The Trouble with Flying by Rachel Morgan Page A

Italy. In my last week I did one of those guided walking tours along the coast. That’s what Emily was referring to.”
    “Wow, that sounds like an amazing holiday.” An odd feeling that I quickly identify as jealousy pokes at my insides. “So you went with …”
    “Oh, it was just me. I, uh, felt like I needed a break from real life for a bit.”
    “You did all that on your own?”
    “Yes. Well, aside from the many other tourists, but I gather that’s not what you mean.”
    “And you didn’t get lonely?”
    “I thought I might, but it was surprisingly enjoyable being left to make my own decisions. To only go where I wanted to go. Eat what I wanted to eat. It was great. I had a month off from reality and all the people I know, and by the time I got back home, I had a day left to pack for South Africa.”
    I stop walking and look at him. “And you did all that without once getting on a plane?”
    He smiles. “Trains are a wonderful invention.”
    Up ahead, Matt decides we should stop for a few minutes to drink some water and admire the view. We catch up to the rest of the group, and Matt hands me my water bottle from the backpack he’s been carrying. I take a few gulps, then place my hands on my hips as I turn back and look at how far we’ve come. The trees we walked through behind the lake are small, dark green blobs beside an uneven circle of blue that looks like a giant mirror.
    “Beautiful,” Aiden murmurs.
    “Oh, it gets much better than this,” I tell him. “The top is incredible. Like you’ve got the whole world at your feet.”
    Aiden looks somewhat alarmed. “Sounds high.”
    “Don’t worry, man,” Matt says. “It’s totally safe.” He packs my water bottle away and turns to look up the path ahead. “This next bit is steeper, but whoever built the path put logs across it, like stairs. So that helps.”
    “I’m leading now,” Malcolm says, stepping past his brother and heading up the stairway of logs at a pace that seems far from enjoyable. “You’ve been in front for too long.”
    “Dude! You were right next to me!” Matt says, climbing quickly after him.
    “Hey, this isn’t a race, remember,” Emily shouts after them. “Or you’ll be waiting at the top for hours before the rest of us get there.”
    She climbs after him, followed by Aunt Hannah, Elize, and Simone. Aiden gestures for me to go ahead of him. “So,” he says after another minute or so of climbing, “was coming home as horrible as you thought it was going to be?”
    “Well … I still miss Julia a lot, but … the other complication … didn’t turn out the way I thought it was going to.” And I still haven’t figured out if I’m happy about that or not. I glance behind me and see a perplexed expression on Aiden’s face. Hardly surprising, since I probably couldn’t have been more cryptic if I’d tried. I look forward again—just in time to trip over the next log. “Whoa—” I try to throw my hands out to break my fall, but Aiden grabs one of them first and pulls me upright. “Thanks,” I say, wondering if the jolt of adrenaline rushing through me is from the shock of almost landing face first in the dirt or from Aiden’s hand on mine.
    “Everything okay down there?”
    At the sound of Matt’s distant shout, Aiden pulls his hand swiftly from mine. I look up, shielding my face from the sun’s glare with one hand, and see Matt and Malcolm standing on the edge of a rock some way ahead of us. I give them a thumbs up and shout, “Yeah. Just me being clumsy.” I wiggle my foot around to make sure it’s still fine to walk on, then continue. “Anyway,” I say to Aiden. “So coming home wasn’t all that bad. The best part was probably finding a bag of biltong waiting for me on my bed.” Seriously? The best part was the biltong ? “And, you know, seeing my family,” I add quickly. “Obviously.”
    “Biltong?” he asks.
    “Yeah, you know. Dried meat. Salty. Spicy.” When Aiden doesn’t