By the time the plane lifted off the runway, Simon had already decided this was going to be the worst trip of his life.

It should have been a good day. Spring break, a flight from Los Angeles to Denver, a chance to finally see snow. He pressed his forehead against the cold oval window and watched the city shrink into a grid of freeways and swimming pools. He tried to imagine himself snowboarding instead of sitting next to his mom in a cramped middle seat.

And then he heard it.

“Oh, look. It’s Simon from school.”

That voice. Smug, too loud, impossible to ignore. Simon didn’t even have to turn around to know who it was.

Chad.

He appeared in the aisle like a villain in a teen movie—perfect haircut, expensive hoodie with a California surf brand, sneakers so white they looked like they’d never touched a sidewalk. Behind him stood a woman in a designer tracksuit, scrolling on her phone, not paying attention.

“I see you have yourself an iPhone 14,” Chad said, leaning over Simon’s shoulder.

Simon looked down at the phone in his hand. It was a little scratched, the case slightly cloudy from age, but it worked. He’d saved for months to buy it secondhand. “Knock it off, Chad,” he muttered. “It’s not an iPhone 14.”

“Yeah, it is.” Chad smirked. “iPhone 14… years old. Where did you get that? The iPhone Museum?”

The words hit harder than they should have. A couple of kids across the aisle giggled. Simon felt his face heat up.

“Very funny, Chad,” he said, turning back to the window.

From the next seat, his mom glanced over. “Who is that boy, anyway?”

“He’s from my school,” Simon said quietly. “He always picks on me.”

She gave him a sympathetic look, the kind that said she wished she could fix it but couldn’t. “Well, just ignore him,” she said. “Bullies hate that.”

Easy for you to say, Simon thought.

Chad dropped into the row behind them, next to his mom. The woman finally looked up from her phone long enough to say, “Don’t let him bother you, Chad,” in a bored voice that made it clear she thought Chad was the real victim.

“Hey,” Chad said to the two girls across the aisle, who’d been in his computer lab class. “You guys think you could tutor me this quarter?”

“Sure,” one of them said. “Why not?”

“Wait, me too,” the other added, smiling.

Oh, great, Simon thought. So the law of the universe was still in effect: bullies plus money equals popularity.

A ding came over the intercom. “Attention passengers,” the captain’s voice said. “We’re coming up on some turbulence. No need to worry. It’s expected and should be mild.”

“Turbulence?” Simon’s fingers tightened around his seatbelt. Nobody said anything about that when they booked the tickets. His mom gripped the armrest.

“Oh, you’re just like your mom,” Chad said from behind him. “That’s why she doesn’t fly.”

“What’s wrong, Simon?” Chad added, pitching his voice high and babyish. “Did you forget your binky?”

“Mind your own business,” Simon snapped, before he could stop himself. The retort escaped like steam from a kettle. “Do I tell you how to pick your nose?”

“Ooh,” one of the girls said, surprised. “Don’t let him bother you, Chad.”

Chad put a hand on the call button. “Let me call the stewardess for you,” he said. “Maybe she’ll bring you a blankie.”

“Yeah,” Simon said, suddenly tired of swallowing his words. “Maybe she’s got some duct tape so you can finally be quiet.”

“Oh, look, Mom.” Chad snorted. “Simon actually made a joke.”

A flight attendant appeared next to them, smile professional, hair perfectly pinned despite the light shaking of the plane. “Hi, was there something I could get for you?” she asked.

“Oh, no, not yet. When does your drink service start?” Chad’s mom asked.

“In just a few moments,” the attendant said. “We’ll come through with the beverage cart.”

“Actually,” Chad added quickly, “I think that little boy over there wants a blankie.”

The woman’s eyes flicked from Chad to Simon, who wanted to sink through the floor.

She didn’t hand him a blanket. She just said warmly, “If you feel nervous, it can help to close your eyes and breathe. We fly across the U.S. every day. You’re perfectly safe,” and moved on.

As soon as she was gone, Chad whispered, “Blankie,” under his breath and laughed to himself, the way people laugh when they’re sure the world will always bend in their favor.

Simon stared out at the clouds and tried to imagine all of this was happening to someone else.

The turbulence passed. The beverage cart rattled down the aisle, handing out ginger ale and pretzels. Simon’s mom ordered two chamomile teas “to relax,” and Simon asked for ginger ale “because my stomach’s upset from all this shakiness.”

“Two cups of soothing chamomile tea,” the flight attendant said. “Here you go.”

Speaking of phones, Chad’s mom twisted toward him. “So,” she said in a stage whisper, “when am I giving you your birthday present?”

“Mom, my birthday’s not till tomorrow,” he said.

“Oh, yeah?” She reached under the seat and pulled out a small, glossy white box, the kind Simon recognized instantly from every Apple commercial ever made. “Then what’s that down there?”

Chad’s face lit up. “I think I know what you got me,” he said, practically vibrating. “Is this it?”

“Now, sweetie, I don’t want you to spoil the surprise,” she said. “But since you’ve been such a good boy…”

She handed him the box.

Chad tore open the wrapping like a six-year-old. The plastic gleamed, the Apple logo shining like a tiny moon.

Then his smile flattened.

“What is this?” he demanded, holding up the phone.

“You asked for one in red,” his mother said. “I got you the new red one.”

“I asked for a red iPhone,” Chad said slowly, as if speaking to a child. “Not a Samsung.”

“Does it matter?” she asked, genuinely confused.

“Yeah, it matters,” he snapped. “Everyone at school is going to make fun of me. Even Simon has an iPhone. Except his is little.”

Simon’s hand tightened around his phone.

“Oh, really?” Chad’s mother frowned at the box. “Well, I can fix that,” she muttered. She pressed the call button again.

The flight attendant appeared. “Yes, ma’am?”

“Could you help me get this case off?” she asked, flashing the red phone. “I want to… clean it.”

“That’s not really something we do,” the attendant said politely. “But I can get you some cleaning wipes.”

“Perfect.” Chad’s mom watched the attendant walk away, then glanced down the aisle, eyes narrowing at the faint glint of metal on Simon’s armrest.

His phone lay there, just for a second, while he reached into his backpack for his earbuds.

It took her less than two seconds.

A hand brushed his arm. When Simon looked down again, his phone was gone.

He blinked. Checked his lap. The seat pocket. The floor.

Nothing.

“That’s my phone,” he said loudly, seeing the red case in Chad’s mom’s hands.

“No, it’s not,” she said calmly.

“Yeah, it is,” he insisted. “It was on my armrest until you walked by.”

“I can’t believe this,” she said. “Will you tell him to stop bothering us?”

“I’m sure there’s a perfectly good explanation,” the flight attendant said carefully when she returned. “Can I please see your phone, ma’am?”

“Fine,” Chad’s mom said. “But it’s not his.”

The attendant held out the phone. “Why do you think this is yours, sir?” she asked Simon.

“I don’t know, why don’t you turn it on?” Simon said.

She pressed the side button.

The screen lit up with a lock screen of Simon’s dog wearing a Colorado Rockies bandana, taken in their backyard back home in Denver, the unmistakable mountain skyline in the background.

Chad’s mom’s face tightened.

“He must’ve… switched it on me,” she said weakly.

“Now, can I have my phone?” Simon asked, hand out.

“Of course,” the attendant said, handing it to him. “Sorry for your trouble, sir.”

As she walked back toward the galley, she heard Chad’s mom whisper, “Now, where did she put my case?”

Two rows back, Chad’s grandmother sat with a brand-new Android phone in her lap, frowning at the unfamiliar icons.

“Could it be?” Grandma murmured as the plane began its descent. She tapped the glass. Not an Apple logo in sight. “Is this… not an iPhone?”

Later, much later, after they’d landed and Simon had escaped the terminal, another story was playing out across town, underneath the bright lights of an American mall.

“Minecraft: The Movie?” one girl asked, raising an eyebrow across the sticky movie theater table. “I thought you said this was a romantic comedy.”

Chad flashed his red phone. “Oh, yeah, the good parts are coming up,” he lied. “This is where the boy creeper meets the girl creeper.”

He ignored the way her face fell and focused instead on his phone. A message had popped up.

APPLE SECURITY ALERT.

He swiped.

“What are you doing with this phone?” the message read. A second later, the screen went black.

“Deactivated?” he said out loud. The word felt wrong in his mouth.

“Is something wrong?” the girl asked.

“Can I use your phone?” he asked quickly.

“My phone?”

“Yeah. Just for a second.”

She handed it over, still confused. He dialed. “Mom,” he hissed when she answered. “Something’s wrong with my phone.”

“Really?” she said. “What now?”

“They deactivated it,” Chad said. “They said something about it being stolen.”

Silence.

“Oh, nothing to worry about,” she said finally. “There’s a fix-it place here at the mall. Why don’t you take it there and see if they can get it working?”

“Good idea,” Chad said automatically. “I’ll just take it over to the Apple Store.”

“No!” she said quickly. “Never take it to the Apple Store.”

“Mom, come on,” he said. “The Apple Store is right there. I have a friend at the Genius Bar.”

“Chad, I told you. We can’t go there,” she said. Her voice dropped. “Because then they’ll find out that it’s—”

He wasn’t listening anymore.

In the bright, glassy temple of the Apple Store, the woman at the front smiled as a middle-aged grandmother stepped up with a phone in hand.

“Yes, ma’am, how can I help you?” the employee asked.

“I need to return this iPhone I bought,” the woman said. Her hair was sprayed into a perfect orange helmet; her lipstick matched.

“Okay,” the employee said. “Is there anything wrong with it?”

“I don’t think so,” the woman said. “But my grandson said it’s the wrong phone.”

“Would you like to exchange it instead of returning it?” the employee asked.

“That’s a great idea,” the woman said, relieved.

The employee took the phone, flipped it over, and frowned. “Ma’am,” she said. “This isn’t an iPhone.”

“That’s what he said,” the woman said. “Somebody must have switched your iPhone for an Android.”

“That’s also what he said,” she added, irritated. “Can’t you just… fix it?”

“We might not be able to fix that,” another voice said. A man in a black polo stepped forward, badge reading APPLE SECURITY. “But there’s something else we can do. We have a stolen phone report that matches this serial number.”

“A stolen phone?” the woman repeated, cheeks draining of color.

“We can track it,” the security agent said. “We already did. To this mall. And now to that phone.” He nodded toward the grandchild who had just walked in, phone dead in his hand, irritation all over his face.

“What are you doing with this phone?” the agent asked Chad.

“My mom gave it to me,” Chad said instantly.

“We have it listed as taken from a flight between L.A. and Denver,” the agent said. “Young male, seated in row 17.”

Simon, somewhere in Denver, was logging into his Apple account on his battered, secondhand iPhone, unaware that justice was quietly catching up with his bully.

“Is something wrong?” the girl from the movie theater asked, appearing behind Chad. “You just ran out on our date.”

“Oh, nothing,” Chad said weakly, as mall security approached. “I just… remembered I’m late to my other date.”

What he was late for, it turned out, was a lesson. About stealing. About getting caught. And about what happens when adults who think the rules don’t apply to them raise kids who believe the same.

You’d think he’d have learned.

You’d think his mom would have, too.

But a few months later, in another airport in another American city, under different fluorescent lights, someone else was learning how far a person like Karen—because that was her name, after all—would go for something she believed her family deserved.

“Video games are a waste of time,” she said, hands on hips in a tidy Denver kitchen.

“No, they’re not,” her neighbor’s son Billy protested, weaponizing his best pleading eyes. “They’re… awesome. You got me this Xbox 360 when I was nine.”

“If you want the new one, you can buy it with your lawn-mowing money,” his mom said, leaning against the counter.

“I wish,” Billy said. “I don’t have enough.”

“Well, your dad and I will loan it to you,” she offered. “But you have to pay it back before Christmas.”

“That’s great,” he said. “Except for one thing.” He took a breath. “I don’t want an Xbox. I want a PlayStation 5. That’s what all the cool kids have now.”

Of course it was.

Across town, in a neat house with white shutters and HOA-approved landscaping, Karen was having a very similar conversation with her husband in preparation for their grandson’s tenth birthday.

“It’s not every day we get to celebrate our grandson’s birthday,” she said, picking up a brightly wrapped box. “He’s in Denver. It snows there. Sweaters will come in real handy.”

“Are you sure he’s going to like what you got him?” her husband asked. “When I was his age, all I cared about was toy pickup trucks and building sets.”

“All I know is he wants one of those PS5 thingies,” she said. “But they’re sold out everywhere. I called every store in town. It must be because of that chip shortage I heard about on the news. You can’t buy a truck either.”

“He doesn’t want a truck,” her husband reminded her gently. “He wants a PlayStation.”

“Oh, please,” Karen said. “They’re just toys. Sweaters are more practical.”

At a Big Mart electronics counter in Tucson, Arizona, an employee looked apologetically at Billy and his mom.

“We want to get a PS5,” Billy said. “Do you have the Call of Duty bundle?”

“No,” the clerk said. “We don’t have anything PS5.”

“What, are you sold out or something?” Billy asked, even though he already knew the answer.

“Yeah,” the clerk said. “We haven’t had any in stock for months.”

“I knew this would happen,” Billy’s mom said.

“Do you have them at any other stores?” she asked.

“Let me check,” the clerk said, typing. “We actually do. But they’re not close.” He squinted. “We’ve got two in our Bangor store.”

“Where’s that?” Billy asked. “Other side of town?”

“Bangor, Maine,” the clerk said.

“Maine?” Billy’s mom repeated. “That’s two thousand miles from Denver. Can’t they just ship one to us?”

“Sorry.” The clerk shook his head. “In-store only.”

“Do you have any closer?” she asked.

“The Tucson store has three,” he said.

Billy looked at his mom. “We can go pick it up,” he said. “Tucson’s close. Kinda.”

“That’s still a plane ride,” she said. “And your dad is not going to believe I flew you across two states for a video game.”

“I’ll pay you back,” Billy said. “Please. I’ve been saving. I’ve been mowing lawns. I’ve been good. I got all A’s. You said—”

She sighed. “I do have a lot of airline points,” she admitted.

“Yes!” Billy said, punching the air.

“We’d like you to hold one for us,” she told the clerk.

“I’ll be happy to,” he said. “We’ll put your name on it.”

A few days later, Billy stood in a Phoenix airport terminal with a PS5 box hugged to his chest like a lifeboat.

“I can’t believe we’re flying for a video game,” his mom said, but there was a smile tugging at her mouth. “But it’s worth it, right?”

“I’ll be the coolest kid in school,” Billy said. “You have no idea.”

They changed planes in Phoenix, waiting at a gate under flat-screen TVs showing cable news. The boarding call blared: “Now boarding Flight 114 to Denver at Gate 46B.”

Across the waiting area, Karen sat with her husband, clutching a gift bag and a carry-on that might or might not contain a sweater.

“Are you sure he’s going to like what you got him?” her husband asked again.

“Of course he will,” she said. “All boys love sweaters.”

He glanced up just in time to see Billy walk past, the unmistakable white PlayStation box in his arms.

“Oh,” he said. “You mean like one of those?” He pointed.

Karen’s eyes locked onto the console.

Her brain started clicking like a combination lock. Her grandson’s wish list. Sold-out notices. The Apple store incident she tried not to think about too much. Second chances. Deserving and undeserving people.

She stood up.

“Excuse me,” she said, intercepting Billy. “Where did you get that PS5?”

“Big Mart in Tucson,” he said proudly. “We flew down to get it.”

“I called them three times,” Karen said. “They said they didn’t have any.”

“They were holding one for us,” Billy’s mom said. “We came just for this.”

“Well, it’s my grandson’s birthday,” Karen said. “And that’s the only thing he wants in the world. Will you sell it to me?”

“Nope,” Billy said. “Not for sale.”

“I’ll pay double,” she said desperately. “Plus your airline tickets.”

“Still no,” Billy said. “We came all this way. You can buy him pajamas or a sweater or something.”

“We already did,” Karen’s husband muttered.

Billy and his mom boarded. Karen watched them walk down the jet bridge with a tight jaw.

Sometimes when doors close, you accept it.

Sometimes, you look for another door.

“Mom, I want chicken nuggets,” Billy said in the boarding line. “Can I have some money?”

“Sit down,” his mom said. “I’ll get them. Ten-piece?”

He nodded. She handed him the PS5. “Don’t let go of this,” she said. “I mean it.”

He sat, hugging the box, watching planes taxi across the Arizona tarmac. A line crawled past him, boarding. Voices droned, the kind of travel noise you start to tune out.

A woman with orange hair and a sharp perfume paused in front of him. “Hi,” she said sweetly. “Is that heavy?”

“A little,” Billy said.

“You should put it under the seat,” she suggested. “So you don’t hurt your arms.”

A flight attendant appeared. “Young man, you’re going to have to put that under the seat in front of you,” she said.

“It won’t fit,” Billy said. “Look.”

“In that case, you’ll have to put it in the overhead compartment,” she said. “We can’t have it blocking the aisle.”

“I don’t want to,” Billy said, panicking. “Someone might take it.”

“Give it to me,” the attendant said. “I’ll put it in a secure one.”

“No, it’s okay,” Billy said quickly. “I’ll do it.”

He stood, lifted the box, slid it into the overhead bin above his row. He checked the number twice. 14C. Then sat back down, eyes never leaving it.

At the gate, Karen watched the last few passengers go down the jet bridge.

“You wouldn’t believe how hard it is to get one of these,” Billy’s mom said when she finally sat down again with a paper bag of chicken nuggets.

“Good thing you’re here,” the gate agent said. “We’re boarding. Last call.”

“Go ahead,” Karen told her husband. “I’ll catch up.”

He raised an eyebrow, but went.

When she finally boarded, Flight 114 was nearly full. Passengers fumbled with carry-ons, argued over middle seats. A flight attendant closed one overhead bin, then moved to the next.

Three rows ahead of where Billy sat, a manicured hand reached up into a bin, closed around a familiar white box, and quietly slid it down into a different row, a different compartment, a different future.

By the time the plane landed in Denver, Billy was practically vibrating. He waited for the seatbelt sign to ding off, then popped up, yanked open the overhead bin, and froze.

It was empty.

“Mom,” he said, voice shaking. “My PS5. It’s missing.”

His mother’s face went white. “What?” she said. “No.”

They searched every bin nearby. Nothing.

At the gate, a supervisor listened to the story, eyes narrowing.

“So you’re saying another passenger took it?” he said.

“Yeah,” Billy’s mom said. “And I think I know who it is.”

“Older couple,” Billy added. “Lady with orange hair.”

The supervisor walked back onto the plane, eyes scanning rows. He spotted Karen instantly—something in the way she hunched protectively around a too-big carry-on.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Who does this belong to?” He held up the PlayStation box he’d found in the bin over her row.

“Oh, that’s mine,” Karen said quickly.

“Ma’am, you’re going to need to come with me,” he said.

Out at the gate, he held the box up to Billy. “Is this it?”

“Yes,” Billy said, relief flooding him.

“So what’s the nature of this?” the supervisor asked, looking between them.

“She took my PS5,” Billy said. “We flew all the way to Tucson to get it. She tried to buy it off us at the gate.”

“I didn’t take it,” Karen said. “Kids will say anything to get their way. It’s ours. We bought it today.”

“This should be easy enough to sort out,” the supervisor said. “Surely one of you has the receipt. Whoever has it gets the console.”

“My receipt’s on the plane,” Karen lied instantly. “I’ll go get it.”

“That’s fine,” he said. “We’ll be right here. I’ll need to hold onto the PlayStation.”

“This PlayStation isn’t going anywhere,” Karen said. “And I’m starting to have my doubts about you.”

Her husband leaned in. “Honey, I can’t find it,” he whispered a minute later. “It’s not in here.”

“I told you it was mine,” Billy said.

“Go get your receipt,” the supervisor said to him.

Billy dug into the box with shaking hands. Nestled between foam inserts, just where the clerk had left it, was a folded receipt. He handed it over.

The supervisor read it. Last four digits of a credit card number stared up at him. “Do you have the card you used?” he asked Billy’s mom.

She handed it over. He compared. It matched.

“Here’s your PS5,” he said, handing the console back to Billy.

“Thank you,” Billy breathed. “Seriously.”

“Just doing my job,” the supervisor said. “You can board now if you’d like.”

“What about her?” Billy asked, glancing at Karen.

“I have to take care of a certain passenger first,” the supervisor said.

“Do you think he’s talking about the lady who tried to take the PS5?” Billy’s mom whispered as they walked down the jet bridge.

“I can’t imagine who else he means,” Billy said.

Behind them, security escorted Karen toward a quiet room off the concourse. Her protests echoed down the hallway.

“Where are you taking me?” she demanded. “I didn’t do anything. Help me!”

“We have a special place for you,” the agent said. “We’ll discuss it there.”

Billy and his mom found their seats. He slid the PS5 carefully under the seat in front of him, hands lingering on the box for a moment, then sat back with a long, relieved exhale.

He’d asked for something, worked for it, flown for it. And for a minute it had seemed like the world was going to let someone just take it. But the rules had held, this time.

People had asked what he wanted to be when he grew up. For the first time, somewhere high over the Rocky Mountains, Billy thought: maybe someone who helps people get back what was stolen from them.

Outside the tiny window, the sun dipped behind the jagged line of the Colorado Rockies, painting the clouds in orange and gold. Down below, somewhere in the sprawling suburbs of Denver, a boy named Simon was probably scrolling through his very un-stolen iPhone, and a kid like Chad was learning what it felt like to have something taken away.

In a world full of new phones and game consoles and flights crisscrossing the United States, it turned out some things still mattered more than brands and upgrades.

Hard work. Honesty. Doing the right thing even when nobody’s watching.

And sometimes, if you were very lucky, grown-ups who cared enough to prove that stealing wasn’t just “clever”—it had consequences.

Billy hugged the box between his knees and smiled to himself.

This time, the right kid had won.