The plane reached cruising altitude. Rebecca began the beverage service. She was professional and polite until she reached Row 24. She stopped. The smile vanished.
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Simone whispered.
Rebecca didn’t acknowledge her.
“Ma’am, may we please have three apple juices, please?” Naomi asked respectfully.
Rebecca’s laugh was cruel and mocking. “Apple juice. Do you have money to pay for that? Complimentary for paying passengers. Are you paying passengers or are you on some kind of assistance program?”
“Our mother purchased our tickets, ma’am. We’re flying to meet her in New York,” Naomi said, her voice shaking but steady.
“Oh, your mother. I see. And where exactly is your mother right now? Or did social services book these tickets for you?” Rebecca’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “Most children traveling alone are on charity programs. Troubled kids, system kids, kids whose parents can’t afford them, so they get passed around. Is that what you are? Are you girls getting passed around because nobody wants you?”