A cab shows up, and the guys with the wheelchairs push us over to the car, yelling at the crowds. The driver hops out, and another guy shows up with our luggage on a cart, and they throw our stuff in the trunk. I watch Flora get out of her wheelchair, realize I’m supposed to do the same. Maybe sitting in the wheelchair has suddenly taken away my ability to walk, because I feel like I can’t move.

A teenage girl runs over, and suddenly she’s right next to me. It’s surreal for someone to be standing so close to me and not see them in a hazmat suit, so I’m too in shock to say anything, to do anything.

Flora whips around just as the girl is bending her face close to mine. She screams, “NO! He doesn’t want that!” And I snap out of my daze, turn my head away, and hop out of the wheelchair.

Flora is sliding into the cab, and she grabs my hand and yanks me in too. I slam the door shut.

It’s so quiet in the car compared with the chaos outside. We just look at each other, breathing heavily.

“We need to get to the consent chapter in the handbook,” Flora says.

“Yeah. I think it’s an important one,” I say.

The driver hops back in the car, looks around at the crowd, and lays on his horn. The crowd scatters, and we’re on our way to the airport.

I try to look at everything out the window but we’re going too fast for my brain to keep up.

“You going to be okay on the flight?” Flora asks when we get to a stoplight.

At first I think she’s making fun of me, but then I see the concerned look on her face. I say, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason. Except that we’ve been through a lot in the past thirty days, and based on our last flight I don’t know if you’re the world’s best flyer.”

“We have, haven’t we.” I don’t know why the word we makes me smile.

Flora laughs and goes back to looking out the window.