By eighteen, BB_Jett was a ghost in the lower atmo races — no license, no sponsor, no parachute. Just a girl in a patched flight suit and a helmet she’d spray-painted neon pink so the news cams would catch the streak. She flew like she had nothing to lose because, well. She didn’t.
“Told you I’d fly.”
Jett grinned. “I wasn’t planning to.” bb_jett
The cameras zoomed in.