My father chuckled, not even trying to hide his disdain. “She can’t afford economy, Laya. Don’t expect her to know how airports work.”

Laughter followed. Heads turned. Heat burned my cheeks, but I didn’t say a word. I just adjusted the strap of my old backpack and stared at the giant glass windows, where planes gleamed under the morning sun. They were flying first-class to New York for a family celebration I was technically invited to but never truly wanted at.