“No.”

JD pipes in. “You couldn’t pay me to fly coach.”

“That’s how most of the world flies—if they can afford to fly in the first place,” Bridget says.

“Not my fault the world is comprised of the have and have-nots.”

“Yeah, you couldn’t make it past ten minutes in coach,” I tell him.

“Maybe you should try it,” Bridget suggests. “Makes you appreciate all of this so much more.”

“I don’t need to fly coach to appreciate this.”

Bridget turns to me. “How about you? Want to give coach a try? Just for a little bit?”

I stare at her. She’s joking, right?

“At least slum it in business class,” JD advises.

Bridget grabs my hand. “Come on. You’re going to see how those of us in the lower classes live.”

Lim comes over to see if we need anything. Bridget asks if there are any empty seats in coach. He doesn’t comprehend what she’s asking.

Referring to me, Bridget says, “He’s never flown coach before.”

“Okay,” Lim says, still with a puzzled look on his face as he goes to check on her request.

I turn to Bridget. “You realize that it costs about a thousand dollars per hour to fly in the suites?”

“We won’t be in coach for that long.”

Lim returns and informs us there are several empty seats. Bridget chooses two towards the back of the plane.

“I’ll let the attendants in coach know you’re coming,” Lim says. “If you need anything, they can call me.”

“We won’t need anything,” Bridget assures him.

“What about your supper?”

“We’ll have it when we get back.”

She drags me downstairs and through a partition to where the seats must be made for skinny people with short legs.

Bridget smiles at me. “You can have the middle seat.”

I sit down next to a scruffy -ooking man asleep against the window. He smells as if he hasn’t taken a shower in weeks. In front of me sits a man at least three hundred pounds. I don’t know how he fits in his seat. He chooses to lean his seat back, squishing into my knees.

Bridget chuckles. “Want my seat instead?”

She sits next to the aisle but I notice a kid sitting behind her, and he’s walking his feet on the back of her seat. His mother is busy trying to keep the toddler on her other side quiet.

“I’m good,” I reply.

An attendant goes through asking for our drink order.

“I don’t think they serve Dom Perignon here,” Bridget tells me.

I decline a beverage while Bridget tells me she’ll have cranberry juice. It arrives in a plastic cup with a tiny bag of pretzels.

The man beside me shifts, sending a new wave of body odor toward me. He starts to snore loudly. The toddler behind him shrieks. The sound rings in my ears for seconds after.

“Happy?” I ask Bridget.

“I never considered myself sadistic,” Bridget says, “but it’s kind of funny seeing you suffer.”