The Fangirl Disease (On Hold)

three

Mom isn't allowed on the plane with me, so I board it by myself after giving her one last hug. I don't cry because I still can't comprehend that I may not see her ever again.

Mom cries.

A flight attendant relieves me of my large suitcase before another worker leads me onto the plane.

"This is a special airline," she tells me. "We usually have no more than ten passengers on each plane- we don't allow anyone else to travel along to Fan Isle."

The inside of the plane is much smaller than I've ever seen. Instead of rows of two or three seats on either side of the aisle, there's only one seat per row.

The attendant leads me to my seat. I thank her and put my small backpack in the carry-on compartment.

I wait in my seat in silence for another ten minutes, watching the other passengers board.

The flight attendant was right. There are only six other people on my flight: four other girls and two boys that were all roughly my age, give or take a few years.

My guess is that they'd all been diagnosed recently with fanitosis as well.

The seat across the aisle from mine is occupied by a tall girl with pale skin and long pale hair.

I observe her out of the corner of my eye. She doesn't put her backpack in the luggage compartment right away like I did, but instead clutches it tightly to her chest. Her knuckles are white.

The girl catches me staring, and I look away, my cheeks burning.

A voice on the speakers distracts me from my embarrassment, and I buckle my seatbelt. When I press my nose against the window I can see another plane leading us around a little loop.

We wait for a few minutes until it's our turn to take the runway. This is always my favorite part of the flight. I fight the urge to laugh aloud as we speed down the strip and then into the air.

When the exciting part is over, I sneak a peek at the pale girl. She looks even paler than before. She also looks kind of sick.

Before I have time to react, the girl looks over at me and stiffly says, "I hate planes."

I stare at her, startled.

"I'm Trin," the girl says after taking a shaky breath.

"I- I'm Freya," I stutter. This reminds me of my first day at my new school back home. I was always too shy to make friends with anyone but the teachers.

Trin isn't scared off. "I saw you smiling during the take off. I could tell that you like flying," she says quietly. "How could you not be scared?"

"Well", I say hesitantly, "the odds are only about 11 million to one that you'll die in a plane crash, you know."

"Really?"

My response was interrupted with a ding. The seatbelt light turns off. Trin stands up and puts her bag away into the compartment.

"How long did they say the flight would be?" she asks me as she returns to her seat.

"Three hours, I think." I tell her.

"Ugh. What are we going to do for three hours? I should have brought my books in my backpack."

"I have two," I offer, "you can borrow one if you want."

Trin and I read until we arrive, at last, on Fan Isle.