WHAT, WHY, HOW

ONE

"SITUATIONS THAT ARE DESTINED TO FAIL:

The world's most gruesome hangover

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An eleven-hour-long plane journey

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Economy seating

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Being six foot two

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Don't be sick on the children... Don't be sick on the children...

Their little heads bobbed beneath me in the queue to get on the aeroplane. My stomach lurched again and I grabbed it. If I clutched at my guts hard enough, hopefully they'd not empty themselves over the excitable heads of the kids in front.

I couldn't be certain, but vomming over innocent kiddlywinks could possibly jeopardize my acceptance in a long flight.

Why had I done that last shot last night
Why, please? WHY!? FOR FUCKS SAKE WHY?!

The flight attendant in front checked another ticket and checked the passenger past. The line crawled forward under the brutal fluorescent lights of the departure lounge. The aeroplane waited outside the floor-to-ceiling window, looking way too small to carry all these people to America. It was white, like the horse a dashing knight, being me would ride to rescue princesses in a fairytale. But I was no dashing knight, and I wouldn't rescue them thank you very much. All I needed was this aeroplane to put an ocean between me and my evil stepfather.

My stomach lurched again as I remembered how I'd said goodbye...

"Look at the state of him,"my stepfather, James, said, loud enough for everyone in the security queue to hear. We were at that annoying bit of the airport process where everyone realizes they can't take any liquids with them so hide all their bottles into black garbage plastic bags.

"I am here, you know?" I rolled my eyes because I knew it annoyed him and downed the rest of my water bottle.

He ignored me. "They won't let him on the plane."

I looked at Mom desperately for help. She held back a smile.

"Relax, Logan. Think of all the drunken stags they let onto planes to Vegas every day." "I'm not drunk!" I protested, causing about ten separate groups of travellers to stop and stare.

Mom laughed and pulled me into a hug. I clung onto her, nestling into her shoulder, inhaling her smell. It helped with the nausea.

"No, you're not drunk, are you, Log? Just hungover. You had quite the leaving do. Though you do smell drunk." He took a deliberate whiff and pushed me away... "PHEWEE."

"I showered this morning..."

... Which I had. I'd also just happened to sweat out the previous night's sambuca shots on the drive to the airport.

Mom pulled me in for another hug. "In that case, come 'ere."

It would've been a tender moment if James wasn't there. But he was obsessed with always being there – like he was terrified if I got one moment alone with Mom, like, ever, that I'd make her realize what a manipulative evil bitch he was. And to be fair, I would certainly give it a go. Of course, Craig was there too – ruining the moment. Because you can't have a clichéd" "evil stepfather without the standardized evil stepsibling.

As if on cue, Craig looked me up and down and said, "You smell like your dad."

How dare he, HOW DARE HE, howdarehehowdareHE? The crimson mist he always evokes in me descended through my hangover. I saw spots, and my foot went out instinctively and kicked him hard in the shin.

"I did not regret that one bit"

He yelped and fell down – totally, totally faking.

James and Mom went into utter-defence mode and the usual chaos broke out.

"LOGAN. YOU SAY SORRY, YOUNG MAN."

"CRAIG, ARE YOU OKAY? DON'T CRY."

"You're crazy, just like he is," Craig added from the floor.

Mom held me away from Craig as I launched myself at him again. "Logan, no!"

I strained and struggled against Mom's arms. James stood protectively in front of his son – shooting me his demon glare. Like I was just attacking Craig for no reason. Like he hadn't just heard what he'd said.

People were looking. Security staff included. Mom made hush noises into my ear, pushing my hair back, while I yelled "You take that back, you take that back!"

"Logan, come on. Calm down. They really won't let you on the plane..."

I looked[...]"

"I looked around. A uniformed dude was making his way over. James clocked him at the same time. I saw the conflict cloud his face – getting me told off versus making a scene... He chose not making a scene.

"Shh," he said – to both of us.

Craig and I glared at each other, but we both straightened up, and acted casual. The security guard stopped, examined us, then walked back to the little booth he'd come from.

I sighed. I felt so sick. And I'd wanted to say goodbye to Mom– just us two. I threw my empty plastic bottle into the bin provided and didn't look up.

"You apologize, young man" James demanded.

"I pulled my rucksack straps tighter to readjust my bag – suddenly really angry. With my stupid stepfather. With my stupider stepbrother. With Mom. For not telling Craig off, for never telling Craig off... I yelled

"He should apologize too, for what he said!"

"I meant it," Craig called from behind James. And Mom had to stop me lurching at him again.

"You know what? I can't be arsed with this." I turned and stormed off into the security queue, knowing they couldn't follow.

  "Logan? LOGAN!" Mom called.

  I ignored her and kept walking.

  "Logan, come on, say goodbye nicely."

"Goodbye nicely," I fired back over my shoulder, funnelling into the line, getting my boarding pass out ready.

It was the last thing I'd say to her in six weeks.

~Don't be sick on the children. Don't be sick on the children.

The two girls in front were blissfully unaware of their vomit-related danger. They swapped pink puppy cards while their parents fussed with passports, checking and re-checking they were still in the same pocket.

I was so mad at Mom. I was so mad at Mom ten million per cent of the time. What was so crappy was that "airport scene wasn't even extraordinary. Just the normal everyday occurrence of me versus Craig, me versus James...with Mom set on keeping the peace, rather than keeping on the side of her only son. I was so exhausted from fighting. I was so exhausted from feeling left out."

"I was so exhausted from missing Dad...

The boarding queue inched forward again and everyone moved along, dragging their bags behind them. My tummy churned, complaining about the rubbery duty-free eggs I'd eaten while crying silently in the harsh neon lighting of the airside restaurant.

If I could just not vomit...

If I could just look normal enough to be let on the plane...