Chapter 2

Jet engines blasting, our regional jet zips over the runway. On my phone’s screen, Aether Airways’ award-winning app redirects me to the Crew Review page that both staff and customers can access twenty-four-seven. My profile pops up with my full name, Cezanne Silver, and employee picture. I was so proud of that picture, of my badge where it was later plastered—the first ever professional version of myself. Officially going somewhere. My garnet-red hair blown out, long glossy layers draped at either side of my gray uniform blazer; my dark-rimmed faux glasses accenting my face with that studious air of purpose.

Purpose that eluded me my whole life.

During new-hire I heard the crew chatter about employee’s love-hate relationship with Aether’s rating scheme. I even had the nerve to believe I had what it takes to earn high ratings. Hell, I’d been groomed by my godmother since I was six-years-old and could refill hers and Mom’s empty wine glasses without spilling any. The secret, of course, being in the twist of the bottle at the end of the pour. So how could I ever earn anything less than three-stars?

But here in bold red font the words New Rating appears just below my profile heading. To its right, is Aether’s review grid used to mark every crew member in the company, and it’s metrics have become synonymous with preferred schedules, glamorous long-haul routes, and top-dollar bonuses. And my very first entry, is that new rating. A hopeless little castaway… one single star.

Below it, a review entitled, Worst Flight Attendant Ever.

My heart plummets to my stomach and sloshes around like a dying fish.

“What a tool,” Sofia says, her head hovering at my shoulder.

I expand the review:

Terrible flight, terrible service. This young lady was the worst. No regard for my personal belongings. I’ve flown twice a week for over ten years. Last year I moved all my business to Aether because I believed in their customer-comes-first philosophy. After this experience I’m reconsidering where I place my loyalty, because being a member of the Titan Club didn’t matter to this employee, which means it must not matter to the company.

I wince. My skin crawls with a million tiny twitches of anxiety.

“Well, that’s just plain rude of him,” Sofia whispers.

In disbelief, I swipe right to see what the rating did to my overall score. My stomach gurgles, heart flops around some more. I’m going to be sick.

Sofia lets out a little gasp. “Yikes, I’m sorry. But look at it this way, in a few months you should be able to bring up your score, maybe catch the eye of a decent crew team leader. A good team leader can make all the difference.”

“A few months?” I scoff quietly. “My total score just bottomed out. I could lose my job.”

“Relax,” Sofia says. “They over-exaggerate in training to keep you from getting lazy. Not that anyone ever wants reserves.”

“My crew rating is 11. Even if I’m not fired this means I’ll be on regional reserves till I’m like thirty. No team will want me.”

Sofia’s head tilts. “It’s true nobody likes reserves, but you never know. Surprises can happen. Sometimes we get traded around when a Future Star or Rising Star upsets the team recruiting process.”

“You’re saying getting recruited to a top team could save my job? Do they ever choose anyone fresh out of probation?” My nerves climb and fall like an anxiety thrill ride.

“Not usually. It will take time to build up your score. No one waltzes out of probation as a Future Star. At least, not that I’ve ever heard.”

My eyes close and part of me wants to keep them that way. “If I get another bad rating, I’ll be toast.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Sofia says. “Here, let’s see…”

I watch her punch into her phone.

“Okay,” she regards the screen, “Crenshaw’s review weight is worth… ew, his VIP status really packs a punch. That’s what killed your overall score. Recovery will be tough, but not impossible. If you work extra hard on bringing in some good ratings, you may be able to average a decent score by the time your probation is over. Average means consistent. Without consistency, ratings can plunge like that.” She snaps her fingers. “As you’ve just witnessed.”

“It wasn’t even my fault…” I stare at the bulkhead wall. “That’s what gets me. I was going by protocol.” I force a swallow, my sinuses burning again. “I can’t lose this job.”

Not after I basically told everyone who used to talk trash about me back home to kiss my ass. I can’t go back there jobless and eat crow. I just can’t. I’m supposed to only return home now and then, between jet-setting to Spain and Italy and France, just like Pam used to do.

“You’ll figure out something,” Sofia says gently.

The plane lifts off the ground and I pop my ears. “I interviewed for two other airlines. But Aether topped my list. State-of-the-art. Revolutionary. That’s what everyone said. I mean, sure the rating-based routes and pay sounded tricky and all, but everyone wants to work for Aether. They say the waiting list to get hired is into the thousands.”

“True,” Sofia says, admiring her finely lacquered nails. “We’re the first carrier to operate an inflight staff based on popularity reviews, which puts Aether in a different playing field. But, love it or hate it, the novelty of rating staff in real time gives a false sense of power to customers who don’t necessarily deserve it. I started out flying with a traditional legacy carrier, so I’m still getting used to all of it myself.”

“I was so proud after new-hire,” I muse, staring at the bulkhead’s gray plastic wall. “I was meant for this job.” I glance at her sympathetic little smile. “I don’t know what I’ll do without it.”

Sofia sighs. “Come on now, one bad rating does not an attendant make. It’s not like you’re flying the plane—think of how the pilots feel when they get one-starred. Do your best and focus on your average. They won’t fire you unless you really screw up big. One guy’s opinion won’t cost you your job… I don’t think, anyway.”

I shift my gaze away. Not looking at Sofia makes it easier to pretend she and I aren’t so different—how even her fingernails are more sophisticated than my naked, uneven nails that ain’t never grown out smooth, not after years of digging up crawdads and shucking clams.

Air pressure squeezes in on my ears and I swallow again. “Let me guess—you have a permanent line.”

“Matter of fact, I do. Europe.”

My chest flutters. I lean in closer. That’s what I want. Of all Pam’s stories, her European escapades were my favorite. I used to promise myself that would be me someday. That I wouldn’t end up like mama—talking a big game but never leaving the bayou.

“Are you on a top crew team?” I ask. “How long did it take for you to get there?”

Sofia’s little smile goes smug. “I had to pick up a ton of overtime but I finally got recruited for a mid-list team and won a permanent cross-country route. A month later an even better team with Notable status recruited me and that’s where I am now. I work the Zurich long-haul twice a week.”

“Sounds like you made it happen pretty fast. Where are you based?”

“Jacksonville. Wait till you work one of our brand-new wide-bodies, it changes everything. If you get the option, put in for a Jacksonville base. New-hires always pick JFK and SFO because they offer more routes, but Jacksonville’s got a non-stop every other day to Zurich. From Zurich you can get almost anywhere in Europe within a couple hours. Planes, trains, or automobiles. The Swiss railway system happens to be the best in the world.”

“I didn’t think we got to choose our base?” I say.

“Not until you’re recruited to a top crew team. They see it as incentive to bring in high ratings. And it’s the only way out of the pits of despair otherwise known as reserves. No more spending all day on-call at the airport in uniform.” She grins and her soft brown eyes sparkle. “The thought of just me and my Zurich long-hauls, with days off in Europe all to myself… ah, that’s the life, right?”

That’s the dream. Envy’s rotten stench seeps through my pores, into my nostrils. Subject change please. “Why are you jump-seating to Chicago?”

“Commuting. I have to fill in on a flight to Geneva tomorrow. Luckily this aircraft had an extra jump-seat. Everything else was full.”

I drop my head into my palms because all I want to do is sulk, but the speed of the plane indicates we’re almost at cruising altitude. I still have to serve refreshments and pretend it’s the best day ever after the rating of doom.

“Sofia,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt. “Thank you for today. My job means the world to me and I’d do anything to save it. Any suggestions on how to get five-star ratings fast?”

Sofia’s lips twist to one side. “Ratings can be tricky. No one tells you that in training—they want you to have your sights set on the stars. But most passengers are quicker to leave feedback when they’re upset and emotional. I’ve found a polite request before landing can sometimes help—as long as they’re not someone like Crenshaw.”

“Maybe I should hand out swag or something, you know, with those little scanner codes.” I’m only half kidding.

“Takes time to find your groove.”

“It’s crazy, just this morning I worried about how I could get a long-haul route so I can start making a regular salary. Now I’m just praying to keep my job.”

I don’t mention the fact I spent the last few years working my tail off waiting tables to help Mom with Nana’s medical bills. My bank account is on the verge of total depletion.

“You’re from the last round of new-hire batches, aren’t you?” Sofia asks.

I perch on the edge of my jump-seat and nod.

“Your foot’s in the door, as they say, and that’s getting harder to do with all the positive press surrounding Aether. Are you a genuine New Orleans native?”

“I grew up in a small town south of N’awlins, east of Lafayette. You wouldn’t know it.”

You can take the girl out of the swamp…

Pam cringes whenever I make that joke. Ever since I can remember, she’s made it her personal mission to refine me with things I never used to care about, like table manners, matching shoes with accessories, pairing wines with meals. She never actually said so, but I think she tries to forget she’s from the swamplands herself. Mama, of course, is the stone-cold opposite. Despite Pam’s best efforts, Mama insists I stay true to our small-town swampland blood, and she’s the first to chuckle whenever I remind Pam no matter where in the world folks like us end up, the swamp can never really be taken out of the girl.

“Well,” Sofia says, “New Orleans is one of my top five favorite cities, which is why I picked up on your accent. Plus, your full name’s uncommonly French. Cezanne, like the painter?”

“My dad’s an art dealer. He was into the Post-Impressionist era when I was born. He lives in South America.”

“Oh? I have family in Venezuela. Have you been south of the equator before?”

I shake my head. I haven’t been nowhere, and I really don’t want to get into the shitty details of how my American-born father never once flew me down to Bolivia, or how he’s been a ghost in my life for pretty much all of it, under the excuse that the wino rants of Cassie Peagram, AKA my mama, are too high maintenance for him to deal with. Thanks to his black-market gigs, his passport has spent more time on the federal alerts list than El Chapo’s.

“Someday I’ll get down there,” I say.

If I get to keep this job.

Sofia leans closer, her long silky locks brushing my arm. “Listen, I remember what it was like being fresh out of new-hire and praying to make it onto a halfway motivated crew team. And I know how heartbreaking a bad review can feel. If you’re serious about bringing up your crew score fast, my best advice, is find out how Val LaSalle does it. Maybe you can even get her to recruit you.”

My back straightens. “Who?”

“Val LaSalle. I’m surprised you didn’t hear of her in training,” Sofia whispers, her expression cautious, as though what she’s about to share can never leave this space. “I’ve been following her blaze, and she just made team leader—set a new Rising Star record for fastest crew climb to the top. She works a Tahitian route twice a week, and her team’s already Notable status, already hit pay dirt. As soon as they reach top tier status, they’ll get whatever schedule and route they want: permanent international long-hauls, bonuses to rival Wall Street, and no more reserves. Ever. I heard she’s actively recruiting.”

“No kidding?” I ask, mystified. “How does she do it?”

“Wish I knew. I tried keeping up with her for a while, in the hopes she’d recruit me, but honestly, she’s kind of intimidating. I’m okay with my current crew team. Plus, my team leader is great, and Zurich is heaven.”

I fidget with the metal ridges of the wings pinned onto my lapel. Maybe Val LaSalle can help me save my job, and get me what I ultimately want—what every Aether flight attendant wants.

“How do I find her?” I ask, my voice monotone, like it’s under a spell.

“Good question.” Sofia holds my gaze. “I’m not so sure you can.”