I stare at my phone, too mortified to move, too mortified to say or do anything. I can’t believe I had a panic attack in front of a stranger. A cute stranger. I can’t believe Flora didn’t freak out when I freaked out. I can’t believe I’m still sitting here. My anxiety had been bad lately, but never this bad. I should probably tell someone.

Flora is thumbing through her book again, like she sees people have panic attacks every day, so I try to act casual, and I start playing a game on my phone. The plane seems quiet again, and I realize the man in front of us has fallen asleep.

I think about the party tonight, about Kelsey, what Kelsey would do if I had a panic attack. The thought settles uncomfortably in my stomach, so I think about when we all went ice-skating in Prospect Park and how she smiled at me. I had just fallen and there was a tiny part of me that worried that she was laughing at me, but I had to remind myself my Kelsey was too kind for something like that.

There’s another ding, and it’s the pilot again, updating us about the weather. Flora is looking out the window. She takes out her earbuds, turns to me. “Hey,” she says.

“Hey,” I say.

She looks at me for a second and then goes back to the window. She starts playing with the shade, pulling it up and down. The movement wakes up the man in front of us, and immediately he starts coughing again.

Flora lets go of the shade and sits back. She sees me watching her. “You feeling okay?”

“Yeah,” I say honestly. “Surprisingly.” I laugh. Maybe she’s forgotten about the panic attack.

“Good.” But she still seems distracted.

“So are you on the flight to Newark?” I try.

“Hmm?”

“Your connection … you live in Brooklyn, so you’re on the flight into Newark?”

She looks at me like I’m speaking a different language, then shakes her head. “Oh, no, sorry. LaGuardia, actually.”

“Weird,” I say, even though it isn’t really.

“Yeah.”

She looks out the window for a while, and I listen to some music. Then there are more dings, and we’re about to land. She peers out her window as we descend and touch down. Already there is a text from my mom. I see that you landed. Let me know when you’re through customs. She probably knew my flight landed before the pilots did. I flip the airplane mode on and off a few times, seeing if that will make any other texts come through, but it doesn’t.

We taxi for a little bit, then pull up to our gate. There’s no ding from above telling us we can take off our seat belts, but people get up anyway, even as the flight attendants walk up and down the aisles and remind everyone to stay seated. A short doughy man starts to argue, tells the flight attendant he has a connecting flight, and another man joins in. The flight attendants look panicked. Suddenly, the pilot’s voice comes over the loudspeaker. “Uh, folks, we’re going to need to wait here for a few minutes.”

There are groans, and the men try to argue with the flight attendants more. Flora is still looking out the window, but she turns to me suddenly, grabbing my hand. “Oliver!” she gasps.

I look down at her soft hand on mine, wondering how girls have such soft hands, wondering what Kelsey’s hands feel like, but Flora is digging her nails into mine, which kind of hurts. Her head is blocking the window, so I have no clue what she sees at first, but then she sits back and I see the van.

We watch as a group of people get out and walk toward our plane.

They’re dressed head to toe in hazmat suits.