“The plane just moved!” His eyes have gone wide, the black of his irises totally blown out. “Why did it move like that?”

“Because we have to go to the runway …” I stare at him. “What’s the deal with you?”

“It’s, um … nothing,” he says, letting go of my wrist.

“This is your first time flying, isn’t it?” The answer seems pretty obvious.

Wyatt stares down at his lap, holding his hands together. “Yeah. Hey, can we close the window?” He points, and I reach over to lower the shade.

“You’ve never flown anywhere?”

“Never had anywhere to fly.” Wyatt jumps again when the plane turns and starts moving forward. “All my family lives in North Carolina or Tennessee, so we just drive.”

“You don’t go on vacation or anything?” I probably shouldn’t ask that, but I don’t stop myself.

“No,” he says flatly.

“Well, I fly a lot, so you’re lucky to have an expert here with you.” I smile at him, and he looks a bit more relieved. “The worst part is taking off; after that you’ll be fine.”

“Define ‘worst.’ ”

“It’s fine, look.” I take out one of my AirPods and hand it to him. “A distraction.”

I shouldn’t be embarrassed to show Wyatt my music—what do I care what he thinks? It’s a mix of everything, mostly pop and rap, some experimental stuff in there, playlists with old songs from like a decade ago. I even have a few indie songs in there he might like.

“Can I play you a song?” he asks.

I don’t want to hand him my phone, but if it helps him relax, then I guess it isn’t the worst thing in the world and it justifies the ridiculous amount I just paid for wi-fi. He selects a song quickly, already knowing exactly what he’s looking for. This woman’s soft voice fills one of my ears, sounding … I guess tender is the right word, with a guitar coming in a few seconds later.

“What is this?”

“Hayley Williams,” he says. “That indie stuff you hate so much.”

“I never said hate.”

The song continues as the plane begins to move, coasting at speeds fast enough to finally launch us into the air. Wyatt holds his armrests in a death grip, and part of me is afraid he’ll snap them right in half and I’ll have to pay the airline for the replacements.

I put my hand on top of his, hoping that it just might calm him down in some way.

“I hated that,” he says when he dares to open his eyes again.

“You get used to it.”

“I’d rather not.”