Her head was pounding, her body ached and her stomach was trying to turn itself inside out. She groped for the small trash can she kept a few feet from her bed, but her hand met only air. Eyes flying open, she was struck by several new realities. First, she wasn’t in her tent. Second, wherever she was, Simon was sitting next to her, his green eyes both wary and urgent. Third, her seat was vibrating. And finally—though it was probably the most urgent of her realizations—she was going to throw up. “I need—” She started to bolt out of her chair, only to be yanked back by the belt fastened low over her hips. She wasted precious seconds trying to figure out what was happening, even as her fingers fumbled frantically with the buckle. “Whoa, Amanda, take it easy, sweetheart.” Simon’s voice, low and soothing, barely registered as panic overwhelmed her. She was on an airplane. She was going to puke. She was on an airplane. She was going to puke. She was on an airplane. She was going to— The clasp finally gave way and she leaped to her feet, made a mad dash up the aisle toward…she didn’t know what.
