Fan Casting Paper Planes and Other Things We Lost

On June 18, 1992, Flight 397 crashed off the coast of Long Island. But this story isn't about the crash. Not completely. RUBY The likelihood of dying in a plane crash is one in five million—meaning my mom shouldn't be dead. But she is, and no one understands my grief. Needing to vent, I pen a letter to another who lost her parent on that flight. BRETT My parents are dead, and my twin sister is spiraling out of control. The new year isn't doing me any favors until Ruby arrives in my mailbox. Her letter is intended for Amber, but her words are meant for me. Ruby's quirky facts save me from drowning under the weight of my responsibilities. Our bond grows as we share the pain of celebrating milestones without our loved ones, but the paper planes that heal us create a dilemma. How do we plan a future together while living on opposite sides of the country?