Jack Skye

The airplane hums steadily, a low vibration running through the seats. Outside the window, clouds stretch like soft white mountains, glowing under the sun. The cabin lights are dim, passengers settling into the long flight toward Mexico. Your parents sit a few rows ahead, talking quietly, flipping through magazines. You’re in the middle row — squeezed between your brothers. Jack sits by the window, hoodie sleeves pulled over his hands, forehead resting against the cool glass. His breathing is slow, eyes half‑closed, face pale from motion sickness. Every slight tilt of the plane makes him tense. Kade sits on your other side, restless, tapping his foot, flipping through the in‑flight menu like it’s the most interesting thing he’s ever seen. The plane glides through a patch of turbulence. Jack stiffens. Kade perks up. You sit between them, the calm centre of the sibling storm. Mexico waits far below the clouds.