“Um, not that I know of,” I answer weakly, trying not to die from heart palpations. “But the seat belt sign is on. You’re not supposed to be out of your seat.”
Fabulous. Now I sound like a hall monitor with a heart problem.
Dante shrugs without seeming worried.
“I think it will be okay,” he answers. “We’re not even on the runway yet.”
“Good point.”
“Can I sit here? I’m bored up front.”
I nod, my palms instantly clammier. “I hope you brought your blanket. You won’t get much back here except for a bag of peanuts.”
And now I sound like a cheap hall monitor with a heart problem. I’m presenting myself better and better by the moment.
Dante smiles yet again and sits next to me. He brings his charming accent with him and the scent of his amazing cologne. I take a deep breath. He smells far better than the stale airplane air. Far better. I fight the urge to jump into his lap and inhale his neck, a maneuver that just might make me appear slightly insane.
“You look pretty pale,” he observes as he buckles up. “Are you afraid to fly?”
“Is it that obvious?” I ask quietly. “As much as I’ve flown in my lifetime, I should be used to it. But I’m afraid that’s never going to happen. Once I’m in the air for awhile, I’ll be fine, but until then… well, I’m terrified. I admit it.”
“Don’t worry,” Dante tells me quietly, his voice calm and reassuring. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. You’re more likely to get into a--”
“Car crash rather than die in a plane crash,” I interrupt. “Yes, I know. I’ve heard. Where are you from?” I ask curiously, half out of genuine curiosity and half out of the need to distract myself. “You have the most interesting accent.”
He smiles, his teeth brilliantly white. I decide on the spot that I could watch him smile all day long.
“Caberra,” he answers, reminding me that I had asked a question. “It’s an island near Greece. And you?”
“Like you don’t know that I’m American,” I chuckle. “I know it’s written all over me. I’m sure you’re a fan, right?”
“Of Americans?” he raises a golden eyebrow. “Of course. I love them. I have no reason not to. They bring a lot of tourist dollars to Caberra.”
“Well, we are a land of excess,” I admit. “But that’s usually what foreigners seem to hate about us.”
Dante stares at me for a moment and then smiles. “Well, I can’t speak for all foreigners, but I don’t hate Americans. And you’re not in America right now, are you?”
I shake my head. “No, I am most certainly not.”
“Well, then. You’re the foreigner now.” He grins and I can’t help but smile back. He has a point.
The pilot gets on the intercom and his nasally voice drones on and on, but I am able to tune it out as I engage in conversation with a boy who is surely a direct descendent of the gods. There is no other plausible explanation for his good looks or charm. I barely even hear the words that come out of Dante’s mouth, because I am so mesmerized by the shape of his lips as he moves them. Pathetic, I know, but true.
One thing about me: I don’t lie to myself. I might stretch the truth for my parents from time to time when necessary, but never to myself. And I’m pathetically fascinated by this boy.
Finally, the aircraft shudders a bit and noses forward and I startle, gripping the arms of my seat. My fingers turn white and I am certain that I am leaving permanent indentions in the cracked vinyl arm-rests.
“Don’t worry,” Dante says quietly, unpeeling one of my hands and grasping it within his own. “It will be fine.”
The feel of his hand distracts me. Strong and warm, it cups my own carefully, like he is holding something very fragile. I close my eyes and enjoy the feeling. I only have a couple of minutes to soak it in, however.
As the plane moves down the runway in preparation for take-off, something happens. Something isn’t right.
Our plane rocks a little, then quivers, like it is being moved by a strong gust of wind. I feel it a brief moment before Dante tightens his grip on my hand, a split second before light explodes from outside of my eyelids. I open them to discover fire tearing down the runway past my window. Before I can react or even scream, all hell breaks loose.
Chapter Two
Things start happening more quickly than I can even register, all of them occurring in a huge colorful blur.
First, it is as if things are in slow motion as I struggle to make sense of what had happened.
Flight attendants rush around the plane as fire continues to blaze around us. The pilot speaks into the intercom again, but I can’t hear him now because of the din in the cabin. Everyone is chattering nervously, wondering what had just happened as sirens immediately begin to wail in the distance. And then, when the sirens start, a hush falls over the plane. And even in the fog of my shock and confusion, I have to give the emergency workers credit for their quick response time.
I gather up my courage and look out the window. From the edge of the runway, half in and half out of the grassy dirt, the skeletal remains of another airplane burn. I can see the white shell of its tail melting away and revealing the metallic bones of the aircraft. Black, toxic smoke billow from it into the heavens but perhaps the most troubling was the absence of one thing.
The rescue slide doesn’t emerge from the side of the plane. The carcass is still and silent, with only grotesque, loud popping noises coming from the flames.
“Oh, my god!”
A woman in the back of our plane breaks the eerie silence when she starts screaming. She cries, pointing out of her window, her hand shaking. The people on the burning aircraft are clearly dead. We can’t see them, but we know. There is a pall in the air, a shocked and unspoken sentiment that ripples through every passenger on our plane.
“What happened?” a little boy across the aisle asks his mother.
His mother is ghostly white, all color leached from her face as she stares outside of her window. Shaking her head grimly, she slides her plastic window-shade closed. Glancing my way, her eyes meet mine for a scant moment, before she lowers her head. We just witnessed a tragedy. The problem is, I’m not sure exactly what kind. I’m not sure of anything at all.