a panic attack now.

Turbulence rattles through the plane again.

“Ma’am, you have to return to your seat,” the flight attendant repeats.

I stagger to my row. Pain slithers around my back as I catch myself against people’s seats.

The old man’s still asleep in the aisle seat of my row. Without hesitating, I step up on the armrest.

“Ma’am! Please don’t—”

I push up, step onto my own seat, and spin down carefully in one fluid motion. The man’s still sleeping. I have to be dreaming. This doesn’t feel like a dream, but I have to be dreaming. Maybe plane dreams are always like this. I buckle my seat belt, close my eyes, and count to a hundred.

35. A Girl Doesn’t Understand Your Compliment

JAMIE

September 3, Thursday Evening

Somewhere over North America

Someone pokes me, but my eyes feel so heavy. I’m sleeping here.

“Ma’am, would you like something to drink?” someone asks. I’m poked again.

“Do you want a dwink?” squeaks a tiny voice. I open my eyes to see the child next to me has invaded my personal space. Oh yeah, I’m on a damn plane. I smile at him before pushing back my hood and glancing up at the flight attendant.

“Vodka tonic,” I tell her.

“We’re not serving alcohol.” She smiles.

I grin sleepily and squint at the name tag on her chest. “I kid, Kathy. Can’t you see I’m a youth? Orange juice, please.”

The boy’s mother in the aisle seat watches me.

“I love your hair,” she says as the stewardess moves on. “Beautiful braid.”

I smile slightly and touch the headband braid in my hair. “Thank you … cute kid, where’d you get him?”

She laughs. “Memorial Day sale at Macy’s a few years back.”

I nod appreciatively before turning back to my window. It’s dark and the cloud cover is thick so all I can see are the lights along the wing of the plane.