“You’re almost home, Summer,” I muttered to myself. “Almost back to your own bed.”
I shuffled down the jet bridge, breathing in that recycled airplane air. I was already dreaming of my home.
Instead, I found Nancy. Her handbag had her name engraved in fancy gold script.
“The universe had other plans.”
She landed in our row like she had been personally inconvenienced by air travel itself. Her sunglasses were perched on her head, phone glued to her ear. Nancy did not so much as glance at me.
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