“Hi there, what can I get for you?” asked the Starbucks employee in a monotone voice.

“Hi, can I get the caramel iced latte in the biggest size you have, please? Thank you,” I said as I tapped my phone on the receipt-printer.

Next, my friend Alona ordered. Alona and I had arrived at the airport an hour ago, and I was convinced I had to stay alert for all six hours of the flight to pay attention to every little detail—hence the Trenta-sized drink. Little did I know,the Starbucks line would delay us by nearly an hour. I started to panic, but once again, Alona reassured me that we still had three hours left before our flight.

This was my first time flying alone—if you didn’t count Alona and the flight attendant accompanying us. After getting our drinks, we finally checked in our bags. Alona was still limping badly after breaking her leg two days prior to our flight, but with the help of heavy painkillers, she was holding up rather well. Ironically, I was relying on her more than she was physically relying on me. She was two years older than me and had already flown unaccompanied before.

“Hey, can you remind me every hour to check my bag and make sure I have everything?” I said frantically.

“Yeah sure, but you’re going to be fine. After security, we should have lots of time to drink our coffees and chill,” she reassured me for the hundredth time. 

This calmed me about as much as the idea of  sky-diving would have. Nonetheless, we went through security relatively fast, and I started to ease up–just a little. I gripped my iced latte tightly as we navigated through the bustling airport, the wheels of our suitcases squeaking on the shiny floors. Announcements echoed overhead in various languages, and the air was thick with the scents of coffee, perfume, and travel-worn exhaustion.

“Hey, are you good? I asked Alona as I saw her limping slightly slower than before.

“No, yeah, it’s fine. I’ve just been walking for a while,” she said with a weak smile.

As we reached our gate, an airport escort approached Alona, noticing her limp. Apparently, our conversation had been overheard, because a moment later, she gestured for us to follow her. To my utter delight, she led us to what I’d like to call an airport golf cart. I had spent years watching people zoom past me in these carts while I trudged through endless terminals with my parents, my head aching. Now, it was finally my turn. Alona and I exchanged wide-eyed grins as we climbed in, and for the first time that day, I felt a little rush of excitement rather than stress. 

By the time we lounged in our gate, I was feeling much more confident–until a flight attendant with slick-back black hair approached us. 

“Sorry, but we’re going to have to move you either to the front of the plane or the back since it would make it easier for the flight attendants to supervise you that way,” she informed us. 

Before we could answer, another flight attendant hurried toward us in quick strides, her heels clicking against the floor. She whispered something to her co-worker, and she nodded before turning back to us.

“We were just told that there aren’t two conjoined seats in either the front or back,” he said.

“So, you,” he gestured to me, “will be moved to the front of the plane in first class, and you,” he turned to Alona, “will be moved to the back.”

I hesitated for a moment, glancing at Alona, who just shrugged. I briefly felt bad for her, stuck in the cramped economy section, but not sad enough to ignore the fact that I would be sitting in first class for the first time in my life.

I settled into my luxurious seat, feeling the soft leather cushion beneath me and glazing at the menu, which boasted dishes much fancier than the sad little snack bags I had been planning to get.The light attendant handed me a warm towel, and for the first time that day, I let out a deep breath. Maybe this whole flying-alone thing wasn’t so bad after all.

As the plane took off, I looked out the window, watching the lights of the city fade beneath us. The nervous energy I had carried all morning slowly melted away. I wasn’t just surviving this trip–I was handling it. Maybe I had relied on Alona at the start, but now, sitting alone in first class with a plate of complimentary fruit in front of me, I realized I could do this on my own.

By the time we landed, I was no longer panicking about my bag every five minutes or triple-checking my boarding pass. Instead, I simply grabbed my suitcase and waved for Alona at baggage claim, sipping the last of my now watery iced latte.

She limped toward me, looking unimpressed. 

“So? How was first class?” she asked, raising an eyebrow.

I grinned. “Not bad. I think I could get used to flying alone.”

She rolled her eyes but smiled.