The girl pointed discreetly.
Her mother leaned over just far enough to read what I’d written.
She turned toward the window.
Her shoulders began shaking.
“Oh,” she whispered. “That is perfect.”
I glanced behind me again.
Still snoring.
The plane was flying smoothly.
I folded each napkin into a narrow strip, slipped it into a clear pouch, and pressed the seal shut.
Then I reached up to the sock cuffs hanging over my head and tucked one pouch beneath the rolled edge of each cuff, with the writing facing inward.
The plastic was thin enough to stay hidden and would keep the damp fabric from smearing the ink.
No tape, no glue, and nothing that could damage the socks.
I was finished in seconds.
Then I sat back and picked up my sparkling water.
The teenager stared at me.
I raised one finger to my lips.
She nodded so enthusiastically that her mother had to look away again.
