Um…what?
“I…” The microphone crackles to life with my single word, then blinks out again when I struggle to respond. Not because I don’t have an opinion on roller coasters. But because why in the hell is George Bunsen asking me about theme park rides when we haven’t said anything to each other for a solid thirty minutes?
“Didn’t catch that,” he says, probably thinking I spoke too low for the microphone to pick up.
Still unclear on why this is the topic of conversation, I decide to just go with it, because why the hell not?
“I like roller coasters. I mean, they feel like death traps, but I guess that does it for me.” I wave a hand to take in the tiny aircraft that somehow keeps us suspended thousands of feet in the air and has already proven to me that it’s not successful at its job one hundred percent of the time.
The corner of George’s mouth that I can see twitches up toward a smile.
“You like the drops?”
“Oh god. Are we going down again?” I’ve been meticulously monitoring the instruments this whole time and don’t see whatever issue he does. “Maybe it’s time you get a new mechanic if these situations keep cropping up.” I peer out the window, praying to see the airport.
“The plane is fine. We’re not going down,” George assures me, andI think I can hear his exasperation even through the distortion of the headset. “I was going to do a small maneuver.”
“What kind of maneuver? You’re not going to flip us upside down, are you?” My mind goes back to the aerobatics Vernon Roswell was bragging about. The young men at the club were in awe of the guy, but personally, I wouldn’t trust my life in his hands. According to the internet, Vernon’s a talented pilot—yes, I googled the man out of morbid curiosity—with multiple articles written by and about him in popular aviation publications. Vernon has flown aerobatic planes at air shows and has an impressive number of flight hours under his belt. But still, he seems too full of himself to truly consider someone else’s safety concerns. “Can 172s even manage that?”
“Technically, yes. But they aren’t certified for aerobatic maneuvers. You could stress the airplane and lose a wing.” George rubs a hand over the material of his jeans, and I try not to stare at his broad thigh. “I was going to do an up and over.”
“Is that a term I should know?”
George grips the yoke with both hands and gives a small head shake. “That’s just what my mom called it.”
His mom. I don’t know anything about Mrs.Bunsen. Sounds like she’s a pilot, too. Maybe she’s why George became one. I wonder if she’s a member of the flight club but just hasn’t been to the meetings.
I have the sense that this maneuver he’s offering to do is something like an olive branch. A way to reach across the awkward gap left by this morning. A morning we will not talk about.
“Okay. Show me an up and over.”
George turns his head, and despite the opaque shades, I can tell he’s scanning my face. Probably searching for signs of fear. But I’m pretty sure George Bunsen isn’t the risk-taking type, so if he wants to do this, then I don’t see a reason to worry.
“Here we go.” George pulls back on the yoke, and the nose of the plane tilts upward until only blue is visible through the windshield. A subtle, but not unpleasant, pressure pushes me back into the seat.
“Up,” he says, the explanation unnecessary but somehow adding an edge of excitement to the experience. “And over.”
He pushes the yoke forward faster than normal.
We tilt.
Then we dive.
The sky view is quickly replaced by the ground as the nose faces down at a more dramatic angle than when the engine failed. The force pressing me into my seat disappears, and I lose all sense of gravity. My arms float, and my body attempts to levitate out of my seat if not for the belt holding me in place.
Just like the drop of a roller coaster, only thousands of feet above the ground and no track to hold us in place.
Only George to keep us steady.
I glance over to find his head turned my way, a smile playing around the normally stern stretch of his mouth. I let out an excited, panicked bubble of laughter that feeds to him through the headset.
He grins, and I swear my heart floats straight up my throat. Which must be because of the up and over.
Although, a moment later, when he levels out the plane and I lose the sense of weightlessness, my heart seems to stay lodged in the wrong spot.
Chapter
18
