Adam had printed out my boarding pass, and I scrambled to the gate with seconds to spare, joining the latecomers. I made it onto the plane, shoved my backpack into the overhead and began pitching my body forward to force the takeoff to go faster. I’d texted James, who’d be meeting me at Heathrow, and who was devising a way to ambush Edgar. If everything clicked, I’d land in London with at most an hour before Edgar’s live abdication speech. I could use the flight to outline exactly what I’d say to stop him. I wasn’t above begging or threatening to shave my head or promising to create an ad campaign with every sort of LGBTQ person wearing a crown and saying, “I am Prince Edgar.” After watching James’s video, I’d do whatever it took.

The plane taxied toward the runway. We were third in line. I hated the first two planes but forgave them. I craved only the very best karma.

We rolled to a halt. There was a problem with the landing gear. A problem that the pilot, over the PA system, said could be fixed very rapidly by the ground crew. I pressed my face to the window, debating if I should lead the other passengers in chanting, “COME ON!!!”

The crew drove beneath the plane in a jeep-like vehicle. We waited.

It would be at most twenty more minutes.

We waited.

There was another piece of equipment, which was being rushed over.

We waited.

I wasn’t the only person asking a flight attendant if I could get off the plane and search for another flight. I couldn’t.

We waited. It would only take another half an hour.

We waited.

The flight was canceled. The pilot said the airline was sorry.

We waited for a gate to become available.

We waited.

I used my phone to feverishly check if there were any flights on any airlines leaving for Heathrow.

There was one. It was overbooked. Did I want to be placed on standby for a possible business seat? I did.

Once passengers were finally permitted to leave the plane I beelined to the other gate, referencing every Olympic gold medalist and prison escapee. My shirt was sticking to my heaving chest and my knees were buckling, but I could collapse once I was on board.

I waited as everyone went through.

The seat had already been taken.

I pleaded to stand or kneel or ride in a pet carrier.

There were no other flights for at least eight hours.

It was over.

CHAPTER 30

By the time I got back to the apartment, by subway, Adam and Louise had the place fully stocked with microwave popcorn, Twizzlers and sympathy.

“That’s it,” I told them, dropping my backpack on the floor. “I tried, but not hard enough.”

“You didn’t break the plane,” said Adam.