Page 22 of Rescue

“That makes sense. I think I read once that most plane crashes occur during the climb or descent.”

He winces, the next few breaths even larger than the last ones. “Sorry. That was kind of dumb.”

He nods, closing his eyes briefly as the plane gains speed. It looks like we’re getting to the runway, about to taxi. Lennon is completely still next to me, save for those deep, regular breaths that move his chest up and down, up and down. Steady and rhythmic. I feel like any remaining nerves I might have about the flight could be calmed just by watching his chest move like that.

“I’m not a fan of flying either,” I say.

He grimaces a little, eyes still closed. “You seem to be handling it better than me.”

“I took something,” I say. “I have extras if you—”

“No thanks.”

There’s something so decisive in his tone that I feel a little chastised. “They’re legal,” I say, defensive. “Just Xanax.” Of course, I also have a variety of not so legal, or, more precisely, not so legally obtained, medical aids in my purse, but I don’t mention that.

“It’s not a good idea for me,” he says. “Thanks, though.”

There’s something in his tone I don’t like. Something… self-deprecating, maybe. Or shameful. I watch his face, his expression tightening as the plane begins to taxi, picking up speed, bumping across the runway. His breathing isn’t so steady anymore, and I wonder just how scared he is, hidden behind the tight, blank expression on his face.

“Hey,” I blurt out, not really thinking about what I’ll say, just knowing that I don’t want him to look like that anymore. “Want me to distract you?”

He opens his eyes, actually turning his face to look at me. His eyes are dark, definitely afraid, but a little hopeful too. “What’d you have in mind?”

“We could… um… play a game?”

His eyes snap toward the front of the plane. I think the slight panic on his face might have to do with our imminent takeoff, but then he says, “I wouldn’t say that word so loud if I was you.”

“What word?”

“Game.” He whispers it, like it’s some kind of dirty word.

“Why?”

The plane lifts off, but Lennon seems pretty calm as he faces me again. “Did you by any chance meet Paige at the party?”

I scrunch up my face, trying to put a face to the name. “Black-haired chick?” I ask. “Nose ring?”

He nods. “She does graphic design for the band. And she’s dating Reed.”

I can picture her clearly now, hanging on Reed’s arm, smiling broadly as we were introduced. “She seemed nice.”

“Oh, she’s nice,” Lennon says, something wry in his voice. “But believe me when I tell you that you don’t want her to ever hear you say the wordgame.”

“Why?”

“Just trust me. You’ll find out soon enough.”

I shrug. “Whatever you say.”

As the wheels come up, the plane shudders slightly before turning sharply. Lennon clutches the armrests again. “So what kind of… game… did you have in mind?”

Even in his obvious fear he still manages to whisper the wordgame. Apparently he was not joking around about whatever danger would occur if Paige heard us talking about such things.

I search my mind for an appropriate game to play on an airplane with a near stranger. Having experienced the need to waste time on dozens of road trips, rehearsals, recording sessions, and meetings, the band has developed quite a repertoire of silly games. However, most of them were of the decidedly… vulgar variety.

“How about I Spy?”

He raises his eyebrows. “Seriously?”