17 The gate agent’s eyes meet mine. One black tendril falls from her ponytail, resting over her plump cheek. She leans against the desk and smiles. “Haley?” “Hello! That’s me.” I hold my breath. She glances at her computer. “We’ve got a seat for you.” “Really?” Surprise lilts my voice as she prints my boarding pass. “Thank you!” For a moment, I forget about my sore back, unwritten papers, and the coming winter. I take the ticket, and another swig of my Starbucks. Thick cocoa coats my tongue, and I savor it. The airport cacophony levels out for just a second, fading into some hiss between lapping waves and falling snow. A fire, perhaps.
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