Alex had never been on a plane like this.
He was not on a normal flight with crying babies and bad food. He was on the official Arsenal team jet. It was all black leather seats and quiet, polite staff members asking him if he wanted orange juice. He was wearing his grey club suit. He looked out the tiny window at the clouds below. He was sixteen years old. He was a professional. He was flying to Newcastle.
"You look like you are about to be sick again, Professor."
Alex looked over. Antoine was sitting across from him, reading a very fancy looking magazine. He looked like he owned the plane.
"I am fine," Alex said, his voice a little tight. "It is just... high."
"It is football," Antoine smiled. "The higher we go, the better it is. You must get used to the view."
Alex nodded. He tried to look calm.
He looked down the aisle. Mark was not calm. He was in his own suit, his silver boots in his lap. He was talking. Very fast. To Harry, the captain.
