“Thanks, Grace,” he whispered.

“We’re at one thousand feet,” I said, reading the altimeter.

The runway was growing larger, but it was not lined up with our nose.

We were flying sideways.

The nose was pointed thirty degrees to the right of the concrete.

“This is called crabbing,” Malachi said.

He was talking to himself as much as to me.

“My dad showed me this in the simulator.”

“You keep the nose into the wind until the last second.”

“Then you kick it straight just before touchdown.”

“But if the right gear isn’t locked, the moment that wheel touches, it will collapse,” I said.

“I know,” Malachi said.

“We have to touch down on the left wheel first.”

“We have to hold the right wing up as long as we can.”

“And pray the gear locks when the weight of the plane hits it.”

The aircraft dropped suddenly in a pocket of air.

My stomach slammed into my throat.

The low-altitude warning began to chime.

*TOO LOW, GEAR. TOO LOW, GEAR.*

“Override it,” Malachi said.

“The switch on the overhead panel, Grace.”

“Which one?”