The Fake Out by Sharon M. Peterson
THIRTY
Did you sit in powdered sugar? ’Cause you’ve got a sweet bum.
—CHELSEA C.
“Are you sure this pilot is licensed?” I asked. “Like, you’ve seen his credentials?”
“Sure. He graduated top of his class from Acme Pilot and Cosmetology School. After we get to cruising altitude, he’ll come back and give you a blowout.”
“Funny.” Glaring at Chris, I yanked on my seatbelt for the twenty-third time. I’d never been on a plane before. Or out of the state of Texas. It was natural I’d be a little cautious.
We sat facing one another at the middle back of the plane (according to my research, the safest place to sit on a plane when you’re plunging to your death and want any chance of survival). Piper and Doug were on the plane too, but Piper had work to do, and Doug grumbled about needing a nap.
Chris leaned forward and covered my hands with his. “It’s going to be fine. I promise.”
I blew out a deep breath. “Okay.”
The flight attendant, a slender blond man with pink highlights, stopped at our seats. His nametag read Elvis. “Y’all get buckled up. Pilot says we have about five minutes until takeoff.”
My stomach roiled as panic shot through me. “Not okay, not okay.”
“Is there anything I can help with?” Elvis asked, crouching by my seat.
Chris unbuckled his seatbelt and switched seats, so he was sitting right next to me. “Just a nervous flyer. We have it under control.”
“Alright then.” Elvis stood and smiled. “You let me know if I can help.”
“Elvis,” I called when he was about five feet away.
He turned. “Yes?”
“When our plane crashes to the earth somewhere over East Texas, will you try and save me first? Before him?” I shoved a thumb in Chris’s direction.
He grinned. “I’ll do my best.”
Chris buckled up and pulled up the armrest between us. He scooted a little closer, so we were hip to hip. While that probably should have annoyed me, instead I felt a bit of tension drain off me.
“Why are you over here?” I asked.
“I’m going to distract you.”
“How?”
“The usual ways.”
“Which are?”
“First, I’ll share one of my most excellent pickup lines with you and you’ll say something sarcastic about it. If that doesn’t work, I’ll tell you about the time I got stuck in a tree in my neighbor’s yard naked and had to be rescued by firemen. To be fair, I was six and it was a dare.”
I snorted.
“So, then I’d move on to putting my arm around you, and telling you to lean in and hold on as tight as you want when we take off because I won’t break. Which you will do, even though you’ll tell me you don’t need any help.”
The plane engines began to rev; my heart rate followed suit. “This is happening. This is really happening. Skip to the third option.”
“It will be over before you know it,” he said in a disgustingly chipper voice as he curled an arm around my shoulders and pulled me to him.
The plane began to race down the runway, picking up speed. I turned my face into Chris’s chest and closed my eyes, breathing in laundry detergent and warm, clean skin.
I knew this was ridiculous. I was a grown woman, for Pete’s sake. I had a college degree. I ran the only library in four towns. Sometimes I checked the mail barefoot in the summer in a hundred-degree weather. I was not a weakling.
Chris ran his fingers through my hair and that was kind of nice. He pulled me closer yet. Just then, climbing into his skin seemed like a very good idea. It was then I heard the singing, the words to “Hush, Little Baby” sung close to my ear. It was not good singing. In fact, it was terrible.
I lifted my head and looked up at Chris. “What are you doing?”
“Singing. It’s to soothe you.” He launched into another verse.
Laughing, I shook my head. “Please don’t.”
He halted mid-verse. “Excuse me? This is good stuff. I practiced.”
I laughed harder. “Stop it. You know you sound terrible.”
With a huff, he took his arm from around my shoulders and crossed them over his chest. “My mom thinks I have a nice singing voice.”
“So, your mother is tone-deaf too?” I asked, but I was laughing so hard at this point, I’m not sure the words made sense.
“This is the kind of thanks I get for helping you.”
I swiped at the tears. “Yes, you’re right. Of course. Sorry.”
“Well, good.” He jabbed a thumb in the direction of the window. “Because we’re already in the air now.”
“We are?” I leaned around him, taking in the fluffy white clouds. “I did it. Oh, my gosh, I did it!”
He tapped me on the nose, his eyes warm. “You sure did.”