First Class Pov -

As I sink into this leather throne—heated, naturally—I catch my own reflection in the polished wood grain of the divider. I look the same as I did twenty minutes ago, when I was weaving through the gate crowd with a backpack strap digging into my shoulder. But everything else has changed.

The Quiet Upstairs (A First-Class Confession) first class pov

As the lights dim and I recline into the horizontal position— horizontal , while moving at 575 miles per hour—I stare at the starry ceiling of the cabin. They project fake stars up here. It should be tacky. It is not. It is hopeful. As I sink into this leather throne—heated, naturally—I

Here is the thing they don't tell you about first class: it is incredibly quiet. Not just in volume, but in anxiety. Nobody is checking their boarding pass to make sure they are in the right seat. Nobody is doing the math on whether they can afford a $9 beer. There is a strange, unspoken treaty up here: We have all made it. Let us simply exist. The Quiet Upstairs (A First-Class Confession) As the

I have a confession to make.

Don't tell anyone I don't belong here.