“Look, I said I was sorry,” I say in exasperation.

“And I said it’s okay.”

“Meaning that it’s okay, you forgive me?”

Afton regards me coolly. “Meaning that it’s okay that you’re sorry.”

Oh. That’s not the same thing at all.

“Ladies and gentlemen, the captain has turned off the fasten seat belt sign,” says a voice from the speaker over our heads. “Please feel free to move about the cabin.”

Afton unbuckles her seat belt, wriggles out of her jacket, and reclines her chair as far back as it will go. Then she rolls up her jacket into a makeshift pillow, pops on an eye mask, and curls against the gray plastic wall. Conversation apparently over.

I poke her. “You’re supposed to have your seat belt on.”

She lifts the mask. “The seat belt sign is off.”

“Yes, but you’re supposed to keep it on while you’re seated. In case of turbulence.”

Afton stares at me for a long minute. Then she says, still totally straight-faced but I can tell this time that she absolutely means it: “Oh, Ada. Don’t be such a fucking square.”

I inhale so sharply I can hear the air sucking into my lungs. What’s happening to us? We’ve never been the kind of sisters who try to hurt each other. We argue sometimes, give each other crap, of course, when called upon, but it always felt like we were on the same team. Sisters. Best friends.

“All righty, then,” I murmur, blinking fast because my eyes have started to burn. Bitch, I think, but I know that if I say that there will be a real showdown, and I won’t be the winner.

Afton slides the eye mask back into place and appears to go to sleep.

I stare at her peaceful face. It’s not fair. I didn’t actually call her a slut yesterday. Maybe she thought I was implying it, but I didn’t mean it that way. And I’d just had my heart broken—sort of. I was upset.

The air thingy on the ceiling starts making a whistling sound, and I reach up and twist it until it stops. At that exact moment the plane rises and drops suddenly, like it’s riding a wave. Once, and then twice. Instantly I become very aware of everything else around me: the baby crying a few rows behind us. A tray rattling. The smell of burnt coffee wafting out of the back.

The plane dips again. My stomach lurches.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” comes the captain’s voice from the speaker. “We seem to be experiencing a bit of rough air. We’ll be through it and on to smoother skies shortly, but in the meantime, take your seats and fasten your seat belts.”

Afton shifts and murmurs something unintelligible.

I clutch at the armrest. The seat belt light goes on, accompanied by a perky ding.

Turbulence ahead.

Chapter 11

11