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that—imagine conversations before they happen. That’s why people sometimes have a tough time understanding me and I them. But Paul’s a bright one and catches up quickly.
    “I bet you’re a philosophy major,” he says, if not a tad smugly. “I get it.”
    “Yes, how did you know?” I say. It is very difficult for me not to lie in a situation like this. It just feels safer. I open my mouth to lie more, but I am too tired, too anxious, and I will myself to stop.
    He looks at me strangely. “I think they’re all full of shit. They don’t know anything more about life than you do.”
    I take in his face for a moment. I can see where he will grow old, where the crinkles will carve a path from the corner of his eyes. I bet he’s a worrier. I bet he’s a fronter—all bravado up front and a squirming mass of anxiety underneath.
    “Right,” I say, picking up the emergency information card and studying it.
    He looks at me for a second and then a crooked smile opens his face. He thinks I’m a bitch. Or just not worth the trouble. He puts on his headphones, pushes his sunglasses back on, and leans back in his seat.
    I put on my headphones too, close my eyes, and turn away. I hope he doesn’t try talking to me again. I listen to him rustling through his bag and adjusting his seat belt. There’s a lot of show in it, like he’s trying to get my attention, but I resist, which is not so much a part of the Plan but more my nature. Show-offs repulse me.
    The captain comes on: “Folks, I’m sorry for the abrupt departure this evening, but Control wanted us out before the runway got snowed in. There’s a bit of a storm ahead of us, so I’m going to have the seat belt sign on for the duration while we try to stay a step ahead of it. We’ll be heading a bit farther north than we normally do, but we should right our course just past this front and land in Chicago as scheduled. So please cooperate and try to stay in your seat if possible. Thank you for making the choice to fly West Air, and enjoy your trip.”
    “Dude, where would we be going?” Paul says loudly. He looks to me with that crooked smile I’ve now come to despise. Is he talking to me? Or is he responding to the captain? I do not look at him. I pull the blanket from the netting in the seat in front of me and wrap myself up in it. I close my eyes and wait.
One more unexpected benefit of the Plan,
I think.
I’ll never hear this Masshole’s accent again.

Chapter 10
    U nbelievably, I nodded off. Or, I guess I did, because when I open my eyes, the lights are out except for a few reading lights in front. The plane is mostly empty, so it looks like a ghost town in here. Paul is asleep with a map propped on his stomach. His book is tucked underneath his elbow.
    I check my watch, and it is after five. I look into my bag and pull out my pad of paper. I’ve thought about this note forever. I steady the pad, but there’s some turbulence and it makes it difficult to write. Thankfully, what I have to say is very brief.
     
    Dear Mom,
    I’m going with Dad. I’ll see you on the other side. Don’t blame yourself. I was born with it and there’s nothing to be done.
    Love,
    Jane
     
    I fold it up and write M OM on the front. I tuck it into the netting of the seat in front of me. I try to place it where somebody will find it, but I am suddenly overwhelmed by a fear that the letter will go unnoticed and my mother won’t ever read it. That she’ll go through the rest of her life blaming herself for my death. I stare at it awhile, then take the letter and stuff it into my pants pocket. I unfasten my seat belt and turn so I’m facing the seat and Paul and then step over him, balancing myself until I can lift my back leg over. He stirs for a moment but does not wake.
    The bathroom sits directly behind me. I check my watch, and it’s forty-five minutes since takeoff, which is cutting it close. If I dose now, by the time we land in Chicago, I should be gone. A brief