Chapter Text
Melissa had never been on a plane before.
Well, no. She’d been on a plane before– she’d never been on a private fucking jet before.
Melissa, alongside a handful of her fellow JV members, had been chosen to come along with the Wiskayok Yellowjackets as emergency fills for the varsity team. It was a fancy way of saying she’d been chosen to be a benchwarmer with a few extra steps.
And, sure, it was flattering to be chosen as a fill-in! She’d been gunning to join the varsity team from the get go, and Coach had said something about her trying out again next year, but still. Had she been told that being a fancy benchwarmer entailed waking up at four in the fucking morning and being stuck on a plane full of not-really-strangers-but-close-enough for seven hours, she might have reconsidered.
Too late for that now. She’d already boarded and committed to it, so there was no turning back.
Mel had sequestered herself in the back of the plane, snatching up a window seat before anyone else could. She pressed herself back into the seat to try and look as small as possible, and proceeded to do what she did best in times like these: she began observing.
The varsity girls quickly split into their respective pairs and friend groups. Van Palmer and Taissa Turner made a beeline for some seats towards the back of the plane. The team captain, Jackie Taylor, and her gloomy best friend had settled towards the middle of the plane. Lottie Matthews draped herself over the back of a seat to excitedly chat away with the local God-fearing nun-to-be, Laura Lee. Nat Scatorccio found a seat mostly by herself, but close enough to Van so she could butt into her conversations.
Misty Quigley was front and center on the plane, taking up the same position she did when they were all piled into buses for away games– with poor Rachel Goldman sitting a row or two ahead of her. Coach Ben and Coach Martinez occupied the front as well, with Martinez’s two sons seated directly behind him.
Akilah, one of the faces more familiar to Melissa, had taken a seat across from local gossip Mari Ibarra. The plane was abuzz with excitement and anticipation— no one seemed to remember that they’d only gotten, like, three hours of sleep the night prior.
God, couldn’t be her. The second this jet made it through take off, Melissa was determined to cobble together some kind of makeshift pillow and make up for all of the sleep she’d lost the night before. She was elbow deep in her carry-on bag when a voice interrupted her train of thought.
“This seat taken?”
Gen hadn't raised her voice that much at all, but it still scared the shit out of her. Melissa jumped and slammed her knee up against the backside of the seat in front of her. That’s going to bruise. Awesome.
Gen either didn’t notice, or she was nice enough to ignore what just happened.
“Uh— nah! No. It’s open.” Super smooth recovery, Melissa. She hastily tucked her carry-on back under the seat in front of her and straightened her posture out. “It’s– y’know. Cool. Y-you can sit. I-if you want. Obviously you don't— have. To, but, yeah.”
She added a lopsided smile for good measure, thinking it looked cool but it probably didn’t. Gen didn’t point it out, at least. Instead, the other girl just laughed and settled in beside her with a mumble of thanks.
Melissa, pathetic as it was to admit, didn’t really have close friends. She was well enough acquainted with the JV team to know names, faces, and little bits about their lives— but nothing more than that. She preferred keeping to herself, less she opened her mouth and looked like an idiot somehow. Gen was a nice enough person, though. Their conversations, though far and few between, were always pleasant.
More often than not, the two of them just kind of enjoyed one another’s silence. The plane ride to nationals was no different.
A brief exchange, some idle chit-chat about Seattle and what they were the most excited for, and then comfortable silence. Gen busied herself with some schoolwork while Melissa got lost in her own thoughts as they tucked in for a lengthy, boring flight full of a whole lot of nothing.
It was just her luck that she’d been on her way back from the restroom when the turbulence went from ‘Oh, geez, that’s a bit concerning’ to ‘I hope you have a last will and testament, Melissa, because you’re going to fucking die.’
The excited chattering of her teammates had given way to shrieks and screams and sobs of sheer terror.
Mel blinked once and suddenly she was laying flat on her back in the middle aisle with her head spinning and the breath knocked out of her lungs. Everything sounded… muffled. The shrieking, the sound of Coach’s voice trying to calm the rest of the Yellowjackets, Laura Lee’s frantic prayers for help— the steady SLAM, SLAM, SLAM of someone pounding on the roof of the plane— it all sounded so far away.
Like someone had dunked her head underwater, and wouldn’t let her come up for air.
Someone scruffed her by the sleeve of her letterman and yanked her to her feet– Misty? Lottie? – She had no time to put a name to a face before another tremor sent her flying forwards this time. Melissa hit the ground hard. Her teeth clipped her bottom lip and the taste of iron flooded her mouth. She slipped and scrambled about, sliding forward and nearly into the cockpit of the jet.
There was another bump and a hiss of decompression. And then there was a horrible moan and a tearing sound as the plane’s door was ripped clean off. Almost immediately, Mel felt herself being sucked forward and towards the wide open hole in the side of the jet.
A shriek lodged itself in the back of her throat and her eyes scrunched shut. I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t want to die, I don’t—
A pair of calloused hands grabbed her by the shoulders and heaved her up and off of the ground. Melissa blinked up at her savior through bleary, tear-filled eyes.
Coach Martinez.
Her mouth opened; to say ‘thank you’, but he shut her up before she could. He pushed her back and into one of the seats and, with shaky hands, managed to strap an overhanging oxygen mask over her face. His lips moved and he was saying… something, but Melissa couldn’t make it out over the roar of their fast-falling plane.
“I wanna go home,” She choked out; like she was five years old again and she didn’t want to be left alone at daycare.
It’s all she could think as she braced for impact.
I want to go home.