Zahra’s trembling fingers clutched her boarding pass as the gate agent’s sneer cut deeper than any knife. I don’t care who your father supposedly is, you two aren’t getting on this flight, he hissed, loud enough for everyone to hear. The identical twins exchanged glances, knowing exactly what was happening again. When Zahra finally unlocked her phone, her sister Nia whispered, Do it. Neither girl could have imagined that this single call wouldn’t just get them home. It would ground every plane in Mid-Atlantic Airlines’ fleet and expose decades of systematic discrimination.
Seventeen-year-old identical twins Zahra and Nia Jackson stood patiently in line at Denver International Airport, excitement bubbling beneath their composed exteriors. As honors students at Wellington Prep, this college tour trip to Boston represented more than just visiting potential universities. For the first time, their protective father Marcus Jackson had allowed them to travel alone, a sign of his growing trust in their independence. What the busy travelers rushing past them couldn’t possibly know was that Marcus Jackson wasn’t just any concerned parent.
He was the newly appointed CEO of Mid-Atlantic Airlines, a position he’d deliberately kept private to shield his family from unwanted attention and, more importantly, to allow him to assess the company’s culture without the artificial deference his title would command. The twins had first-class tickets, a practical decision their father had made to ensure they’d be comfortable and well-looked-after, not a display of privilege or wealth. Dressed in comfortable hoodies, jeans, and clean but well-worn sneakers, they looked like typical teenagers heading out on an adventure, their identical faces framed by neat box braids, excitement shining in their dark brown eyes.
The line at the Mid-Atlantic check-in counter moved steadily forward until the twins reached the front. The white agent, a man whose name tag identified him as Trevor Reynolds, looked straight through them to the passenger standing behind. Next, he called out, completely ignoring the two black teenagers directly in front of him.
A middle-aged white couple stepped around the twins, apparently assuming they weren’t actually in line, and Trevor immediately began processing their tickets with a friendly smile. Heading to Chicago today, wonderful city this time of year, Nia cleared her throat politely. Excuse me, sir, we were next in line.
Trevor’s smile vanished instantly, his eyes narrowing as he finally acknowledged their presence. You’ll have to wait your turn, he said curtly, continuing to tap away at his keyboard for the couple he was helping. But we were next, Zara said, her voice calm but firm.
We’ve been standing here for fifteen minutes. Trevor’s jaw tightened. I’ll be with you when I’m ready.
The twins exchanged glances. This wasn’t the first time they’d experienced this particular brand of invisibility, but it stung nonetheless. They waited as Trevor deliberately took his time with the couple, making small talk about Chicago attractions while shooting occasional glances at the twins, a subtle smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.
After the couple departed, three more white passengers were helped before Trevor finally, reluctantly, motioned the twins forward. Tickets and ID, he snapped, not making eye contact. Zara placed their first class boarding passes and student IDs on the counter.
Trevor’s eyebrows shot up as he examined the tickets. First class? Are you sure you’re at the right counter? His tone suggested they must have made a mistake. Yes, our father purchased these tickets for us, Nia explained calmly.
We’re visiting colleges in Boston. Trevor picked up their boarding passes between his thumb and forefinger as if they might be contaminated. These don’t look right.
Where? Did you get these? His implication was clear. He suspected the tickets were fraudulent. Our father purchased them directly from the airline, Zara said, her patience beginning to wear thin.
Is there a problem? Trevor’s lips pressed into a thin line. I’ll need to verify these, and I’ll need additional identification. Student IDs aren’t sufficient.
Behind them, the line was growing longer. People were starting to stare. We’re… 17, Nia explained.
We don’t have driver’s licenses yet. Our father was told student IDs would be sufficient for domestic travel when he booked the tickets. Trevor sighed dramatically.
Well, someone told your father wrong. Wait here. He disappeared into a back office with their tickets and IDs.
