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hang out with Colin and Fletcher all summer. I’m gonna get brain damage. You’ll come back and I’ll be retarded.”
    Adam locked on to his missile launcher and threw a grenade. “So you’re saying you’ll be exactly the same.”
    Brad laughed. “Dick.”
    Adam imagined walking out into the hallway and creaking open his parents’ bedroom door. Dad would be snoring. He’d tiptoe through the dark over to Mom’s side of the bed.
“Um, Mom, I think I changed my mind . 
.
 . can we, like, cancel the whole New York thing?”
He looked over at the clock: 3:09 A.M. In less than an hour, his mom would be knocking on his door, freshly dressed and ready to drive him to the airport. She’d surprise him with that care package he saw on the dining-room table when he and Brad had snuck downstairs for the beers. A neatly folded little brown bag with Keebler cheese and crackers, a chocolate bar, and dried apricots for him to eat on the plane. The thought of it killed him. He had to go to New York, if only because of that stupid care package.
    ***
    â€œAdam? Adam!”
    Adam opened his eyes. He and Brad had crashed out on his floor, their PSPs still in their hands. His mom was in the doorway, fresh and dressed just like he’d imagined she’d be. She was holding a camera.
    â€œAdam! Now get all your bags together, and I’m going to take a picture of you.”
    Adam kicked Brad awake.
    â€œWhat the fuck?” said Brad. He looked around, disoriented. “Ugh, I can’t believe you’re getting on a plane.” He got up and crawled into Adam’s bed.
    â€œHurry up!” said Adam’s mom. “We have to leave in ten minutes, and I want this photo.”
    Adam grabbed his red duffel, strapped it onto his back, and hoisted up his two other bags, one in each arm.
    â€œReady?” said his mom. Her eyes were bloodshot. Adam could tell she was trying not to cry.
    â€œReady.” He plastered on a big toothy grin.
    *Flash*
    ***
    Adam had only flown by himself once before. He had been eight, going to visit his grandparents, and a stewardess had clung to his side the entire time. She snuck him extra bags of M&M’s and ruffled his hair with her long fingernails that dug into his scalp with the most pleasurable sensation imaginable. He remembered trying to hold on to that tingling feeling for as long as he could after she’d do it. It was the first time he felt in love. Now he was seventeen, and he felt old and cool, a young man getting on a plane to go seek his fortune. Even if his fortune was his parents paying for him to live with his sister for the summer.
    In the boarding area, he looked for girls his age who might be traveling by themselves too. He’d go up, introduce himself, and they’d end up sitting next to each other on the plane, maybe even have sex in the bathroom. (
“Ever heard of the mile-high club?” “I’ve been waiting my whole life to join.”
) They’d decide to be boyfriend/girlfriend, go into New York City to meet his sister together (who’d be really impressed), and then it would turn out that the girl had an apartment Adam could live in with her, and at the end of the summer they’d move back home, and she’d transfer to EBP, and he would show up at school with her on his arm, and everyone would be like,
“Who is she?”
and he would be like,
“Guys, this is . . . this is . . .”
What would her name be? Adam’s eyes floated across the boarding area: A fat couple. An old couple. Another fat couple. A Hasidic man. Woman with three screaming children. Adam slumped on the floor to wait.
    On the plane, seated next to the Hasidic man who was reading the Torah or whatever, Adam dozed, the muffled airplane sounds incorporating into his half-conscious dreams. The early morning sun cut through the window, blinding him in a pleasant, hypnotic way.