Chapter 1~The Plane Ride

 

      "The only sure thing about luck is that it will change," ~Wilson Mizner. Oh, what a wise man he was, for that statement is completely true. Take right now for instance; I went from total freedom to being pulled out off the line at a major international airport and treated like some toddler being dragged to their time-out corner while having a temper tantrum. Honestly, it was my belt that set the metal detector off. I'm not some terrorist about to highjack the plane. I am leaving the country, good old America and the security guards are waiting their time to search me. I really think they should be more concerned about what’s coming in, not going out! The only real worries on 'items' leaving the country is if they're drugs or bodies and a metal detector's not going to help there.

      "Miss, please spread your arms and place them on the wall in front of you," one of the guards ordered.

      With a roll of my eyes I comply, the sooner this is over the sooner I'm on that stupid plane. Now, why is it a stupid plane? Simple, I never wanted to make this one way trip, but I have no choice to do other wise. The government and all their laws for those under age; it's a real pain in the ass. It being 5:34 in the morning wasn't helping my bad mood, either.

      Feeling the hand holding the wand move along my body as he 'accidentally' slipped up every now and again I began my lovely attempt of ignoring him, otherwise I just might smack the pervert. Then he began to ask me to remove certain items off my person, such as my many metal bracelets, rings and necklaces. Placing them all into a basket on the table he asked me to empty my pockets. Digging into my black jeans I pry them open as they're quite tight and showed that there's not anything in them. After a few more sweeps with the wand he set it aside. Taking that as my queue I straightened up and start to leave, but before I got far he spoke up.

      "Now then, where do you think you're going?" he asked, thinking he all high and mighty.

      Teaching this fool to leave such attitude to the big dogs I said, "Oh, you see I thought my sexual harassment was over for today; I was planning on gathering my belongings and getting on the plane to which ticket I paid for. How silly of me," sarcasm was just dripping off my last sentence.

      If this situation had happened in school I’m sure there would people saying things like 'burn,' 'dam*n,' 'what a diss,' and such, but here there was only a few snickers pathetically covered by fake coughing. The guard that I had just insulted started turning red so quickly it reminded me of a chameleon. Huffing and gapping like a fish out of water he tries to gather his words. Just when it looks like he was about to blow one of his superiors decides to step in.

      "Well, I think we've held you up enough Miss, enjoy your trip," was all he said as he basically began to drag his co-worker away.

      Giving the mature higher-up a nod in thanks, I grab my things. Turning on my heel I swiftly walk trough the terminal to get to my plane. Checking the time of my flight against the giant clock on the wall of the building I began to sprint. I only had four more minutes to get there and it was a long ways away. Maneuvering through the crowd as quickly as possible I pick up speed. It's one minute and counting before the gate closes! Practically flying by now; I shove the lady at the desk my ticket and jump aboard. Sighing, I warily search for my seat and stow my duffel bag and messenger bag safely away before slumping down into my chair.

Fingers pinching the bridge of my nose, I started calming down; taking deep breaths. I never knew I was this out of shape. From all the running I was use to it surprised me I was panting from the run to the plane. Maybe it had to do with the extra weight, thanks to my bags. Thank God I don’t have one of those monstrous suitcases. I can just imagine it; a suitcase almost as tall as me, pink and covered in rhinestones, with my name personalized on it. I shiver at the thought of my ever being preppy; I'll make sure that never happens.

      Apparently, the stewardess saw my shiver and asked if I was okay. Replying that I was fine she told me to buckle up as the plane is about to take off. Doing as she advised me, I strap in. This is going to be a long plane ride, as I am going over seas. Waiting for the sign over-head to show it was safe to take out electronics, I shuffle through my messenger bag to find my MP3 player. Happily turning it on, I choose a Three Days Grace song. Turning towards the window, I gaze out in to the sky for one last look at America.

      I force myself to look at something other than the window, as all I could see now is clouds; I glance at those around me. The flight attendant is a few seats away helping an elderly, bald man with his pillows, looks like he has back problems. Continuing to the left there's a young (but not teenage) woman trying to quiet her wailing infant. Pitying her, I turn up my music to help me tune out the screams. A middle aged man with salt-and-pepper hair sits next to her, pushing himself as close to the wall as possible. It looks like he wants nothing more than to shove his head trough the window, like an ostrich hides in the sand. I can't help, but smirk at how a grown man is cowering, because of a helpless infant. Who said men were the higher sex? Well, moving on, there all the way in the front are two, ah what's the word I'm looking for, sizeable men. They're laugh about some joke about an elephant and a mouse, unless my lip reading's wrong.

Some people would think that being in economic class would be disgusting and horrid, but I love just looking at all the different people that make up our world. Seeing how they act, dress and their physically appearance proves that there's no two people in the world that are identical. Of course, mentally laughing at them and calling them idiots is fun too. I also like watching kids, mostly from a distance. They're so full of energy, life and curiosity. That curiosity mixed with their short attention spans is why I observe from a distance. It's impossible to know what they're up to and I don't want to be caught in the mess.

       A brother and sister, the boy around six and the girl four, run up and down the isle. Their mother must be asleep or ignoring them, other wise she would probably be chasing after them. The brother has a coloring book in his hands and the girl is desperately trying to get it. Big brother stole something from his little sister, how original. It is rather cute though, how a coloring book is the most of their worries, how innocent they are.

      As they run past, screaming playfully and giggling, they bash into a passenger out of their seat. This sets off a chain reaction. The passenger bumps the seat in front of her, making the person in that seat pitch forward. That person smacks into the stewardess who falls back into the food cart behind her. This causes the cart to roll down the isle and hit the wall right by my seat. Sitting wide eyed, I slowly turn to look at the damage. At that precise moment the pop, which had been shaken up on its ride, bursts open.

      Whipping my eyes of the brown, bubbly liquid, I slowly stand up and say, "I'll just be in the bathroom while this gets cleaned up."

      Stiffly walking away everyone watches as I go. Once in the bathroom I looking into the mirror, staring back was a fifteen year old girl covered in pop, short-sleeve purple shirt sticking like a second skin and eyeliner running down her face like black tears. I turn on the water after locking the door and cup my hands under the faucet. Splashing the water on my face I grab a paper towel from the container on the wall and wipe it clean. Now, step two. I peel off my shirt and rinse it in the sink, getting all the soda out. Dampening another paper towel I gently wash away the stickiness on my skin. Feeling slightly cleaner, I take my now sopping wet shirt and ring it out. Once I can't get any more water out I hold it up under the hand dryer, which automatically turns on. Then, I pull it on over my head, still pretty wet, but not as bad as before the hand dryer. Checking the mirror that I look slightly presentable, I unlock and open the door.

      Stepping out a few heads turn wondering if I would still look as terrible as when I went in. They were unfortunately disappointed since I was the only one who could tell I was doused in pop. I still felt stick and wet. My hair was starting to harden with the sugar and my mood was worse than an over-do, pregnant lady's who just got called fat. Luckily, I hid my bad mood well and even managed a fake smile. However, if any one set my off they would be hell to pay.

      A flight attendant hurries over to me before I get to my seat, "Oh, I'm so terribly sorry that happened to you. To apologues we are moving you into first class and are giving you a fifty dollar gift card to pay for the cloths that were damaged. Your things are already there so, I'll show you where your new seat is."

      I was truly surprised by how sincere she sounded; maybe it was, because she was the stewardess that hit the cart and felt partially responsible. With a nod, I followed her to my new seat. Passing through economic class we came to a door that separated first class from everyone. The stewardess guided me over to my seat, next to a teenage girl, the preppy, little, rich, nice young lady type. Saying that this is perfect and that I don't need anything when the flight attendant asks, I gratefully sink into my seat, sighing. I am thankful they gave me a new seat, but not, because it was in first class, but, because I don't want to sit in a sticky, pop soaked seat for hours.

      Once the stewardess leaves the teenage girl I now sit next to asks snottily, "What was all that about, mmhhh?"

      I answer very matter-of-factly, "I was just changed into first class, because a couple of kids indivertibly made pop explode all over me and now my seat in economic class is socked in soda."

      "You can not expect me to believe that. Now, what did you do to get a first class seat?" saying 'you' with much disgust.

      I smile, sugary sweet, "If you don't believe me then you can smell my shirt, it still smells like pop."

'Humpf'ing in rage that I would ask her to come near someone of such low stature, she turns away.

      Once again digging trough my messenger bag I take out my MP3 and blast some music. Getting comfortable in my new seat, I catch little Miss-all-that glaring at me like I was some kind of filthy animal. With another sugary smile I wave to her. Increasing her glare, she snaps her head away, 'humpf'ing again. Looking at the time on my MP3 I realize with disdain that it's only been a few hours and that this flight is overseas.

                                                    Hours Later… 

     Oh. My. God. I am going to snap if that stupid, idiotic, bratty, nice young ladyty, b*itch of a Barbie doll does not shut-up!!!! I swear, how the heck can she keep talking on and on and on and on and on? It's like she doesn't need to breath, maybe she's a vampire. She's she matches the evil, blood sucking type, but a real vampire is probably nicer than her, they're definitely smarter. She just keeps talking about how she's so much better than me and that I should worship the ground her high-heeled stiletto feet walk on. Of course those aren't the exact words she's using, but I'm not paying that much attention. Her words, to me right now, are like a never ending, hazy blur, all slurred together until it's just a noise. That noise might be compared to a slowly dieing, unidentifiable splat on the highway right as it gets ran over again. Right now I wish I could run her over, repeatedly, with spiked chains on the tires and blow torches and many other painful things I'm imagining right now.

      I know it's terrible to want to kill someone, but I just want her to go away and never bother me again and the only way to do that it seems would be to kill her. She might be an idiot, but she's a determined idiot. At least once I get off I'll never have to see her again (hopefully). Too bad that time will not come for about ten hours. Since it's an over night trip my last hopes are that she'll be asleep for most of the remaining trip. Seeing as it's around 11 p.m. I'll hopefully get my wish. If not I just might have to kill her after all, I could use my sharpened pencil and stab her!

      A loud, obnoxious snore pulls me out of my murderous state of mind. I look to my left and see that Princess B*itch of Kingdom Preppy has fallen asleep. Now, I will never be able to get any sleep as long as I'm next to that buzz saw. A flight attendant, the same stewardess from before, looks at me in sympathy. She saw how I was being treated all day and, when she could, interrupted. If it wasn't for her I would have lost it by now.

      "I'm so sorry that all this has happened to you. First with the soda and now the…..unsatisfactory company," the stewardess said, trying to be polite about the annoyance sleeping next to me.

      "Yeah, a pop soaked seat doesn't seem so bad right now," a wistful look overcame my face as I imagine getting away from her.

      Laughing slightly she replies, "This has got to be the worst flight for our airline that doesn't involve crashing."

      Managing a small smile I nod, "Yeah."

      Giving me a smile as if to say 'just hang in there, I know you can' the flight attendant gives me a blanket and walks away. Sighing to myself, I snuggle into the soft, beige cotton. Looking out the window I see the most amazing view. Right then and there I lose all negative feelings and become at peace with myself. It was like the most exquisite painting; a black, velvet canvas with light blushes of the darkest blues across it; bedecked in silver jewels, and glowing-white flecks of stars. The sky only had an eyelash of moon, but that just made it all the more beautiful. I let an awed ‘wow’ escape my lips along with a yawn. A real smile etched my face for the first time today as I gently fell asleep; my mind drifting into the sea of dreams.

      Warm, yellow sunlight filters through the darkness of my eyelids. Groaning, not wanting to get up and face the harsh and disappointing world, I nuzzle back down; burying my head under the confines of the blanket. A small hand shakes my shoulder, beckoning me into the land of the waking. A wine leaves my throat. Why must I get up now? Can't it wait five more minutes?

      The shaking gets a little harsher, wanting it to cease I mumble, "Fine, you win, just stop, you me feel like a rag doll," or at least it sounded like that.

      "I'm glad you're getting up, in a few minute breakfast will be served, now, hop to it!" a brunette blur in front of me says enthusiastically.

      Urgg, how can someone be so chipper in the morning? I am not a morning person. Moving my arms above my head, bent at the elbows as to not hit anything, I stretch out my body and let out a large yawn. The feeling (of stretching) reminding me of a cat awakening from her nap; that was sitting on her windowsill enjoying the pleasant rays of sunlight. How I wish I could go back to sleep like that cat.

      Sounds now invade my ears, reminding me that I'm not in my cozy little apartment, but on an air plane. Oh, no. Snapping open one of my eyes I gaze over to my left. Groaning with great dismay at my discovery I want more than ever to fall back asleep, for the preppy, little, rich girl is still there. I was hoping that was just a dream, but no, she is right there, still snoring away. I bet she's dreaming about a shopping spree in New York, with me carrying everything and catering to her every whim. Scrunching my face up in disgust, I quickly bat away all signs of sleep and get up. The less time I spend with that girl the better.

I make my way to the bathroom and wait in line. I might not have any cloths with me to change into, but I can at least wash my face to help wake me up. Humming to myself, I search for a clock. I really need to get a watch, but I probably forget to wear it anyway. It was a little bit before nine in the morning. By the time I got out of the bathroom it would be around 9:30 (that’s how long the line is). Then I'll eat breakfast and only have about ten minutes in my seat. I feel like dancing, I'll be getting off this darn plane soon and will not have to deal with Miss-I'm-all-that ever again! I won't even have to be around her for very long, ten minutes of her I can live with.

      It's finally my turn at the bathroom. Quickly freshening up I do my morning routine, well it's mostly brushing my hair into a pony tail with my fingers, but whatever. I can't wait till we land, then I can get a nice, hot shower. My hair's still hard in some places from the pop. My mood slightly diminishes with how grungy feel I feel now that I'm awake enough to notice. Well, no one else looks too well groomed either. Shrugging, I exit the bathroom and battle my way through the built-up line congesting the isle.

      The aroma of bagels, French toast, sausage and eggs fill my senses. I can feel my mouth water at the idea of a hot breakfast instead of cereal and milk. This is definitely one of the upsides on this trip. Swiftly, I stride over to my seat where a plat of food is waiting for me, accompanied by some orange juice. Digging in I fail to see a still sleeping brat beside me. After swallowing the last bit of savory food in my mouth I sip on my orange juice. A 'mnamnnnm' sound is heard. Blinking confusedly I scan the people around me to see who could have made that noise. My eyes widen a bit in disbelief; that snob is still asleep and sucking her thumb. Laughing silently I sift through my bag to find my digital camera. The temptation too much, I snap a picture of this great black mail experience.

      A voice comes from the speakers, "This is your pilot speaking, please buckle up and put your seats in their up right positions as we are going to land soon. We at Travel Air thank you for flying with us and hope you come again."

Quickly saving the picture I stow it away and buckle my seat belt. I can't believe I'm this lucky to have my day be preppy-rich-girl free. The air plane starts to descend and that’s when she decides to wake up. I guess I spoke too soon. At least it was almost be a preppy-rich-girl free day.

      Mumbling something that sounds like a very warped and slurred, "Huh, what's going on?"

      I decide to ignore her; maybe she won't notice I'm here. The plane evens out and the pilot's voice says something around the lines of 'first class is now allowed to leave.' I hurriedly scoop up my bags. Thankfully that girl is too tired to even answer what color the sky is. Mentally doing a victory sign I saunter out of the exit, heading to the terminal.

      With my duffle bag on my right shoulder and my messenger bag on the left I search for my ride. I haven't seen her for a while so; I don't know what she may look like. Maybe she made a giant, corny sign, the ones with your name on them. I worriedly bit my bottom lip. What if I can't find her or if she went to the wrong air port, or if she didn't come at all. I take a deep breath; telling myself to calm down and start acting rationally. I scan the crowd again. After a minute I give up that tactic and blindly stick my hand in the messenger bag, hoping to find my cell phone. Pulling it out I flip it open and dial the numbers to my aunt’s cell phone.

Impatiently tapping my fingers against my thigh I wait for her to pick up. After eternity and then some I hear her voice, "Hello, this is Cassie."

      Smiling lightly I answer, "Hey, it's your niece, who at the moment is extremely lost and thanking who-ever invented the cell phone."

      Hearing a surprised gasp from the other line my aunt starts yelling, "Oh my God, where are you, I've been looking for you forever, what's taking you so long??!?!?! I want to see my adorable little niece all grown up!"

      "What part of 'is extremely lost' don't you understand, you haven't been looking forever I only got off the plane seven minutes ago, what's taking so long is that you take forever to answer your phone and I'm not all grown up, I'm only five-foot two," I say playfully, I might not have wanted to come here, but I love my aunt.

      She answers clamed down, "Still the fiery, little, smart mouth, huh? Well, I'm over by the baggage claim at your gate. Come find me!"

Sighing in fake annoyance I say, "You always make me do all the work. Feh, see you later!"

      I read the surrounding signs and blink. How did I get to Gate thirty-nine? Shaking my head I walk to the baggage claim of my gate number. Taking my time I window shop on my way there. As long as I’ve know my aunt she always freaks over punctuality, making her a bit frazzled wouldn't hurt. It's then that I remember my gift card; maybe I can use it after I get settled in. All too soon I see that familiar auburn hair. My mother’s side of the family all had variations of brown hair. My dad's side everyone's hair was black, blonde or brunette. My mom had a brother and sister, she was the oldest, the brother the middle child and my aunt the youngest, she's around twenty-nine years old.

      Waving to her she runs up to me once she catches sight of me and hugs me so tightly my feet don't touch the ground. Trying to get her off so I can breath, I grunt in protest. Dejectedly hanging there, I wait for her to let go. Her death hug is cut off as someone talks to her.

      "Mom, I think you're killing her," looking over my aunt's shoulder I see two boys.

      "Yeah," says the other, "I feel sorry for anyone who gets caught in Mom's vice grip."

      My aunt lets got and I blink in confusion, "Since when did you have kids?"

      Laughing nervously she says, "Well, it was kind of covered up."

      Narrowing my eyes in suspicion I ask, "How old are they?"

      "Oh, they're tweleve," is my aunt's careless reply.

      "So you had them when you were seventeen, guess that explains the cover up."

      Cringing slightly my aunt says, "Yeah."

      Smirking I say, "Well, it's going to be interesting living with two twelve-year-old twins.”

      One of the boys says to the other, "I like this girl. Do we have any more cool cousins like her?"

      "Nope, she's the only cousin we have, stupid," is his twin's reply.

      "Hey!" he said indigently.

     "Yep it sure is interesting all right," my aunt said tiredly, but with a small smile on her face.

      We file out of the terminal, to her car. Now most moms have a minivan, but not my aunt she has a Hyundai HND-3 Veloster. It's totally awesome! My aunt pops the trunk and I shove in my bags, then run to the front and slide in the passenger seat. The twins' wine that I got to sit in the front seat and their mom told them that when I was in the car I would be sitting where I was now and that’s finale. I can't help, but shake my head when I hear the 'but Mom's.

After that it's pretty silent. Oh joy, an awkward silence. Think fast, I don't know how long this car ride will be. It doesn't need to be painful. Oh, I know music! I reach for the radio knob and search for a station. My face fell once I heard the voices on the radio. It's not that they sounded off pitch or anything, its just it's all in another language. Crap, now I won't be able to tell which station has which genre.

      "Uhhhhhhhh?" I utter as I stare transfixed on the radio.

     The twins snicker and my aunt taking pity on me says, "It'll get easier once you live here a while, don't worry."

      "Right, so which one's the rock station?"” I ask.

      "It's 108.9," the twins chime together.

      Quickly turning the dial I say under my breath, "Creepy."

      My aunt hears this and laughs lightly, "Yeah, that'll get normal for you too. I just hope you don't start talking in sync with them. Now that would be creepy!"

      "Hey, we heard that!" they cry in outrage.

      My aunt and I exchange glances before we break out laughing. This might not be as bad as I thought it would. Looking out the window I think over all that has happened. My memories are interrupted by one of the twin’s question.

      "Why does it smell like pop?"

     His brother adds, "Yeah, I noticed that too."

     "So, what smells like pop?" my aunt finishes.

     My face falls and I answer, "That would be me."

     "And you smell like soda, because…..?" my aunt asked.

     "Well, it's a long story…"

     My aunt gives me a look, "We have time."

     Sighing, I proceed to tell them how I got drenched in soda and got stuck next to a complete brat for the rest of the flight. By the end of my story the twins are right out laughing at my misfortune and my aunt giggling. What a nice, supportive family I have. Glaring at them I roll my eyes at my cousins.

      A few minutes pass and I ask, "So, I can use the shower when we get there, right?"

      "Yes and you don't have to wait, we're here," my aunt replies.

      Brightening up, I dash out of the car when it pulls to a stop; smiling up at my aunt I ask, "So, can someone show me where to toss my stuff and where the bathroom is?"