Turbulence | 𝙰 𝚂𝚑𝚘𝚛𝚝 𝚂𝚝𝚘𝚛𝚢 ✔

→ⅵ

It drops, then rises. Drops. Rises. Being trapped inside a giant Yo-Yo must feel like this. Our plane is suspended on the bottom of a string, and some fellow in the clouds is having the time of his life playing. I press my back into the seat. Fingers, on my knees, have gone numb. Each jerk, each hiccup, it feels like the plane is going to descend. My eyes are closed. But that only leaves way for visions of charred bodies. Burning into the back of my lids. I don't know. Drop. Rise. Drop. Rise. Drop. Drop. Drop.

Drop.

"Felix?...Felix...Felix!"

Rise.

The breath I let out is packed with enough air to uproot ten trees at once. I'm gasping. Heaving. Then I stop breathing. Drop. Drop. Drop. Drop.

"Felix, please!"

Rise.

My shoulders have been pinned by two hands. My body's being turned. I can't thrash anymore, and that's when I see the person before me. Snow-poop hair. Watery blue eyes. Skin like leafless branches. And a lip about to bleed.

Royu Snowdrop looks scared.

For once in my life, I don't glare at him.

His eyes go wide.

The plane continues to tremble, but I stop the moment he starts—

talking like I've never heard him talk before.

"You'll get through this, Felix. It's just...another hardship. Like the time you sprained your wrist during that physical test, remember?" He breathes out—tense, sweetly. "Our exams were coming, and I thought you'd take it easy, but you still came up to me with that—" I feel it through the sweater, his finger on my hand—"damaged wrist of yours and you...you said you'd beat my ass." He shakes his head, giggling. "For someone so small, you're stuffed with a lot of fighting spirit."

My head is spinning—and I'm not sure if it's because of this stupid, wobbly plane.

"When the Principal announced that he was cancelling our school trip last year, a lot of people protested. Then he threatened us with detention, or something worse, and everyone went silent." He looks straight at me. "Except you."

Drop. I suck in a breath. Felix doesn't stop murmuring—"You stood alone, demanded the trip, got into trouble, and none of us went. You probably saw it as a loss, but—" Rise.

I cling to what he says like it's a window-ledge, my legs dangling in the air.

"To me, you were a winner."

I don't fall. Instead, I see red. The fire is back. And I see red on his cheeks.

"Felix," Royu Snowdrop mumbles, "is awesome."

Ding.

The seat-belt sign is switched off, and the Pilot announces that we're cool.

I think not.

I look away so fast, my forehead hits the window. And a dull ache tells me—no, child, this is no dream. My heart still beats like a madman, but the plane isn't shaking anymore. It's me. I think about Royu Snowdrop listing incidents from my life—incidents that I'd associated with my own selfishness, but when he spoke, and when I saw myself through his eyes, I seemed pretty darn noble. I think I like his eyes. Or not. No. I don't. I like his perception. I like the way he calls me awesome. I like the way he calls me awesome in third-person.

The fire is merciless. My insides are melting.

I want to glare at him, but my eyes won't look his way—I know he isn't looking my way either.

Ten minutes later, I have an empty water bottle and a full bladder. When I tell him I have to leave, he doesn't make a fuss over getting up from his seat. I would've damn well ripped apart the loser that couldn't hold his pee in.

Airplane washrooms aren't the most welcoming. It takes me a while to let go.

On my way back, as I'm sketching a plan to avoid Royu Snowdrop—read, don't look up, keep reading—it happens again.

Drop. Rise. Drop.

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