The send-off party for the following day’s travelers began innocently enough. As parties sometimes do, it divided by age. The adults were in the living room watching the video of the performance, while my friends and I hung out in the kitchen eating pizza.

“Are you ready for tomorrow, Jack?” Penny asked.

“I’m ready.”

“What time’s your flight?” she asked.

“One p.m.”

“How long is it?” Tina asked.

“With two stops, almost thirteen hours. And that’s just to Iceland.” Jack ran his fingers though his hair. “From there, we transfer airports and still have two more flights to go.”

“Sounds grueling,” Tina said.

“Especially for a first-time flier,” I said.

Jack dropped his head and tossed his crust onto his plate.

“It’s your first time flying?” Logan said. Logan was a cast member and one of Matthew’s band buddies. To me, he seemed loud and coarse, but everyone, Penny included, thought he was hilarious. “Welcome to the twenty-first century, dude.”

Hilary, a chorus member and Penny’s understudy, giggled.

“I appreciate it,” Jack said to Logan, but it was me he locked eyes with.

Jeez. All I’d said was that it was his first time. It wasn’t like I’d blabbed, or worse, teased, about his actual fear of flying. Weeks back, when he’d admitted it, I’d known it was a big deal. The guy didn’t admit to many weaknesses. From the look he raked over me, I knew he felt betrayed. Like I’d turned state’s evidence against him, or read excerpts from his diary out loud. I forgot, sometimes, how buttoned-up Jack was, but in this case he was overreacting. I hadn’t sold him out.

“There’s this thing called the Internet,” Logan said. “You ever hear of it? And phones: they’re mobile now. You can take them with you, even on that big air-o-plane you’ll be on.” Logan was on a roll. Hilary tittered into her cupped hand.

“Did you guys hear about the dogsleds?” I asked in a subject-changing ploy.

Not everyone had, and Jack was way more comfortable with this topic. He described the plans for their Iditarod-like portion of the trip. It was evidence of our respective distractions that even I hadn’t known that though he would basically be a passenger on the sled of an experienced musher, part of his recent training included basic dog-handling skills. I had not known that hike was the more commonly used command for go, not mush. Right was gee and left was haw. And leave it was the command for the dog to stop sniffing at an item, animal, or other temptation.

Speaking of temptations, I decided it was dessert time. My mom had gone to the trouble of ordering a chocolate-on-chocolate sheet cake with a big fat loopy Bon voyage scrolled across the top; a red, white, and blue map of the United States in the bottom left corner; a green map of Greenland in the top right; and a little plastic plane flying between them on a broken-line trajectory. I set the cake on the island and was fishing forks and spoons out of a drawer. Penny, Tina, Matthew, and the others were bunched up at one end of the island downloading pictures from Tina’s camera phone onto Matthew’s Facebook page.

“I smell coffee,” Brigid said, stepping into the room.

She had removed the long jacket she’d worn earlier, revealing a low-cut, tight-fitting sweater. A new silver snowflake necklace wasn’t the only thing it showed off.

“I just wanted to congratulate you all on a wonderful performance.”

We’d been upgraded from “good” to “wonderful.” Whoop-de-do. More to the point, I wondered who was putting on the show.

A chorus of “thanks” echoed through the small kitchen. Matthew and Logan, I noticed, went from baritones to altos.

“The coffee’s not quite ready yet,” I said, “but I’ll bring it into the family room with the cake.”

“Sounds perfect,” Brigid said with a parting wave.

“Did you guys get a look at that body?” Logan asked. “Hello! You are one lucky dog, Jack.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I asked, looking for a cake server in our utensil drawer.

“You got room in your suitcase for me?” He punched Jack in the shoulder. “Because she is smokin’ hot.”

Jack didn’t reply, lucky for him. Unlucky for Logan, I opted to go with our largest knife in lieu of the wimpy cake server.

“Logan,” I said, holding the knife in front of me. “I hardly think —”

Logan cut me off. “What’s the bunk assignment like? Did they teach you about shared body heat in your survival training? ’Cause a guy would warm up nicely cozying up between her —”

“Logan,” I said in a tone that conveyed everything; the slash of my knife through the air was probably unnecessary.

Matthew and Jack choked back laughter in some kind of bro-spiracy.

“Easy there,” Jack said. His eyes dropped to the knife.

Like I would really use it. Like I needed anyone — Jack in particular — telling me “Easy there.” It was condescending and insulting. And Logan had been inappropriate.

“What if she hears you guys?” I said in a sulk.

“She didn’t hear anything,” Jack said.

“Which makes it OK?” I asked, dumping cake slices onto plates. I deliberately served Jack the piece that was upside down and misshapen. I then carried a tray out to the adults in the front room. When I returned, Jack had his coat on.

“Tomorrow’s an early morning,” he said. “I should be going.”

I found my own parka in the pileup of belongings and followed him toward the foyer. He briefly mumbled a “Good night and thank you” to my mom, but overall his departure was abrupt and kind of rude.

“Wait up,” I said, stumbling behind him down the porch steps.

He paused at the driver’s-side door to his truck, which was parked in the driveway, but didn’t say anything.

“Are you OK?” I asked.

“I’m fine.”

“It just seemed like —”

“I said I’m fine.”

His tone definitely implied otherwise.

“So why are you taking off, then? We didn’t even get any time alone.”

“I’m not done packing.”

“Are you sure you’re all right? Is it the flying thing?”

“No. Though I really don’t appreciate my lack of travel experience being thrown in my face.”

“Thrown in your face? It’s not like I said you were scared.”

“I’m not scared.” His voice was gruff.

“I never said you were. And maybe I don’t appreciate you drooling over Brigid with a pig like Logan.”

“You’re overreacting.”

“I am not,” I said.

“Yes, you are.”

The front door opened, and Brigid stepped onto the porch. Her timing couldn’t have been worse. Jack kissed me quickly on the lips and pulled away. Honestly, I’d been kissed by a dolphin at SeaWorld with more passion.

“Take care of yourself,” he said, pulling at the truck’s door handle.

“I will,” I stammered, too stunned to properly react. Take care of yourself? What the hell did that mean?

Brigid approached us and stopped.

“Katla,” she said, using my full name for the first time, “it has been a pleasure to know you.” She shook my hand with gloved fingers. “And, Jack, I will see you tomorrow.”

“Looking forward to it,” he said, his eyes bright and eager.

Though he gave me another brief kiss — on the friggin’ forehead — his gaze seemed to follow Brigid as she walked down the driveway and out to her street-parked car.

Before I knew it, Jack was behind the wheel and backing down the driveway. My eyes chased between Jack’s truck and Brigid’s rental, and I remembered the dog-mushing command Jack had taught us.

Leave it, I thought with a snarl.