Turbulence - (18+)

28.

GATE B23 JUSTIN

Hawaii (HNL)-> Dallas (DAL)-> New York (JFK)

I need a drink...

My head was throbbing in pain after piloting two turbulent flights back to back, Shay was starting to call and text me whenever she felt like it, and I was seconds away from walking out of this simulator session. To make matters worse, the Elite Airways circus was back in full swing-gaining front page stories on all the major papers and placing promotional interviews on damn near every news station.

My father, ever the attention whore, was now the first airline CEO to host a "flying media tour." He was allowing journalists from every paper to board his new Dreamliner-to write glowing reviews of the plane as he flew along with them and plied them with lies. He was reported as saying things like, "Yes, this is the plane I'm the proudest of, My family still hasn't flown in it yet," and "Yes. Yes, I think Sarah would've loved this one."

It wasn't until I read that last quote that I realized that he pulled this media frenzy shit at the exact same time every year. It was probably how he dealt with the guilt of getting away with his numerous lies, how he dealt with being destined for Hell.

I stopped myself from reading the remainder of the articles and put my phone in my pocket. I pulled out a new crossword puzzle, but before I could start it, the simulator session ended with a jerk that almost knocked me out of my chair, damn near slamming me against the windscreen.

Annoyed, I looked ahead at the results screen.

"Congratulations again, Ryan," I said. "You've killed everyone again, but at least this time you crashed on the ground, so all of us will get to have our body parts in our caskets."

"You're not helping me learn, sir," he said, teary eyed just like last time. "Would it kill you to actually give me some advice?"

I unbuckled my seatbelt. "Fly better next time."

"With all due respect, could you tell me something that will actually help?"

"How about learn how to read?" I stood up and tossed the operations manual for the Airbus 321 at him. "You're making the same emergency protocol mistakes because you're treating this like a damn CR-9. Try memorizing chapters seven through thirty. Is that helpful enough?"

He nodded and I rolled my eyes, stepping out of the tube. I walked through the hangar-past the other simulators, ignoring the supervisor who was shaking his head at me. I made it to the parking lot and opened my car door, but I heard a familiar, ugly voice calling my name.

"Justin! Justin!" Evan stopped a few feet short of me, forcing me to turn around. "Justin, I-I missed the chance to speak to you at the gala. Would you please let me talk to you?"

I didn't answer.

"I just need five minutes of your time, so-"

"Get the fuck away from my car."

"Justin." His face fell. "Justin, don't do this..."

"Don't you have some erasing to do?" I glared at him. "More childhood photos you need to crop me out of?"

"Justin, please."

"I like 'Pearson' as a last name. That was a really good choice the two of you made. How many of your legal friends did you have to go through to cover everything up?"

"We're not covering up anything."

"No?" I crossed my arms. "Have I somehow missed the scandalous tell-all in the press somewhere? I'd love to read it, if so."