For seven days I won’t have to think about or deal with Darth Vader or his overlord boss, Emperor Palpatine.

Three

Claire

I come from a big, loud, meddlesome family. I can handle crowds, but I’m not a fan of them. Planes aren’t my favorite method of transportation, either. Handling things well doesn’t mean I’m not annoyed when I have to wait forty-five minutes in line to drop my luggage at the ticket counter.

It’s ten in the morning, the absolute worst time to travel. I suggested we leave at six in the morning so that by three we would have been by the pool sipping margaritas. My friends never listen to me.

“They need more people at the counter,” Madeline says, voicing my thoughts.

“You have dark circles under your dark circles, Claire,” Courtney says, pulling her makeup bag out of her purse. “Did you go out last night?”

She takes off my frames and starts applying some shit under my eyes. The pros of having a friend who works at Sephora are free samples and makeup tips. The only con is Courtney doesn’t ask permission anymore; she just applies crap to my face.

“Try working all night and into the morning,” I say, yawning as she continues to make me look human. “Give me my glasses. I can’t see without them.”

Courtney gives me a dismissive glare and continues working her magic.

“You look like a zombie,” Madeline says, handing me a bottle of water. “Drink this.”

“Nothing cheers me up more than my two best friends telling me I could be confused for roadkill,” I complain.

Madeline glares at me and tsks, but her attention goes back to her phone. “Nothing but the truth for my besties.”

“Only the truth?” I ask frowning.

“Finished,” Courtney says, putting her things away. “You look decent now.”

I’m about to complain when the guy by the check-in counter yells, “Next!”

“Finally,” I mumble.

Courtney waves at me as she starts fussing with her luggage. Madeline, who’s on the phone just tilts her head.

Great, I guess I’ll be the first one to check my bags—I just know they’re going to get lost. 

As I’m about to step forward, a guy brushes past me and takes my place in line. “I’m first class,” he says dismissively.

“What a fucking ass!” I glare at him, looking for my glasses.

“Next,” the guy next to the asshole calls.

I roll my luggage and make a mental note to ask Courtney for my glasses back. I need to start wearing contacts again.

“Sorry about that.” The agent at the counter apologizes for the asshole’s behavior.

“It’s fine.” I read his tag while looking for my documents. “Steve.”

“Where are you traveling to?” he asks and then smiles at me.

“Cancun,” I say, handing him my passport and boarding ticket.