The flight attendant’s grip tightened on my arm as she hissed, “I don’t care who you say you are. This seat isn’t yours.” My heart pounded. “My dad is the pilot! He booked this seat for me!” I shot a desperate glance toward the front of the plane, hoping he’d notice the commotion. “Bullshit,” she snapped, yanking harder. Passengers started murmuring, eyes turning toward us. And then, just as she tried to drag me out of my seat, I saw my dad sprinting towards us from the cockpit.
The flight attendant glared at me, pulling me out of my seat. I was stumbling and trying not to fall as her grip got tighter. My backpack slipped off my shoulder and crashed onto the floor. The passengers around us started whispering. I could hear phones clicking and videos getting started. Everyone was watching this unfold. My dad, the one person who could fix all of this, was moving toward us. But every second felt like forever.