Page 54 of The Chosen Two

I shake my head. When we get to the X-ray machine, George’s bag is pulled for further inspection.

“Please, tell me you didn’t bring any Guardian weapons.”

“I didn’t. I swear!”

“So, what did you bring?”

“I don’t know. Normal trip stuff?” He looks confused.

“Sir, is this your bag? Do I have permission to look through it?” Once the TSA agent gets the okay from George, he pulls the bag to a table to rifle through it. “Sir, are these yours?” He holds up full-sized bottles of toothpaste, shampoo, and shaving cream.”

“Um, yes… Are those considered weapons?”

I smack his arm. “You can’t bring liquids that size onto planes! I don’t think you’ve been able to since before you were a baby! Why don’t you know that?”

He whispers to me through gritted teeth. “I’ve never flown on a commercial plane before. Anytime I had to fly, I would just take a private plane.”

My jaw drops. “Oh. Of course. And, why aren’t we doing that this time?”

A slight blush rises to his cheeks. “Well, my parents were always the ones to arrange those flights. I don’t know anything about how to do it.”

I nod. Hating him just a little bit. Someday I’ll find out how exactly this guy is so wealthy. “Okay, well, next time we have to fly somewhere, I’m happy to figure the logistics out so we can travel in the way that you’re more accustomed to.”

Two hours later, we are on the plane, getting ready to take off, and I desperately search my bag for the motion sickness wrist bands that I clearly forgot to pack.

“Oh shit shit shit shit shit.”

Meanwhile George is having a blast playing with the TV on the seat back in front of him. “This is so cool!’

“Dude, you have got to get out more.”

“Did you just call me Dude?”

My only answer is to glare at him. Then I realize I need to give up this search and collapse back, closing my eyes momentarily. “Okay, we need to switch seats.”

“What? Why? I want to look out the window.”

Since he’s acting like a child, I speak to him like he’s one. “I know that, Buddy, but I have nothing to do to control my motion sickness, and if I’m not in that window seat, I’m very likely going to puke all over the both of us, multiple times, during this flight.”

“Yup, okay. Let’s switch.” He unhooks his belt and we awkwardly climb over each other to switch positions.

It doesn’t really help that much. I still end up feeling like a Xenomorph chestburster is getting ready to emerge from my gut most of the flight. Somewhere over Colorado, I can’t take it anymore. I grab the airsick bag and make good use of it.

“You okay there, Miranda? You’re looking a little green…”

“I would turn my head to glare at you, but I don’t want to take the bag off of my face prematurely and go Linda Blair all over the plane.”

His o confusion reminds me how young he is and that he’s probably never seen the classic horror flick.

We finally land, and I am so grateful to get the hell off that plane. On the way to pick up our rental car, we pass a newsstand with a whole display of wristbands. George nudges my shoulder and points. “Want a pair for the trip back?”

I consider it but ultimately shake my head. “Nope. Don’t want to jinx therebeinga trip a back.”

“Fair enough.”

We get to the car rental center and find George Keating on the board with the parking spot number next to it. As we approach the spot, I immediately regret letting George handle this piece of the trip.

“George, what is that?”

---