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BLAISE

Y ou know that moment where you try to ignore something that has drawn you in to the point where everything else fades into the background? That’s me right now because it’s impossible for me not to notice her.

Willow is two rows away from me, and somehow she's the only person or thing I’m drawn to in this airport terminal.

Everything else, including the announcements being made by the different airlines, a kid throwing a tantrum by the vending machines, even Professor Wallace calling out names to make sure that we’re all here, all blurs into white noise.

Her dark hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she keeps tucking loose strands behind her ear.

A nervous habit I've noticed before. She's wearing headphones, probably to stop anyone from approaching her, but I can tell she's not really concentrating on what’s playing through her speakers by the way her eyes keep darting around. She’s always alert, always observing her surroundings.

This is dangerous territory. I shouldn't be memorizing the way she fidgets with her phone case or how she crosses and uncrosses her ankles. I definitely shouldn't remember that she smells like vanilla and coffee or wonder if that scent would intensify if I sat closer.

Knox would kill me if he knew how much mental real estate his sister occupies in my brain.

The irony is, he’s the one who put her there in the first place.

He’s the one who asked me over the holiday break to keep an eye on her while we were in Puerto Rico.

Not like babysit her, per se, but just to make sure she’s okay.

I said of course I would. And now that request seems anything but simple.

I force myself to look down at my phone and click on a random email just to have something else to focus on.

I quickly realize it’s an old email from my political science professor confirming receipt of my final paper from last semester.

I can try to review some old videos tapes that Coach asked me to look at, but it's pointless. I’ve already watched them multiple times.

No matter how hard I try to concentrate on something else, my attention drifts back to her.

I shouldn't be studying the curve of her neck when she tilts her head or noticing how she chews her bottom lip when she's deep in thought. I definitely shouldn't be wondering what she's listening to, or if she's thinking about this trip, or if she's as aware of me as I am of her.

This isn't just inappropriate. It's a betrayal because Knox trusts me. He's my best friend, practically my brother. And here I am, unable to stop watching his sister like a stalker.

I've spent years building walls between us.

Creating distance. Maintaining boundaries.

All so I wouldn't have to confront whatever this pull is that keeps drawing me back to her.

And now we're about to spend a week together in Puerto Rico, where those barriers are going to be tested every single day.

I run a hand through my hair, exhaling slowly.

Get it together, Dalton. She's off-limits for a dozen different reasons if not more.

The fact that she hates me should be reason enough.

The fact that Knox would never forgive me is another.

The fact that I pulled away from her that night and hurt her should be the final nail in the coffin.

But still, my gaze drifts back to her because I’m drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

The fire that burns so bright within her is just the tip of the proverbial iceberg.

I know there’s more going on beneath that tough exterior she shows to the world.

If things were different, I’d beg her to let me explore it and everything else with her, but alas, it can’t be. It never will be.

This time when she looks up, our eyes meet.

She doesn’t look away.

Neither do I.

It’s only a few seconds, but it lands harder than I expect. There’s no expression on her face, at least nothing obvious, anyway, but something passes between us. And I can’t quite name what it is.

"Attention passengers for Flight 1372 to San Juan, we will begin boarding in approximately ten minutes."

The announcement cuts through all of my thoughts and brings me back to reality. I glance around and notice Professor Wallace gesturing for everyone to gather closer. I grab my things and make my way over to the group that’s forming.

"Alright, everyone," she calls out. "Let's do one final headcount before we board. When I call your name, please raise your hand."

As Professor Wallace begins calling names, I deliberately position myself with my back to Willow. Out of sight, out of mind. Except that's never worked with her, has it?

"Blaise Dalton?"

I raise my hand. "Here."

Professor Wallace nods and continues down her list. I keep my eyes fixed on her clipboard, refusing to let my gaze wander again.

"Willow Sanchez?"

I hear a, "Here," from behind me. I resist the urge to look over my shoulder and give myself a small, mental pat on the back for my efforts.

Once the roll call is complete, Professor Wallace gives us our boarding instructions.

We'll be boarding in groups, with her going first to make sure everything is set with the gate agents.

"Remember, you'll be sitting according to your assigned seats," she says. "If you have any issues, please see me before we board."

People begin to move back to their seats to gather their belongings. I take my time, making sure I won't accidentally bump into Willow in the process.

As I'm checking my carry-on, making sure I have everything I need for the flight, Professor Wallace approaches me.

"Blaise, do you have a moment?"

"Of course," I reply, straightening up.

"I wanted to check if you received the email about the room assignments?" she asks.

"Yes, I did. I'm rooming with Tyler Chesterfield, right?" I should probably introduce myself to him at some point.

She nods. "That's correct. I just wanted to make sure since a few students mentioned they hadn't received the information. You’ll also be sitting next to him on the plane. Alphabetical order and all of that."

"Okay. All good on my end," I assure her.

"Excellent." She glances down at her clipboard. “Thank you for also offering to help if necessary.”

"No problem," I tell her. "Just let me know if you need anything and I’ll be happy to help."

As Professor Wallace walks away, the gate agent begins talking into the intercom once more. "Now boarding Flight 1372 to San Juan. We'll begin with our premium passengers and those needing special assistance..."

My heart immediately kicks into overdrive. This is the last thing I needed to have happen before I got on this flight.

ID. I need my driver’s license.

I check my back pocket and don’t find my wallet there.

Then, I unzip the front pocket of my carry-on, fingers fumbling with the zipper.

It's there, right next to my wallet which is where I put it after I got through security. I touch it, feel its edges, then zip the pocket closed again. Check my phone to double check I have my ticket readily accessible. In case that fails, I printed out a copy that’s in my folder with the trip’s itinerary and other documents.

My chargers are in the side compartment. The medications I take are in the toiletry bag.

I unzip another pocket, check the contents, zip it back. Unzip, check, zip. The ritual usually grounds me, but today it's not working. My knee starts bouncing uncontrollably, but it’s one way to get the nervous energy out of my body.

"Group A can now begin boarding."

My mouth goes dry. I’m in the next group. I should stand up, but my legs feel weighted. I run through the list again: Driver’s license - front pocket; Chargers - side compartment; Medication - toiletry bag.

My hands are trembling now, making the simple act of zipping my bag closed again nearly impossible. I take a deep breath in an effort to try to slow my racing heart, but it doesn’t work.

Then I think about what Mom said when she dropped me off at the airport this morning. "You'll be fine," she'd whispered, and I'd nodded, pretending to believe her. Pretending I wasn't actually nervous about this trip.

"Group B, please have your boarding passes ready."

I stand and sling my bag over my shoulder. My body feels heavier than normal as I find a place to stand in the boarding line. Passport front pocket. Chargers side compartment. Medication toiletry bag. The mantra repeats, but my anxiety only intensifies. It feels as if I can't get enough air.

I unzip the front pocket again. Yes, my driver’s license is still there. I zip it closed. Unzip. Check. Zip. My fingers won't stop trembling.

"Boarding pass, sir?"

I fumble with my phone, nearly dropping it as I pull up the QR code. The gate agent's smile feels like a spotlight on my failure to keep it together. She scans my pass and gestures me forward, but my feet have cinder blocks tied to them. Well, that’s how it feels anyway.

"Have a nice flight."

I manage a tight nod and step into the jet bridge. My heart slams against my ribs, loud enough to me that I'm certain the people around me must hear it as well. Driver’s license front pocket. Chargers side compartment. Medication toiletry bag. The ritual that normally anchors me feels useless now.

I reach the plane entrance. The flight attendant's practiced smile does nothing to calm me.

"Welcome aboard. 14C is on your left, about halfway down."

I nod and step into the cabin. It takes everything to force one foot in front of the other, and I can’t stop double checking to make sure I didn’t pass my seat until I reach it.

A guy, who I assume is Tyler Chesterfield, is already there, headphones on, staring out the window.

He glances up, offers a quick nod, then returns to whatever he's listening to. I’ll take that reaction because I have no desire to introduce myself right now.

The middle seat is still open so I know I’ll have to move so whoever is sitting there can get to their seat eventually.

I stow my bag in the overhead bin, and when I finally sink into my seat, I close my eyes and grip the armrests. Breathe. Just breathe.

People continue boarding, but I keep my eyes closed so that I can focus on my breathing and tune the movement around me out. In for four, hold for four, out for four. It’s a technique my therapist taught me that rarely works when I'm this far gone.

"Excuse me? I need to get to that seat."

My eyes snap open. Willow stands in the aisle, gesturing to the empty middle seat in our row. My brain short-circuits.

"Wait I thought…isn't seating assigned? In alphabetical order?" I manage to ask.

"It is." She shifts her weight as if she’s nervous. Interesting. "But Professor Wallace said there was a mix up with my seat. Something about a family needing to sit together and since I was a late addition to the trip...."

"I...see," I say, though my brain is still processing what this means. I'm going to be sitting next to Willow Sanchez for the entire flight to Puerto Rico.

I stand up and put my hand out. “I can put your bag in the overhead bin.”

She throws a look at me before she proceeds to lift her carry-on. “I can do it myself. Thanks.”

"Fine." I step back, giving her space.

She struggles for a moment, but manages to get it in the overhead bin. I resist the urge to help anyway, knowing it would only irritate her more. When she finally slides into the middle seat, her arm brushes against mine, and I have to temper the warmth that flowed through me as a result.

"Thanks again," she mutters, though it sounds like she'd rather say anything else.

“No problem,” I say quickly. I let out a long deep breath and close my eyes once more. The anxiety that was building in my body seems to have peaked and now is on a downward decline. The only thing I can think of is that Willow’s presence is the cause.

And knowing that makes all the thoughts I’ve had about her so much worse.

Without a doubt, this is going to be a very long flight.