It was Jonah. He had changed into a sweater and jeans, and he stood in the hallway with his hands in his pockets and did not come in when she stepped back to let him.
"I'm not going to be at the meeting tomorrow," he said.
She waited.
"I've written a letter. I'll send it to HR in the morning. Two weeks, if they want it, but I don't think they'll want it." He took a breath. "I need to tell you something. The listing. When I booked the seat. It said, 'Open Sky Mission Flight—pediatric patient and family on board. Shared seating available at cost.' It said it right there. I read it."
"Jonah—"
"And I booked it anyway, and I didn't tell you, because I thought, she'll never even notice. She'll be on her laptop the whole time. She won't even look at them." His jaw worked. "My sister's autistic. Maddie. She's nineteen. When we were little she used to flap her hands in the grocery store and people would stare, and I used to walk two aisles away so nobody would know she was with me."
Celeste said nothing at all.
"When you grabbed that folder," Jonah said, "I just sat there. I didn't do anything. I sat there for two full seconds before I even moved, and the only reason I moved is because his notebook landed by my foot." He shook his head. "I've worked for you for three years. I've been studying how you do things. I wanted to be you. I thought that was the whole point."
"It is the whole point," Celeste said. Her voice came out cracked. "That's what I wanted too."
He looked at her strangely.
"The presentation's good," he said after a moment. "Seen. It's really good. It's going to work. You're going to get the job." He took his hands out of his pockets. "I just don't want to be in the room when you say all that stuff about how she doesn't have to ask permission."
He left. She closed the door and stood with her back against it.