A woman a few rows behind us yells, “That’s the CDC!” Suddenly the cabin of the plane is quiet. Everyone stops where they are and what they’re doing. Some people are still sitting, some are standing in the aisles, and one man has his suitcase halfway out of the overhead bin. We all watch as four people in white hazmat suits approach the plane. I can’t help it, but I feel an odd rush of excitement. It’s the same guilty rush I feel whenever there’s a chance of a snow day, or when a bad storm gets close to New York.

That excitement quickly fades when the hazmat-clad people get on our plane. The plane is filled with yelling all over again, and a few passengers run to the back of the plane. Which for some reason strikes me as funny. Really funny. I’m giggling so hard I can’t unbuckle my seat belt. I turn to Oliver, but my laughter dies in my throat again when I see that his face has turned a horrible shade of greenish white.

One of the people in the suits grabs the PA microphone, but it’s impossible to hear what he’s saying over all the yelling and movement on the plane. He looks at the flight attendants, clearly frustrated, but they look back at him helplessly and shrug. Finally, a second suited agent grabs the microphone, and the force of her words cuts through the noise. “I NEED YOU ALL TO REMAIN CALM.”

We all quiet down and look at her like scolded children.

“Thank you.” And she smiles. Which is weird. “I know we’re a scary sight, and I know this is not how you envisioned your vacations going, but we’ve been alerted to a possible situation on this flight.”

And then, duh, I look down at the row ahead of me, where the man is slumped over in his seat, his eyes half-open.

“I’m sure most of you have heard of mononucleosis—”

The word mononucleosis sets off a rush of conversation among passengers across the plane.

“Wait, wait, this is a joke, right? Are you telling me you’re here because of some dumb teenage kissing disease?” It’s one of the men who was arguing with the flight attendants a few minutes ago. His face is pale and blobby like uncooked dough.

The woman in the hazmat suit continues, “Which, while uncomfortable, is not usually a serious illness. However, in recent days, our organization has been made aware of a mutation of this disease that has proven fatal in the elderly and the very young.”

“Which none of us are!” dough man yells.

The woman doesn’t look at him but says, “And I’d imagine none of you would want to pass this on to any of your elderly family or friends, or the children in your lives.”

Oliver is breathing hard, so I absentmindedly grab his hand again.

“We are calling this new disease tropical mono, due to where we believe its origins are. Since your flight has just arrived from the Dominican Republic, and since there is a suspected incidence on this flight, we need to take all of you to quarantine to monitor you for symptoms and keep a close eye on your temperatures before we can let you continue to your final destinations.”

The words quarantine and suspected incidence are muttered back and forth between passengers, and everyone looks around, until Pillsbury points to the row ahead of me. “It’s him, isn’t it?” I’m slightly alarmed by the sudden rage behind his eyes, the redness of his face.

Slightly alarmed and suddenly really annoyed. He’s my dad’s age, and just like my dad, he looks like he’s trying too hard. I look at the stupid beads he has strung through his thinning hair, the overpriced watch on his wrist. Of course all he cares about is himself. He probably abandoned his wife and daughter too.

Before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Hey! It’s not all about you. He’s sick. Probably thought he had a little cold. But you know what? He made a mistake. He’s not out to get you or ruin your day. Not everything is about you!” Hot tears suddenly sting my eyes, and I sit down.

Pillsbury opens and closes his mouth a few times, narrows his eyes at me.

I feel Oliver looking at me as I dab at my eyes and angrily dig through my bag, even though I’m not looking for anything.

“If everyone could please remain calm,” the CDC worker says. “These suits are only a precaution. Everything we’ve learned about this strain indicates that it’s just like the mono you probably already know about. It’s usually found in saliva and passed through close contact, like kissing, or being in close proximity of someone coughing or sneezing. Luckily, you can’t catch it as easily as a cold. You all have to be monitored and have your vitals checked every two hours, just to be one hundred percent safe.”

A quick flurry of whispers and groans erupts among the passengers. Most of the passengers are concerned, but some sound more inconvenienced than anything else.

The CDC worker raises a hand to quiet down the passengers once more. “The first sign is a fever, which typically appears within twenty-four hours after the illness has been contracted. Other symptoms take a few days to manifest themselves. So if any vitals checks reveal a temperature of one hundred or above, you’ll be going to an extended quarantine for thirty days.”

There are gasps around the plane, and the CDC worker says, “However, we think the chances of that happening are highly unlikely, and as long as your vitals checks remain normal for the next twenty-four hours, we’ll be able to release you by tomorrow afternoon.”

Though I know I should be grateful, I feel a vague sense of disappointment that I’ll be back on my way to Brooklyn so soon. On my way back to my mom, who will grill me about everything Goldy said and did, about my dad’s weird new clothes and his blond-tipped hair. On my way back to school, back to Becca and Jenna and their new amazing friendship. Back to the annoying everydayness of it all.

“We’re going to deplane you all from this flight and onto our vans, which will then travel to a sterile quarantine site where we will monitor your symptoms and check your vitals.”

Pillsbury says, “Well, I’m no doctor, but I can tell you that guy has a fever.” He points an accusatory finger into the row ahead of mine.

My fist clenches around a pencil in my bag as I stare at the doughy man. As his eyes meet mine, the pencil snaps between my fingers. He looks away from me quickly.

“Please try to maintain an orderly fashion as you exit the plane, and remember that there is no reason to panic.” And with that, the CDC worker hangs up the PA microphone and smiles again at the flight attendants, who seem to automatically smile back at her.

The passengers who have run to the back of the plane return to their seats sheepishly and gather their things. One woman wraps a scarf around her face, and another has a bottle of Purell open and is rubbing it onto her arms and legs like she’s at the beach applying sunscreen.

One of the CDC workers walks to the row ahead of Oliver and me and begins talking to the man. I try to listen, but everyone is deplaning and the worker looks at me and waves his arm forward, gesturing that I need to move.

“You all right?” I ask Oliver. I try to say it brightly, but my patience has shredded.

He smiles uneasily, looks guilty. “I need to get back to Brooklyn. I should probably text my mom, but she’s going to freak out. I’m freaking out a bit.” He laughs nervously, and we get off the plane and onto the van. My head begins to throb a little, and I realize how long the next twenty-four hours in quarantine are going to be.