Jude didn't ask how he knew luck was required. He just grabbed his bags and walked inside.
The ticket counter took one look at his name, typed something into the computer, and her whole face changed.
"Mr. Williams." She smiled. Professional. Warm. The kind of smile people used when your last name came with money attached. "You're all set. First class. I'll have someone escort you to the lounge."
First class.
Jude blinked.
He'd flown exactly twice in his life. Both times in the back of the plane, middle seat, knees jammed against the seat in front of him. First class was something he'd walked past on the way to his row and thought looked fake.
A guy in a Delta uniform appeared. Young, eager, the kind of energy that said he was new and taking the job seriously.
"Right this way, Mr. Williams."
Jude followed.
They went through security in a different line. Faster. No one made him take his shoes off. The TSA guy saw his name on the boarding pass and waved him through like he was late for something important.
Then they walked.
Past the regular gates. Past the Starbucks with the long line. Past the families camped out on the floor waiting for delayed flights.
They stopped at a door with a small plaque that said Delta Sky Club in letters that cost more than the sign.
The escort scanned a card. The door opened.
"Enjoy your flight, sir."
Jude walked in.
The lounge was quiet. Carpeted. Leather chairs that looked like they'd never been sat in by anyone who flew economy. Floor to ceiling windows overlooking the runway. A bar in the corner. A buffet set up with food that looked like it came from a restaurant instead of a plastic tray.
There were maybe ten people in the whole space. All of them older. All of them dressed like they flew first class because flying any other way had never occurred to them.
Jude stood there with his duffel bags and his football and looked around.
Woah.
Fancy.
He found a seat by the window and dropped the bags. Set the football on the chair next to him. A woman in a Delta uniform approached with a tray.
"Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? Something from the bar?"
Jude looked at her. Looked at the bar. Looked back at her.
"I'm seventeen."
She smiled. "The bar has sodas too."
"Coke."
"Of course."
She left. Jude leaned back in the chair and watched a plane take off through the window. The leather was soft. The kind of soft that made you aware you were sitting in something that cost more than his monthly grocery budget used to be.
His phone buzzed again.
He ignored it.
The Coke arrived in a glass with ice and a lime wedge on the rim like he was at a country club. He sipped it. Tasted like regular Coke. Somehow that made the whole thing worse.
This was Arthur's world.
Lounges and first class tickets and people calling you sir when you were seventeen and hadn't done anything except inherit the right last name.
Jude had earned everything he'd ever gotten. Every scholarship offer. Every win. Every coach who called him the best QB they'd seen in a decade.
He did that. Not Arthur. Not the Fitzgerald name.
Him.
And now he was supposed to show up in Calabasas and play nice with a family that got all of this without asking.
A father who didn't show up.
A stepmother he'd never met.
Three half-sisters who probably looked at him like he was the help.
He took another sip.
The football sat next to him. Quiet. Faithful. The one thing that didn't care where he came from or where he was going. You could throw it in Philly or California and the spiral looked the same.
That was the only thing he had left that made sense.
His phone buzzed one more time.
He pulled it out.
Marcus: dont forget where u from
Jude stared at the message.
He typed back slowly.
Jude: never
He put the phone face down on the table and looked out at the runway.
"Now boarding first class passengers for Delta flight 1847 to Los Angeles."
He stood up. Grabbed the bags. Picked up the football.
The door to the lounge opened and he walked through it.
The gate was close. The line was short. He handed over his boarding pass and the attendant smiled that same professional smile and told him to enjoy his flight.
He walked down the jetway.
First class was rows one through four. His seat was 2A. Window. Leather that was even softer than the lounge. Legroom that felt illegal. A flight attendant appeared before he'd even sat down.
"Mr. Fitzgerald. Can I take your bags?"
He handed them over. Kept the football.
She didn't ask about it.
He sat down. Buckled in. Put the ball on his lap.
The plane filled slowly. Other first class passengers. Older. Calm. Used to this. A businessman sat next to him in 2B, opened a laptop, and didn't say a word.
Jude looked out the window.
Philadelphia got smaller.
The buildings. The streets. The city that made him who he was.
All of it falling away.
The engines started. The plane pushed back from the gate. The flight attendant ran through the safety speech he'd heard twice before and would ignore again.
And then they were moving.
Fast, faster, and then the wheels left the ground.
Jude watched Philly disappear beneath the clouds.
He didn't look away until there was nothing left to see.
Then he closed his eyes, leaned his head back, and tried not to think about the fact that the last time he'd been this alone was never.
The football sat on his lap.
He held it the whole flight.