Page 14 of Boiling Point
“Ah,” I ventured, trying for nonchalance. “It’s just…I assumed there’d be a back seat.”
She smirked. “It’s a basic two-seater. Up front is all there is.”
I took a step, then stopped. “Am I dressed appropriately?”
She glanced at my gray trousers and black jumper, clearly fighting back laughter. “You’re fine,” she said gently, sensing my last-ditch attempt at delay.
With no further excuses, I climbed in, maneuvering with all the grace of a giraffe folding itself into a shoebox. I wedged myself into the seat, wondering how I was meant to get back out again. Before I could fumble with the harness, Gabrielle leaned in to assist. Her closeness sent a jolt through me—equal parts thrill and panic. I focused on breathing as she threaded the straps into place.
She cinched the four-point harness, gave it two sharp tugs, then flashed a devilish grin. “You’re gonna want that nice and tight.”
My breath caught, and my pulse thrummed erratically.
Gabrielle climbed into her seat and shut the door with a solid clunk. The sudden enclosure magnified everything—the close air, the scrape of fabric, the creak of sunbaked metal as the cabin settled around us. Heat radiated from the panels, pressing in until it felt as though the machine had swallowed me whole. She reached for the ignition key, fingers moving in confident rhythm across the switches. Then she paused and turned to me, her tone suddenly serious.
“Last chance to escape.”
I stiffened.
She smirked. “Do you trust me?”
I let out a nervous laugh that felt more like a hiccup. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
“Good enough.” She reached forward, her voice light again. “Clear prop!” she called out the window.
Before I could ask what it meant, she twisted the key.
The engine roared to life, an explosion of sound slamming into me. The entire plane vibrated through my seat, up my spine, and into my teeth. I clutched the harness instinctively, my mind screaming,What have I done?
Gabrielle adjusted the throttle, and the deafening rumble settled to a steady, throbbing drone—but still loud enough to rattle my skull. She grabbed a pair of bulky aviation headsets from beside her seat and handed one to me.
Her voice barely cut through the din—something like, “Put these on!”
“What?” I shouted back, though I could scarcely hear myself.
“Headset!” she repeated, tapping the ear cups and miming putting hers on.
I fumbled with mine, nearly dropping it as I fit the clunky earpieces over my head. The moment the headset sealed over my ears, the world changed.
The engine noise collapsed into a muffled hum, like being dropped beneath deep water. Everything felt insulated, distant—as if reality had slipped a layer away from me. My breath, now loud and rhythmic inside the headset, sounded like rolling waves in an empty ocean. For a moment, the contrast was disorienting—as though I had been yanked from one world and deposited in another, where the rules of sound had shifted.
Gabrielle’s voice crackled through the headset—clear, close, and strangely intimate. “Better?”
I let out a shaky breath and nodded.
She grinned. “It’s too loud without these. This is the only way we’ll hear each other.”
I adjusted the clumsy, alien-feeling headset, still not used to the insulated silence. “Seems our roles are reversed today,” I managed, clutching my harness. “You, the instructor. Me, the pupil.”
She smiled, the expression genuine and disarming—and for an instant, I thought she might have blushed before she turned away and slid her hands over the throttle, her voice crackling back into my ears.
“We’ll keep it simple,” she said. “A quick hop over Lake Texoma and back. You ready?”
I nodded, though I had no idea if I was or not.
Gabrielle flipped the radio switch, her tone shifting to calm and practiced—professional but effortless.
“Grayson traffic, Cessna 150 Aerobat taxiing to runway two-niner.”
