I think about what might be happening back home, and cross my fingers tight. For a second I waver: Can I trust her? Becca’s been so nice to Nick’s face these last few days, but when he turns his back, her eyes are like steel. The switch is kind of unnerving. But I have to trust her. I do trust her. Aside from Mum, she’s my best friend in the world.

The next plane seems to be heading a different way. As it rises I see both its wings, spanned as if to hug me, and I realize it’s going to sweep right over my head. I feel the gust and hear the roar, and then I’m craning my neck as it cloaks me in its shadow. Just as I’m thinking that’s the first time I’ve seen the belly of a plane, something crazy happens. There’s a crackling noise and the sky seems to ripple, to churn. It’s like there’s an earthquake up above rather than on the ground, or like I’m inside one of those balls of electricity we experimented with in science. A sensible part of my brain tells me it must be turbulence, or the plane interfering with the atmosphere, or something. But another part thinks this is what the end of the world feels like.

Then, abruptly, it’s over, like a storm that’s passed so quickly you think you’ve imagined it, and calm settles, like a clean sheet.

—

When I get home I’m cold and tired, but my head sings with what I’ve seen. The way that plane tore up the sky, the way everything was normal again seconds later. How can the atmosphere stay intact if it gets thrown around like that every time a plane blasts through?

As soon as I walk into the flat, I realize something’s changed the atmosphere in here too. There’s tension in the air. I backtrack through my memory: I’d been lost in thought approaching the tower block, but had I seen Nick’s car parked outside? What if he came back unexpectedly and heard Becca talking to Mum about him? My breath quickens: Why didn’t I pay attention? Daydreaming again, Kate.

I look at the spot where he normally leaves his sneakers. They aren’t there. Hearing sounds from my room, I hurry through to see Becca aggressively rolling up her sleeping bag. Her rucksack sits by her feet, bulging with clothes.

“Are you going?” I ask, with a spark of panic.

“No choice.” She tries to bully the sleeping bag into its impossibly small cover but it keeps unraveling, won’t be tamed.

“Why?”

“She didn’t like my interfering.”

I blink at her. “Mum’s making you leave?”