Page 8 of All the way home

No.

Zach straightens at once, a live wire, patting his pockets.

Nothing.

Panic rises in his chest as he yanks open the top pocket of his backpack, though he knows it’s a lost cause. His headphones are always in his hoodie pocket. Except right when he needs them.

Maybe his mom is right about karma. Maybe, somehow, Zach’s actually done something terrible without knowing and is paying for it now, slowly but surely. Or maybe this is the universe warning him not to get on the plane. She’d believe it’s a warning. Mom’s omens are legendary even with his cousins.

Mara would laugh at him if she were here, but he’s hyperaware that she isn’t, and she hasn’t been more than a voice in his ear or a face on his phone in four months and it’s just him and the rest of everybody about to get on a plane that’s being snowed on. Hard. Before he can stop it from happening, he’s thinking about Delta Air Lines Flight 1086 and regretting looking at the photos of the plane at LaGuardia with its crumpled nose.

Zach likes planes theoretically, the same way he likes rockets. Like, yes, objectively or from a mathematical standpoint, they’re the coolest thing ever. Concretely? He’d rather stay on the ground. Swallowing hard, he tries unsuccessfully not to think about the snow vis-à-vis plane vis-à-vis ice on the wings vis-à-vis imminent death.

The terminal is just loud enough that it’s hard to keep track of his own thoughts. Next to him, two women talk about a flight to Seattle being outright canceled.

His stomach churns.

Eventually, just for something to do, Zach wanders over to the water fountain and fills his bottle.

“Oh, it’s you.”

This time, when he jolts and the bottle slips out of his grasp, Zach’s ready. He catches it with his free hand, wide-eyed. Only a drop of water sloshes over the rim.

Next to him, Peacoat Boy leans against the wall, watching with an amused smile. In his hand, he’s holding the same water bottle Zach had seen earlier.

“It’s . . . me?” Zach twists around, bewildered. Is Peacoat Boy really talking to him?

“What’s it got against you?”

Too stunned to make sense of the question, Zach holds his water bottle to his chest. “Sorry—what?”

“Your water bottle.” Peacoat Boy gestures. “What’s it got against you?”

“Oh,” Zach says, brain stammering to a halt. “Well, I forgot my leash at home.”

He’s rewarded with a bright, startled laugh. “Your leash?”

Zach’s face burns. “I—yes.”

“Big market for water-bottle leashes,” Peacoat Boy says, and then turns to the fountain. “What zone are you in?”

It takes several seconds to register that he’s the one being addressed, because Peacoat Boy’s eyes are trained on his own water bottle, giving the impression he’s just directed the question at the thin air in front of him.

“Pardon?”

“You’re on the Toronto flight, right? What zone?” Peacoat Boy repeats.

It’s difficult not to stare. This guy looks like he belongs in a first-class lounge, not here. Who wears dress shoes in an airport if they don’t have to? And why is he talking to Zach?

“On your ticket,” he clarifies, with an incline of his head.

Zach thumbs over to the wallet app. “Uh, 2. Zone 2.”

“Ah.” Peacoat Boy steps back from the fountain. “So’m I. Where are you sitting, then?”

Sweat makes the palms of his hands slick. Glancing back down at the ticket, paranoia blooms. What a weird question. Why does it matter? He finds the seat number: 17E.

A text from Mara pops up: