“Blair,” Abigail calls, and I relent, knowing there’s no point in pushing further.
With a sigh, I retreat to my bed. “Okay, fine. I’ll stay with you. But you’d better not hover, I mean it.” She has a habit of being the sibling equivalent of a helicopter parent, and I’m not in the mood for it. “I have to go, though. I need to pack and?—”
“Wait, what?” she cuts me off, her voice rising an octave. “What do you mean you need to pack? Haven’t you pa?—”
“Love you! I’ll see you when I stay at your place.”
Despite all her worrying, Abigail squeals with joy. “Thank you, thank you, thank you! I love you, too. Now go pack. I don’t want you to miss your flight,” she says before hanging up.
With another sigh, I toss my phone onto the bed and turn my attention back to my final project. As a fashion student, my assignment is to design and sketch a formal dress, which I’ll bring to life in my final semester before graduation. For my design, I’ve chosen a timeless A-line silhouette: classic, elegant, and flattering on almost any figure. It hugs the torso just enough before gently flaring out at the waist, striking the perfect balance between simplicity and sophistication.
As time slips away, I drift into my creative mindset,which often isolates me from the rest of the world. Even the plate I brought in remains untouched. I completely forget about my flight; it’s only when I submit my final sketch that I realize I have a mere two hours to shower, pack, and make it to the airport. Panic sets in as I stumble over my empty suitcase in my rush to the bathroom.
“Shit… shit… shit,” I mutter. I’m no stranger to panic and rushing, but even I know I’m cutting it close right now. I hurry through a brief shower before darting back to my room. I hastily throw random clothes into my suitcase, struggling to close it. I suppose it’ll be a surprise to see what I ended up packing once I land in Boston.
“Are you ready? You’re going to be late,” Dylan calls out from outside my room.
“Yeah… I am. I just…” I begin, opening the door, but my words trail off as I notice Dylan’s amused smile. I firmly clutch the handle of my suitcase, trying to force it through the door frame. “Something funny?”
Dylan gestures down toward me. Only then do I realize I’m standing here in my underwear and bra. “Damn it, Dylan!” I exclaim, quickly shutting the door.
“What did I do?” Dylan questions, clearly amused by me. I hurriedly put on an oversized shirt and a pair of yoga pants, aiming for comfort rather than style. I scan the room and spot my iPad, which I grab before joining Dylan outside. I suppose it has all worked out somehow. If I hadn’t forgotten to put my shirt on, the iPad would’ve stayed back, and that’s my lifeline.
“Let’s go. I’m so late,” I say. Dylan helps me with the suitcase as we move down three flights of stairs and out onto the street, where his car waits for us. Now, the panic sets in even more. Abby will kill me if I miss this flight, and I’ll have no one to blame but myself.
Dylan drives as fast as he can without risking getting pulled over. I swear, today of all days, I hate Paris’ traffic. The city outside the window blurs as I repeatedly check the time. Wemightjust make it.
The moment we arrive at the airport, I grab my suitcase and kiss Dylan on the cheek.
“Thank you, thank you, thank you…”
“You can thank me properly once you’re back!” he yells out from behind me as I rush inside, but the words are lost amongst all the chaos. The terminal is a chaotic flurry of activity, filled with travelers eager to reach their destinations. I swiftly check my bag and hurry through security, desperately sprinting towards my gate. Just as I arrive, I see the doors being closed.
“Non, s’il vous plaît, attendez!”?1 I yell, breathless. “I have to be on that plane.” My grasp of French is limited, but I manage to convey my plea.
The gate agent looks at me as if I’m crazy. I rush to him and hand over my ticket. He scans it without a word and returns it. “Merci beaucoup,”?2 I manage to utter, grateful, catching my breath as I board the plane.
Once I step onto the plane, the plush carpet and serene lighting confirm what I already knew, but it still feels surreal. First class. I’ve seen the words printed on my ticket a dozen times, but something about crossing that threshold makes it real. The flight attendant smiles and gestures me forward, like I belong here. I swallow hard, trying to play it cool, but inside I’m buzzing. I’ve never flown first class before, so naturally I don’t know how to act.
I’m escorted to my row and the windowseat.Myseat. I can’t help the grin spreading across my face. Sliding into the plush chair, I take a moment to savor the extra space, the soft fabric, the sheer luxury of it all. This feels… surreal.
“Would you like some champagne?” the flight attendant asks. I have never drunk on a flight before, but I’m not missing out on this opportunity. Abby would want me to enjoy it to the fullest.
“Yes, please,” I say. The flight attendant leaves, and I’m left on my own for a long moment. I glance at the aisle, expecting someone to join me in the neighboring seat, but as the minutes tick by and the boarding announcements wrap up, no one shows.
My jaw drops slightly. Is this real life? An empty seatnext to mein first class? Today must be my lucky day.
The flight attendant brings me my champagne, which I sip on eagerly, just enjoying the moment. I know I need to document this once-in-a-lifetime moment, so after a while I pull out my phone and start snapping pictures and taking videos for my social media. It’s how I pay the bills as a student. It’s not much, but it keeps the lights on and the fridge stocked. Sure, my parents help where they can, but we’re not exactly rolling in money, so this gig makes a big difference.
After getting the perfect angles, seat shots, legroom flexes, and a few cheeky captions, I finally put my phone away and sink back into the seat. The low hum of the cabin and the warm lighting make it way too easy to relax. I close my eyes with a contented sigh, thinking this might just be the best nap of my life.
A gentle tap on my shoulder pulls me from the edge of sleep. “Miss, would you like to try our dinner service?” the flight attendant asks with a polite smile. For the first time ever, I get to choose from an actual menu instead of pickingbetween mystery chicken or soggy pasta. The food’s incredible, real silverware, warm bread, the works.
After I finish eating, I recline my seat again, lulled by the quiet and the soft rustle of blankets. Sleep claims me easily.
When I wake, my head feels heavy, and the cabin lights seem brighter than before. The pilot’s voice filters through the speakers, announcing our descent into Boston. I blink a few times, checking my phone in disbelief. Somehow, I slept through almost the entire seven-hour flight.
Disembarking is surprisingly fast, no endless shuffle down the aisle, no cramped wait. Before I know it, I’m stepping into Logan Airport, surrounded by the familiar chaos of home.
