5
The private jet left Charlotte shortly after noon.
Eight students boarded.
Bartholomew Jefferson.
Lauren Whitaker.
Jamal Freeman.
Madison Cole.
Cameron Wells.
Peter Dawson.
Emily Roth.
Chase Whitaker, Lauren’s cousin.
Bart’s father had arranged the aircraft.
The official purpose was a graduation celebration.
The unspoken purpose was separation.
One final weekend before colleges scattered them across the country.
Madison filmed the boarding.
“Senior escape!” she shouted toward the camera.
Cameron raised both hands.
Peter complained about being filmed.
Emily adjusted her hair.
Chase opened a small bottle before the plane moved.
Jamal sat beside a window.
Bart took the seat across from him.
“You almost backed out,” Bart said.
“No.”
“Cleo tried.”
“She expressed an opinion.”
“She controls you.”
Jamal looked at him.
“Respecting somebody’s concern is not control.”
“You sound married already.”
“Maybe one day.”
Bart laughed.
“You really think you’ll marry the girl you dated in high school?”
“Yes.”
“You don’t wonder?”
“About what?”
“What else exists.”
“I know other women exist.”
“You know what I mean.”
Jamal looked toward Lauren.
She sat with Madison several rows ahead.
“I’m not interested in your girlfriend.”
“I didn’t mention Lauren.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Bart smiled.
“There is the genius.”
“Turn this into something else.”
“You know everybody calls you that?”
“Calls me what?”
“A genius.”
“I’m smart.”
“You’re the smartest kid in school.”
“I was.”
“Valedictorian.”
“Yes.”
“Captain.”
“Yes.”
“Best athlete.”
“Coach would argue.”
“Natural leader.”
“Bart.”
“Future lawyer.”
“What are you doing?”
Bart leaned closer.
“Listing everything.”
“For what?”
“To see if you ever get tired of hearing it.”
“I do.”
“No, you don’t.”
Jamal looked out the window.
Clouds moved beneath them.
Bart continued.
“My father keeps your newspaper article in his office.”
“I didn’t know.”
“State championship. You’re holding the trophy.”
“That was the team’s trophy.”
“You’re in the middle.”
“I was captain.”
“You’re always in the middle.”
Jamal turned back.
“What do you want me to say?”
“That you enjoy it.”
“I enjoy achieving things.”
“You enjoy beating me.”
“No.”
“That answer is worse.”
“Why?”
“Because it means I matter less to you than you matter to me.”
The sentence carried an intimacy Bart immediately regretted.
He looked toward the aisle.
Jamal watched him.
“What does that mean?”
“It means competition drives me.”
“You said I matter to you.”
“As a rival.”
Jamal studied his face.
“You used to call me your friend.”
“Same thing sometimes.”
“No.”
Bart reached for another drink.
“Island rules.”
“What are those?”
“No speeches. No school. No rankings. No girlfriends.”
Jamal’s eyebrows rose.
“Especially not that last one.”
“I meant no relationship drama.”
“Say what you mean.”
Bart opened the bottle.
“Maybe that is the island rule.”