Not Because She's Mine

The red banner on Captain Rourke's tablet was easy to read upside down: JUNIOR FLYER FLAG REMOVED. SEAT 3A. AUDIT REVIEW.

"Captain," my father's voice said from my phone, "this is Emmett Quade, Chief of Flight Safety Audit. I need everyone to hear this clearly. I did not ask for that hold."

Pruett gave a pleased little laugh. "There it is. Daddy pulled a string."

"Mr. Pruett," Captain Rourke said, "that is not what he said."

Pop kept going. "Mari, don't let anyone move you because of my name. And don't stay put because of it either. Stay because 3A is yours."

"Then why did the plane stop?" I asked.

"Northgate flags every solo passenger under sixteen. It's called Junior Flyer, and it seats them where the crew can see them. Three weeks ago we added a rule: if anyone strips that flag, an alert goes to my team. Yours came in at 6:41 this morning. It sat unread in my queue until you said 3A. The moment I opened it, the system pushed a banner to the captain's tablet on its own. I didn't send it."

I stared at the phone. My father read every alert on earth, and this one had waited in a budget meeting with his phone on silent while somebody erased the protection on my seat.

"Captain, open the load sheet," Pop said. "Look for a reseat order."

Rourke tapped. Stopped. Turned the tablet so I could see. A weight-and-balance order, logged at 6:58 a.m.: VACATE 3A. BALANCE CORRECTION.

"Balance," I said. "Five people are sitting up here. Where's the imbalance?"

"There isn't one," Rourke said.

"So the airline itself told me to sit here," said Pruett, spreading his hands.

Nobody laughed. Rourke's eyes stayed on the bottom line of the order, and from where I stood I could read that too: APPROVED, CAPT. L. ROURKE, 06:58.

She said nothing. Her thumb pressed the edge of the tablet until the knuckle went pale.

"Captain," Pop said, "Dev Malhotra from Passenger Service Review is coming aboard. He reports to the audit committee, not to me. I'm stepping out of every decision about this flight."

"Understood," said Rourke. Her voice was too level.

Pruett was still smiling, but the pink paper under his arm had begun to crinkle. I looked at the approval line again. Captain Rourke looked at her own name the way you look at a stranger's handwriting, and I knew I was watching someone who had never seen that line before in her life.