Everything but the Glass Slipper

Note: This is a lighthearted story, but it does portray binge drinking, and briefly mentions stalking. Reader discretion is advised.

Gum. My mom had tossed a pack of it into my purse that morning. Gum would help.  

Forget my eardrums. The sugary white square didn’t stand a chance against the jaws of an anxious girl flying alone. It had already begun to lose its mintiness when a garbled voice on the intercom apologized for the delay. “We’ll be leaving sunny Atlanta behind in just a few moments, here, folks.”

A groan came from the seat behind me. I peeked back between the headrests, and found a boy my age, with black hair and sharp features. He looked right at me, then at the inside of his own head with a dramatic eye roll. 

My gum was a stringy, flavorless mess by the time the tiny bags of pretzels made their way around the cabin. 

“Can I get a whiskey and Coke?” the voice behind me asked the flight attendant. 

“Hey, do you want something?” the same voice said, a little closer now. 

I assumed he was talking to someone else. Until he tapped my shoulder. 

“Oh, no, I’m good,” I said, looking back. 

“You ever been drunk on a plane?” he asked. 

“I just turned 21 yesterday.”

His eyes lit up. “Then we are definitely getting drunk on this plane!” he exclaimed. “What do you want?” the boy pressed before the flight attendant could protest. 

I shrugged. “Vodka cranberry?” 

“Hell yeah,” he reached around to give me a high five. “Y’all have cranberry juice, Brandon?” he asked, reading the flight attendant’s name tag. Brandon nodded, and held his hand out for payment. 

“I got this, birthday girl.” The boy handed over his credit card. “Where are you from?” 

“Atlanta. Well, Athens now. I go to UGA.”

“Nice, so you’re a big party girl,” He replied without hesitation, tucking his wallet back into his pocket. 

“I guess. Where do you go?” 

He went to Auburn, he told me, but he was from rural Georgia. He’d been home for the summer, running a side-of-the-highway peach stand. 

“Oh, I’ve seen those. Like Peches,” I said, referencing an infamously misspelled, hand-painted farm stand sign near Milledgeville. 

“Yes,” he said seriously. “That’s exactly what I mean. Peches-guy is a genius. The more run-down and folksy your stand looks, the better. You gotta leeeean into it.”

The boy paused suddenly, as if struck by an idea. He climbed out of his chair, then squatted beside the seat directly across the aisle from mine. He tapped its occupants shoulder. 

“I am so sorry to bother you, but do you mind if we trade seats?” he asked her. She raised her eyebrows. “It’s my friend’s birthday, I was hoping to sit next to her,” he said, gesturing to me, then winked. 

The lady agreed. He plopped into his new seat and smiled fiendishly at me. 

The tray-tables were wobbly, but adequate for the purpose of cocktail mixing. 

My friend raised his clear plastic cup in my direction.

  “To getting drunk on a plane,” he said.  

“Cheers,” I said, chuckling. The plastic only made a dull “tap” when our cups touched in the middle of the aisle. 

I asked him more questions about the peach stand. According to him, it was a very lucrative little industry.

I found myself cheers-ing him again, with a second drink. 

“So what’s your major, Ms. UGA?” he asked. 

“Biology.” 

“So you’re nerdy smart.” 

“You seem smart, too.”

“Just money-making smart. Not book smart,” he said, then sipped. “Pre-med?” 

I snorted. 

“Sore subject?”

I sighed. “Kind of. My last boyfriend was big on me going to med school.” 

He inclined his head, inviting me to go on. 

“I’m more interested in plant cell functions than, like, medical stuff.” 

“Oof, you’re really nerdy,” he smiled. “Why’d your ex care?” he said. 

“He was like, when I introduce you to people as my wife one day, I want to be able to say you’re a doctor.” 

He did a real spit-take. “People really talk like that?” 

“I know, right?” 

“So you dumped him.”

“No, he dumped me!” 

“A guy dumped you?” he asked, bewildered. Maybe I was naïve, but his tone didn’t read as flirtatious, and certainly not disingenuous. 

“Yeah, I’m pretty upset about it.”

“Sorry,” he said. “Recent?” 

I nodded slightly. “What about you? You got a girlfriend?” The question may have felt too bold if I wasn't on my second vodka cran. 

He looked at the ceiling. “It's a long story.” 

“I got nothin’ but time,” I said. 

So he told me about the girl he was currently on his way to visit. He met her during an internship in Orlando, where he ran a theme-park snack booth. But she didn’t work in a booth. No, this girl played Cinderella. 

“I’m sure that’s a very sought-after role,” I said. 

“You have no idea,” he said emphatically. “Those girls will stop at nothing to be a face character, especially a princess. Like Tanya-Harding-level shit.”

“And Cinderella is like, the main one,” I pointed out, egging him on. 

“The most prestigious princess.” 

“So, you’re telling me this girl is very pretty.” 

“Prettiest girl in the world.”

Impressed, I nodded. 

He spent one magical semester with Cinderella, he said, but then the internship expired like a spell at the stroke of midnight. Rather than braving what was destined to become a long distance relationship, she told him they were better off as friends. 

“But then she invited you to visit her?” 

He gave me an anguished look. 

“Oh, no,” I braced my hands on the armrest. “Don’t tell me this is a surprise visit!” 

“Listen. I gotta give it one last shot. If she turns me away, I’ll leave her alone.” 

I put my head in my hands. “You stress me out.”

“I owe some friends over there a visit anyway. I’m just gonna drop by her place and see if there’s anything there. And if there is, great. If not, I am so ready to move on.” 

“She already broke up with you.” I looked at the bottom of my cup. “Hey, I’m drunk on a plane.”

“All right, birthday girl! I need to catch up.” He stretched his neck, scanning the length of the plane. “Waiter!” He waved his hand high. 

I reached across the aisle to whack his arm. He fell sloppily into the person sitting beside him. 

“Should I press the call light?” He pointed to the buttons above the seat. 

“No!” I hissed. “This isn’t an emergency.” 

“Says you.” 

Next thing I knew, we were tossing back tiny bottles of silver tequila. My stomach started to churn, and the feeling reminded me that I was supposed to be nervous about something. I cringed. I still had another flight to catch after this. 

My friend gave me a questioning look. 

“I’m just nervous about making my next flight in time. It’s my first time doing this alone,” I said. 

“What am I, chopped liver?” 

“I meant for the connecting flight,” I clarified.

“Well, I have a layover too.” 

“Cinderella doesn’t live in Chicago?” 

“Nope,” he said. “San Francisco,” he added in a made-up accent. 

My mouth fell open. “She does not!”

“Yeah she does,” he said, mimicking my tone. “See?” He pulled his boarding pass out of his pocket and handed it to me. 

“That’s where I’m going, too!” I shrieked. 

“No way,” he said, leaning into the aisle. 

“Wait. Oh my god.” I pulled my boarding pass out of my purse. “We’re on the same flight!” I squealed like we had won the lottery.  

“Nuh-uh!” He snatched the tickets from me. “Oh, your name is Adeline,” he said lightly, reading. “Pretty name.” 

“Thank you,” I said, realizing I hadn’t bothered to look at his. “What’s your name?” 

He responded by holding his ticket as far away from me as possible. 

“What is wrong with you?” I laughed, reaching uselessly for the scraps of paper. 

With his back to me, he took a closer look at them, and stilled. 

“Adeline,” he said in a low voice, suddenly serious. 

“What?” 

“Okay, you have to see this, otherwise you’ll never believe me.” 

“What?” I pressed. 

“The seats,” he said, then thrust both tickets into my hand. He covered his mouth with his palm, waiting eagerly for my reaction. 

There was his name, Cody. Cody’s seat was 32A. Mine was 32B. 

My eyes widened. 

“Literally, what are the chances?” he said. 

“This is meant to be.” That much seemed obvious. He nodded. 

The mental hurdle of my layover disappeared, leaving the track to my destination clear. Downhill, even.  

***

The next plane was already full when Cody and I boarded together, flushed and smiling and breathless. 

“Do you wanna take the window?” He asked before climbing into his seat.

“Nah, I’m good.” 

“Sweet,” he said. “I love looking out the window.” 

And he did. He identified everything he could, every swimming pool and local airport and school, with childlike wonder.

After a beat of silence, I noticed him frowning. “What’s wrong?” 

“I just got nervous,” he said. “Do you think it’s that bad that she doesn’t know I’m coming?” 

I considered. “Depends on the girl,” I said. “She could find it romantic. I probably wouldn’t.”

He pressed his forehead into the window. 

“Is it stalker-ish?” he groaned.

“That would be the concern,” I admitted. “But it depends on what kind of relationship you guys have. Like, are you actually friends?” 

He made a so-so gesture, then was interrupted by the pretzel service. Cody ordered two whiskey-and-cokes without asking me if I wanted one. 

Cody and I were still going back and forth over the creepy-or-romantic debacle when the woman sitting on the aisle seat of our row leaned in. 

“You are gonna scare that Cinderella away, Prince Charming,” she muttered. 

Cody included her in the next round of cocktails as the discussion continued, becoming less focused by the minute. 

“Wait, you never told me why you’re going to California,” he said, poking my arm. 

I told him about the birthday trip my sister, Andrea, had planned for me. 

“Wait, that sounds wayyy better than what I’m doing,” he said, his eyelids drooping. 

“Want to just come with us?” 

“Won’t your sister be upset?” 

I waved a hand dismissively. “She will love you. She’s just like me, but really outgoing and friendly,” I grinned, fantasizing about what my sister might think of my new friend. 

“Then I’ll love her,” he said, squinting one eye. “You know what? I want to come with you.” 

“Ok. It’s done. You’re coming with us.”

“This is so cool,” he said. “I never would have guessed I would meet someone like you.” He leaned in. “You know, you might have changed the trajectory of the rest of my life.” 

Our friend in the aisle seat slid us a side-eyed glance. 

“We might be annoying,” I murmured out of the corner of my mouth. 

“Oh, everyone totally hates us,” he confirmed.  

We talked and stared out the window until the plane descended into San Francisco. Cody and I were the last to deplane. 

“I’ma text Andrea,” I sang.

“Just let me know the plan,” he said with a click of his mouth as he clumsily pulled my luggage from the overhead bin. 

This airport was the busiest one yet. Cody went to the bathroom, and I scanned the crowd until I found my sister’s face. 

Andrea’s eyes lit up when she noticed me. I sprinted the final stretch of my journey, dragging my suitcase haphazardly in my wake. She laughed and held her arms out.

“Hi! You are drunk,” she said as I careened into her.

“I made a friend! He’s coming on our trip with us,” I said. 

“Oh!” She said, with amused confusion in her eyes. “Okay!” 

“He’s in the bathroom. He was coming to see his ex, but he decided to hang out with us instead!”

We waited. And waited. 

Cody and I hadn’t exchanged numbers. I hadn’t even taken note of his last name. 

I swore he was real. I just didn’t have any proof. I watched the flux of travelers, certain one of them would be Cody, for half an hour before the clock struck midnight. Maybe he had realized how stupid this idea was. 

My sister rubbed my back and tilted her head toward the exit. Time to go. We linked arms and she steered me to the door. 

I still couldn’t stop myself from glancing over my shoulder over and over again, wanting nothing more than to find his face on one of the strangers in the crowd. But I never did.