Love the One You're With by Cecily von Ziegesar

glanced down at her ticket stub. If Rhys and Owen were in one of the double seats, and Baby, Layla, and her boyfriend
     were in one of the three-seat rows, who was
she
seated next to?
    “Are we neighbors?” Remington boomed from the row ahead. His six-foot-two frame was uncomfortably folded into the middle seat.
     Avery looked down and saw that she was assigned to the aisle seat next to him, her mother already seated by the window.
Great
.
    “Avery, I’m going to ask you to show some mercy on me. Switch?” he asked sheepishly, looking up from the clutter of Bose headphones,
     his BlackBerry, and a copy of the book
The Fat Man in History
. Avery hoped it was a metaphor and not some fetish or hobby.
    She nodded, her stomach sinking. It wasn’t
her
fault Remington couldn’t fit into his airplane seat. Already, this trip hadn’t quite lived up to her expectations.
    “Thank you.” Remington shuffled into the aisle to allow Avery room to squeeze into the ultra-cramped row.
    “Why are we traveling like this?” Avery whispered urgently as she poked her mom in her yoga-toned bicep. Edie flipped up the
     lilac-colored organic-fabric eye mask she was wearing.
    “Well, it’s not a long trip. I was looking online, and do you
know
the carbon footprint produced by just
one
private flight?” Edie’s eyes widened in disbelief.
    “I don’t care,” Avery said sulkily, looking straight ahead at the ugly pattern of the seat fabric in front of her. Couldn’t
     they just, like, donate money to some carbon emissions fund?
    “Besides, this is fun! Why be elitist?” Edie shook her head wildly as if to shake off the very idea. “I’m just going to sleep
     anyway.” She flipped the eyeshade back over her eyes and leaned back with a contented sigh.
    “A woman of many talents.” Remington nodded fondly over at Edie, who seemed to have already fallen asleep. She let out little
     birdlike whistles as she exhaled.
    “Yep,” Avery muttered. She pulled a copy of
Vogue
from her bag and flipped it open.
Skirts, skirts, skirts!
The text swam in front of her. All she wanted to do this week was spend as much time as possible in her bikini, anyway. She
     couldn’t wait to get out on the beach, margarita in hand, Bumble and Bumble surf spray tucked into her straw tote.
    The guy in front of her pushed his seat into a reclining position, bumping Avery’s knees. Avery accidentally-on-purpose banged
     her knee against the seat in annoyance and let out a loud sigh. Was it so important for him to recline
right this second
?
    She closed her eyes again as the engine whirred to life beneath them. She was always a little nervous about flying, and usually
     had to close her eyes and imagine something relaxing. Usually she thought of a Nantucket sunset, or a perfectly organized
     walk-in closet. Now, though, an image of Rhys sprang into her mind. Would he wear board shorts or Speedos on the beach? Speedos
     were sort of gross, but according to Owen, it was like a badge of honor for the swim team guys to wear their Speedos wherever
     and whenever possible. Owen used to wear them instead of boxers under his jeans on meet days back in Nantucket. Still, the
     idea of seeing Rhys in a Speedo made her feel shy and excited at the same time.
    So much for relaxing.
    Avery opened her eyes and flipped through her magazine. At least this was a short flight. “A drink, miss?” A spiky-haired,
     super-skinny male flight attendant looked down at her.
    “Tea with lemon, two Splendas,” Avery rattled off, looking guiltily at Remington. She really wanted to order a well-deserved
I’m on vacation
vodka tonic, but she couldn’t risk Remington thinking she was an alcoholic or something.
    “Hmmm, well, we have sugar, no Splenda. And we don’t have lemon.” The steward shrugged, triumphantly handing her a tiny Styrofoam
     cup. “Pretzels?”
    “Do you have any fruit? Or a yogurt?” Avery asked, wrinkling her nose.
    “This isn’t a restaurant,” the steward