The Senior Trip

Chapter 2

ASHER

I'm probably going to be sick. Not the kind of sick you get from being shoved into a small space as a big guy and hurled through the air in this giant tin can, but the kind of sick you get when your entire world and future has been ripped from your hands. Is this really my life? My eyes pinch shut, and I breathe slowly through my nose to ward off the wave of nausea—or maybe it's just anxiety.

I wish life came with a mute button. Better yet, I wish it came with a whole fucking remote control so I could rewind the last month and see if I just wasn't paying attention to the signs. My hand combs through my messy hair and every time she giggles it's as if it sends a million tiny knives to dig into my heart. I should have bailed on this stupid trip.

"Are you OK?" a voice asks from beside me. When my eyes open and I find Harper Quincy staring at me like she isn't sure if she should grab me a puke bag or ask to swap out her seat, I try to relax my face.

"Yea, I just feel a little hot. They never have the air on," I lie and begin to play with the small knob that controls the flow of air to my face. Pathetic. It does as much good as a one-year-old trying to blow out their birthday candles. Fuck it.

Harper just nods her head and reaches for the overhead bin. I wonder why she isn't sitting with her boyfriend, the two of them are inseparable. My mind wanders when I hear Jess talking about the hotel we will be staying at. I listen to her as if there will be some clue in her words as to what the fuck happened that lead to that miserable conversation we had last night.

"Seriously?" Harper mumbles quietly. She's making quite the commotion now, and her thin body stretches as she fully extends her arms above her to the bin. I watch as her face twists in frustration and notice that it's the first time all day I've felt a smile coming on. I unhook my seat belt so I can help, but stop when Harper scrunches up her face and starts trying to beat the bags in the bin into submission.

"Stupid small space. Who is bringing all this shit? It's a beach town!" Her mumbling is kind of cute, but she should maybe tone it down before security has her removed for unstable behavior.

"I've got it," I say. I'm not exactly able to stand fully, and my large body is tweaked a bit between the small joke this airline calls leg room.

Her hands fall to her hips. Her hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail, and her bangs fall just past her brows and dance along her lashes. She wipes the sweat on her forehead with the back of her hand.

"Thanks," she says resigned.

I wait for her to make room for me to step out of the row, but instead, she seems to be looking at my shirt. I watch her eyes glance down my body and for a moment I have to wonder if maybe that egg McMuffin didn't make it all the way inside my mouth. Her eyes seem to pop back up to mine. I pinch my lips together and raise my browns.

"Oh, yea. Sorry. You need me to move." She sidesteps down the small aisle a few paces.

I don't respond with anything more than a quick nod and a tight smile. The bags are cumbersome, but not very heavy. It takes me only a minute to flip them around like an elaborate game of Tetris and then set hers inside with them and close the bin.

"Thanks again," she says sweetly.

"No problem." I don't tell her that it gave me a chance to glance at Jess. How is it that her smile is like drinking poison? It burns in my chest and feels like death because I'm not the one who put it on her face. Is it possible I don't really know her at all after all this time?

"Did you want to trade seats or something? I don't mind if you want Jess...."

"No," I cut her offer off short. Then I pray she doesn't ask why. I've been trying not to make it obvious, but I know how this school is and word will be around like ants at a picnic by the time the plane touches down. Have I mentioned I hate social media?

"OK," she answers and then slips into the seat beside me.

I grab my seatbelt and move it to the buckle. Her phone is out, and she's texting, but her hand reaches for her belt without the help of her eyes, and I'm caught off guard at the way my heart kicks when her palm lands on the back of my hand.

"Sorry," we both say.

"It's fine," she tells me, but her hand pulls away as if she's been shocked. She waits for me to get myself strapped in and then she carefully reaches for her belt again. I don't know much about her other than we had freshman art together and she hangs with her boyfriend most of the time, except when she's planning something for student council. I've heard she has a tattoo, but it's never been confirmed, and that speaks a lot to the culture of our school. Even the most private expression of self gets spun around and built up into some story that can be passed around.

She taps the last few words onto her phone screen and then shuts it down for the flight. Maybe I should have asked if she wanted me to change seats with her boyfriend, but the truth is I couldn't bear to get any closer to Jess. This week is already going to be a nightmare. I have no idea how I'm going to get through it.

"That's some pretty interesting fabric," she says as the flight attendants secure the bins and check that everyone is buckled. "If you squint your eyes you can almost see a unicorn jumping over a pot of gold."

I squint my eyes and take another look at the back of the seat I have apparently been staring at awkwardly long. "Really?" I ask.

"No, but sometimes it's fun to be distracted."

I laugh and nod. Let's just hope everyone is so distracted they don't realize my world as I know it—as everyone knows it— will never be the same.

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