Page 53 of Guarded Love

"Yes, I did. I'm rooming with Tyler Chesterfield, right?" I should probably introduce myself to him at some point.

She nods. "That's correct. I just wanted to make sure since a few students mentioned they hadn't received the information. You’ll also be sitting next to him on the plane. Alphabetical order and all of that."

"Okay. All good on my end," I assure her.

"Excellent." She glances down at her clipboard. “Thank you for also offering to help if necessary.”

"No problem," I tell her. "Just let me know if you need anything and I’ll be happy to help."

As Professor Wallace walks away, the gate agent begins talking into the intercom once more. "Now boarding Flight 1372to San Juan. We'll begin with our premium passengers and those needing special assistance..."

My heart immediately kicks into overdrive. This is the last thing I needed to have happen before I got on this flight.

ID. I need my driver’s license.

I check my back pocket and don’t find my wallet there. Then, I unzip the front pocket of my carry-on, fingers fumbling with the zipper. It's there, right next to my wallet which is where I put it after I got through security. I touch it, feel its edges, then zip the pocket closed again. Check my phone to double check I have my ticket readily accessible. In case that fails, I printed out a copy that’s in my folder with the trip’s itinerary and other documents.

My chargers are in the side compartment. The medications I take are in the toiletry bag.

I unzip another pocket, check the contents, zip it back. Unzip, check, zip. The ritual usually grounds me, but today it's not working. My knee starts bouncing uncontrollably, but it’s one way to get the nervous energy out of my body.

"Group A can now begin boarding."

My mouth goes dry. I’m in the next group. I should stand up, but my legs feel weighted. I run through the list again: Driver’s license - front pocket; Chargers - side compartment; Medication - toiletry bag.

My hands are trembling now, making the simple act of zipping my bag closed again nearly impossible. I take a deep breath in an effort to try to slow my racing heart, but it doesn’t work.

Then I think about what Mom said when she dropped me off at the airport this morning. "You'll be fine," she'd whispered, and I'd nodded, pretending to believe her. Pretending I wasn't actually nervous about this trip.

"Group B, please have your boarding passes ready."

I stand and sling my bag over my shoulder. My body feels heavier than normal as I find a place to stand in the boarding line. Passport front pocket. Chargers side compartment. Medication toiletry bag. The mantra repeats, but my anxiety only intensifies. It feels as if I can't get enough air.

I unzip the front pocket again. Yes, my driver’s license is still there. I zip it closed. Unzip. Check. Zip. My fingers won't stop trembling.

"Boarding pass, sir?"

I fumble with my phone, nearly dropping it as I pull up the QR code. The gate agent's smile feels like a spotlight on my failure to keep it together. She scans my pass and gestures me forward, but my feet have cinder blocks tied to them. Well, that’s how it feels anyway.

"Have a nice flight."

I manage a tight nod and step into the jet bridge. My heart slams against my ribs, loud enough to me that I'm certain the people around me must hear it as well. Driver’s license front pocket. Chargers side compartment. Medication toiletry bag. The ritual that normally anchors me feels useless now.

I reach the plane entrance. The flight attendant's practiced smile does nothing to calm me.

"Welcome aboard. 14C is on your left, about halfway down."

I nod and step into the cabin. It takes everything to force one foot in front of the other, and I can’t stop double checking to make sure I didn’t pass my seat until I reach it.

A guy, who I assume is Tyler Chesterfield, is already there, headphones on, staring out the window. He glances up, offers a quick nod, then returns to whatever he's listening to. I’ll take that reaction because I have no desire to introduce myself right now. The middle seat is still open so I know I’ll have to move so whoever is sitting there can get to their seat eventually.

I stow my bag in the overhead bin, and when I finally sink into my seat, I close my eyes and grip the armrests. Breathe. Just breathe.

People continue boarding, but I keep my eyes closed so that I can focus on my breathing and tune the movement around me out. In for four, hold for four, out for four. It’s a technique my therapist taught me that rarely works when I'm this far gone.

"Excuse me? I need to get to that seat."

My eyes snap open. Willow stands in the aisle, gesturing to the empty middle seat in our row. My brain short-circuits.

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