50. Hot Rides

Hollis

The next evening as the day coasts toward sunset, we're standing in a field not far from a big, bright pink balloon that the ground crew for Hot Rides is inflating.

The balloon operator is an older woman named Clara with long fuchsia fingernails, lash extensions, and curly blonde hair. I don't know what I was expecting except, well, not a girlie girl my mom's age.

But I should know better. I was raised by a woman who played hockey, so it makes perfect sense that a hot-air balloon pilot is a woman with laugh lines etched in ivory skin and a penchant for pink.

"So, that's it. Just climb in when we tell you and up you go. But don't rock the basket," Clara says as she finishes her safety talk.

I appreciate the info and her thoroughness. Still, it's my job to look out for my friends. "And you're saying we don't need safety harnesses or anything?"

She gives me a smile, genuine, but practiced. It's clearly not the first time she's gotten this question. But she turns to Briar. "You want to take this one, hun?"

Briar smiles at me, a twinkle in her eyes like she has a secret. "Nope. Hot-air balloons are one of the safest ways to travel."

Rhys takes off his shades, looks to me. "I'll be expecting you to land in the players' lot in your own balloon soon."

Gavin scoffs. "Don't tempt him, man. You know Hollis will be taking balloon lessons next weekend then getting his pilot's license."

Clara smiles like a cat. "If you want to get a license, you come find me. I'm an instructor. I've taught many people to fly one of these babies."

"My summers are free so consider it confirmed. And thank you for fitting us in at the last minute," I say, and even though Briar told us Clara is a friend of her dad's, I'm still amazed Briar pulled this off so quickly, booking us a sunset ride just a day after we first mentioned it.

"Anything for Briar," Clara says.

"I think you mean anything for my dad," Briar says to the older woman.

"Henry fixed the ignition in my van last week," she says, then frowns. "Too bad he can't fix the engines on these balloons."

I tense. "Wait. Is something wrong with the balloons?"

She laughs. "Just teasing. Everything is fine."

"Dude, they don't have engines," Gavin says.

"I know," I grumble.

Then Gavin pulls me aside and says in a low voice, "I looked up whether balloon rides are safe and allowed in our contracts. It's all good."

I breathe a sigh of relief. "Thanks, man."

I'm grateful he sensed my concern. I've focused so much on taking care of my mom and sisters that it's second nature to look out for Briar and the crew too. But I'm not the only one taking care of the four of us. We can share the responsibility. That's a strange new thought but not an unwelcome one. And it's digging roots inside me as Clara gestures to the big basket at the edge of the field. "Crew's about ready. Are you, gentlemen?"

We all nod.

She turns to Briar. "And are you ready for your, what is this, your fiftieth flight?"

"Something like that," Briar says, a smile turning her lips into a tease.

Like she has a secret.

Wait a second. I put two and two together. "Briar, are you a pilot?" I ask, incredulous.

She bobs a shoulder playfully. "I got my pilot's license in college. I used to work here on the weekends. Clara's the one who taught me to fly balloons."

The amount of Briar intel in those sentences is a year's worth. "I'm gonna need all the details later. But are you going to fly it?" I ask because that's kind of badass and totally Briar.

"No," Briar says with a laugh. "I have to do my biennial flight review before I'm comfortable doing that. I've been a bad girl and been a little lax. But I'll do it soon. For now, I'll go help the ground crew," she says, then heads off, her ponytail swishing as she goes. She adjusts some of the cables on the huge, majestic balloon, then with the help of the crew, she grabs the edges of the basket and tips it up.

I stare slack-jawed, my heart thudding hard. "Briar's a balloon pilot," I say, awed.

Rhys watches, shaking his head. "How is that so hot?"

Gavin lets out a low whistle, then murmurs, "Because she's capable and still wants us."

Yup. Nailed it.

A gravelly laugh rips through the air as Clara walks by. "Good luck fighting over her," she says, then passes us. The three of us smile like we have a secret too.

We don't have to fight over her whatsoever.

When the balloon is fully inflated and ready for liftoff, we jump inside the basket, joining our girl.