Page 3 of The Accidental Text

“I don’t sound like that,” I say, referring to her whiny imitation of me. “And only old people use air quotes.”

Chelsea’s mouth drops. “I’m not old!”

“Girls,” my dad says, his voice chastising.

“What’s going on, Mags?” Devon asks, his eyebrows pulled so low they hood his blue eyes. “Why are you freaking out? You were fine in the car on the way here.”

“I’m not freaking out,” I say defensively. “I’m just having second thoughts.”

“Why? We’ve jumped out of a plane plenty of times. You know what Mom says about jumping—”

“It’s safer to jump out of a plane than to get behind the wheel of a car,” I say, finishing the quote my mom pulled out when people couldn’t understand why this was a family pastime of ours. It wasn’t like a weekly thing or anything. But it was often enough that it caused concern for some people.

“Exactly,” Devon says, a smug smile on his lips.

“I know all that. I just … I can’t shake this feeling.” I look down at the floor.

“So we’ll wait,” Dad declares, his tone carrying a finality to it.

“No,” Chelsea protests loudly.

He holds out a hand to Chelsea. “If Maggie isn’t feeling like doing this now, then we’ll wait for another day when she is.” He picks up the urn in his hands, his eyes perusing it reverently.

Devon holds out a hand toward my dad. “We’re already here. If Mags doesn’t want to do it, I’ll do it. Give me Mom.” He flexes his fingers back and forth at my dad.

“No,” my dad says, pulling the urn in toward his chest in a protective stance. “We do this together. It’s what your mom wanted. We can wait.”

I want to tell them that we should just do it, that I can suck it up, but the relief I feel from the thought of not going up in that plane is so overwhelming, I can’t even bring myself to say it. I can’t fake it.

“When will we do it?” Chelsea asks, her obsessive need to have things planned out—to know all the details—making an appearance. When we were kids, she used to schedule time to play with me and our bubblegum-pink Barbie DreamHouse.

“When Maggie is up to it,” my dad says definitively.

Devon runs a hand down his face, his frustration evident. “Fine.”

“Sorry, guys,” I say, feeling tears building in my eyes. It’s from a little regret and a lot of relief. “I’ll get it together, I promise.” A tear escapes and falls down my cheek. Devon reaches over and rubs my shoulder, proof that, while irritated by the scenario, he still loves me.

My dad wraps his arm around me, pulling me toward him, and I lean my head on his shoulder. “Take all the time you need,” he says. “Mom’s not going anywhere.” He holds the urn up as proof, a joking smile on his lips.

“Dad,” Chelsea chides, the corner of her lips curled upward. “That’s totally inappropriate.”

“It’s the truth, though,” he says, with a shrug that makes my head bob up and down on his shoulder.

Chelsea stands up from the bench. “I better go, then. I can salvage the rest of the day with Mark and the girls. He took the day off, you know.”

Her intentional jab is felt in my gut, but not enough for me to change my mind. “I’m so sorry, you guys. I’ll be ready the next time, okay?”

My dad stands up and offers his hand to help me up. “You let us know when that is, Magpie.”

Chapter 2

“You choked?” Hannah asks me, her dark-brown eyes wide with disbelief. Her nearly black, perfectly straight, long hair tossing back and forth as she shakes her head at me.

“I didn’t choke,” I say, my tone defensive. “I just … freaked out.”

“That’s choking,” she says, dipping her chin to her chest.

“Fine. I choked.”

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