I struggled to open my eyes, and was instantly alert at the sight of several people huddled a few feet away from me.  I jumped up and they jumped back in response.

A kind-looking lady leaned over me.  “Do you feel alright?” she asked, setting aside a pair of defibrillators.

“Where’s Sofita?” I asked.

She raised her thin eyebrows and spoke slowly.  “Are—you—all—right?”

“Where is she?” I demanded, panicking.

“Honey,” she said soothingly, “I don’t know who ‘she’ is.  I was told you were hallucinating, and as soon as I rushed in, you went into cardiac arrest.  You’re lucky this plane has such a well-prepared staff, you know.  It’s strange; I had a feeling I needed to be on this particular flight, and I’m glad I came.  You should be glad, too!”

Zane leaned toward me.  “You kept talking about people who weren’t there and things that weren’t happening,” he said.  “Then you really started freaking out once I tried to calm you down.  That was just a few minutes before you went into your little arrest thing or whatever.”

“So… are we in Europe yet?”

The nurse nodded.  “We’ve been here for about an hour already.”

I sighed wearily and shuffled on the half-raised stretcher I hadn’t realized I was laying on.  Feeling ashamed, humiliated, and like a burden to the other passengers, I sighed wearily and apologized.  “Sorry I held up the flight,” I said.  The words felt thick, like molasses trying to seep out of my mouth.  Again, I felt the urge to sleep and closed my heavy eyes.

“Honey, you need to stay awake,” the nurse told me.  She pushed a spoon filled with ice chips into my mouth and I sat up, spitting them out.  “It’s normal to be tired for awhile,” she told him, “but you have to stay awake.  You didn’t take any medicine before the flight, did you?”

I yawned and shook my head.  I jerked awake as the nurse lightly smacked my cheek, unaware that I had fallen asleep again, and suddenly I remembered a small, round pill.  My shame, humiliation, and feeling like a burden suddenly morphed into anger.  This is all Spencer’s fault, I decided bitterly.  My parents are going to kill me, and none of this would have happened if he hadn’t given me that stupid pill….

I figured I would die one of two ways: my parents would suffocate me in all their tight, worried hugs, or (if they found out about the pill) I would be left to rot away in my room while under a severely long grounding.  Though I desperately wanted to blame Spencer, I sighed, knowing miserably that I was just as accountable.

I braced myself for motherly hugs, and the moment my dad released my stressed mother, I was attacked. 

“Arthur!” Mom cried.  “Arthur, are you alright?  Are you okay?  Are you fine now?”

“All of the above,” I struggled to say.

Dad tried to pull her away, but she shoved him off and continued to unknowingly choke me.  “You’re smothering him, dear,” he said calmly.

She hesitantly let go, but kept her eyes fixed firmly upon me.  “The nurse told us everything,” she said.  “She thinks you were experiencing a shortness of breath from the altitude and you had a panic attack because you were so nervous.”

“Yeah,” I said sheepishly, “that’s probably it….”  I made a mental note to myself to never seek guidance from a boy whose best advice for me was “Chillax.”