I lower my tray table, eyes locked on the snack cart as it creeps closer. Mom raises her eyebrows, and I know I have a decision—cookies or pretzels. I’m leaning toward cookies when, out of nowhere, the cart rolls right past us without stopping. I huff, leaning toward Mom. “Did they seriously just take away our snacks?”

She chuckles and pats my hand, but I feel Disgust stirring in my head, like in the movie _Inside Out_, playing on the seat in front of me. “Unbelievable,” I mutter under my breath, channeling Disgust’s eye roll, as I notice a man standing up front in the aisle, each hand gripping the back of a adjacent seat. He raises his voice, and I catch the words, “…pilot is unable to fly…” My stomach flips.

“Wait, what?” I glance at Mom, and she’s tightening her seatbelt, her mouth pressed tight. Fear jolts awake in my head, hitting every panic button he can reach. Joy goes silent. I am about to drill Mom for answers, when a few rows ahead, a woman stands. She’s older than Mom, with short gray hair and a sharp look that makes her seem like she knows exactly what she’s doing. She introduces herself as a pilot, saying she’s handled emergencies before and is our “best bet” to get home.

I lean forward in my seat, whispering, “What’s going on, Mom, what did I miss?” Mom’s about to answer until someone behind us mutters, “Isn’t she that one from Florida? The one who nearly crashed cause she broke protocol?” Another voice chimes in, “…yeah, Miss acting all high and mighty towards the other pilots…”

I sink back, feeling Fear ramp up again. “Did you hear that, Mom?” I whisper, as I think this lady is either great or a danger to us all. Disgust pops up again, crossing her arms. “Why can’t people just follow the rules?” I mutter.

Then the copilot steps forward, clearing his throat. He’s really young, almost like a kid himself. “Mom,” I whisper, “isn’t he, like, barely older than me?” She gives me a look. “Honey, he just looks young.”

But I can tell she’s as unsure as I am. The copilot says he knows the controls and promises he can fly us safely, but there’s a wobble in his voice, like he’s trying to convince himself, too. I watch him, eyes wide, feeling Fear pacing nervously around inside my head.

The flight attendant starts making her way down the aisle, stopping at each row, and it occurs to me that the passengers are being asked to vote. For what, though? It becomes clear the moment she reaches us. Mom replies that she is voting for the woman, Miss Carlyle, I think. “At least she’s done this before, right?” she murmurs, half to me, but mostly to herself.

I bite my lip. “But… she’s the one people say almost crashed.” Mom nods, her fingers tapping anxiously on her armrest. “Sometimes you just have to go with your gut, honey.”

Relieved I don’t actually have to choose due to my age, the copilot breaks me out of my reverie by announcing that the woman has been chosen. She steps forward, looking calm and focused. “Mom, she doesn’t look worried like at all,” I whisper. “That’s good, right?” Mom nods, squeezing my hand.

From behind us, someone grumbles, and another voice rings out, strong and steady: “Listen up! This is who we picked, people. Live with it! She’s counting on us, and we’re counting on her.” A chorus of applause springs up around me, with a few boos sprinkled in. I turn to Mom, trying to process it all. “So… that’s it? She’s in charge now?”

Mom smiles slightly, “Yes, she is our new pilot.” I sit back, letting the hum of the engines calm me. “Well, I guess Fear can chill out now,” I mutter, mostly to myself, imagining him pacing around in my head but finally sitting down.

As I settle into my seat, I look around at everyone else. “Alright,” I whisper, quietly but just loud enough for Joy and Fear and maybe even Disgust to hear. “She’s got this. She’s got us.” When the snack cart finally returns, I don’t feel like the same kid who was just debating between cookies or pretzels. This isn’t just about me or Mom anymore. It’s about all of us, trusting the person we chose. After all—we’re relying on her to bring us home.