"No, Mom! You're not doing this," I protest, my eyes wide. "No, stay. Please!" A whining note betrays my voice and I sound like an obnoxious toddler but I really don't care at this point. No way in hell is she leaving me here alone.

"You'll be alright, dear," my Mom purses her lips and peers at me through her wire-rimmed eyeglasses. "Come on, honey. You'll have to go by yourself one day."

This is embarrassing. Not only is she making me sound like I'm being potty-trained but she is leaving me here in the Lucifer's creation itself. I think about back when I was old enough to hold my breath and throw huge temper tantrums and Mom would have to succumb to my fits. I must have lost the adorable charm once I crossed the bridge from twelve to thirteen. Puberty be damned.

"Mooooom," I whine, contemplating if I should stamp my foot to show my conviction. "You can't do this!" I blink hard, wondering if I can create fake tears at the drop of a dime like I used to and guilt her into staying here with me or not sending me away in the first place.

"Honey," Mom says in a serious tone now, her voice firm. "Your aunt is waiting for you in LA. You'll be fine."

"I... I..." I protest blindly, trying to find a legitimate reason for acting this way. My eyes connect with the dirty, linoleum floor. Isn't the fact that I hate airports legitimate enough?

"Bye now, sweetheart." Mom pecks me on the cheek with her lips and runs off as fast as she can. She probably expects me to follow her.

I bluster weakly as I watch her fade off into the distance and turn around to face my fate. Airport. Damn airport. The light glare from the floor flashes into my eyes. I've only been here for about ten minutes and this place is already trying to blind me.

I look around myself and stammer until I see where I'm supposed to go. Flight leaving from Sydney to LA.

See... I can do this by myself.

At least that's what I mumble under my breath as I walk over and get in line, my heart slamming in my chest. I lug my suitcase clumsily along; I'm sure it rolls over the feet of my fellow passengers but right now I'm too stunned to care. In front of me is a dour looking old grandma yelling at her granddaughter to stop misbehaving. I sigh. This is going to be a long wait.

I fidget nervously with my hair, then fish out my cell phone. I glance at it and wonder if I should call Mom to whine and complain until she is forced to either come with me or just take me home so I don't have to leave home and go to Los Angeles. I mean, I've heard things about Los Angeles. What if I get robbed or shot? And I die until I'm dead? Then she'll be really sorry that she forced me to go by myself.

As I wallow in self-pity which gives me an unhealthy amount of shameless satisfaction, the line moves on. There's a loud "ahem" from behind me and I turn my face up to see a ridiculously cute girl pointing at the large space between the surly grandma and me, her accusing finger like a straight arrow. Crap.

"Sorry," I mutter, trying to pull my suitcase along. Unfortunately, the wheels don't move; they're stuck or something. I curse this stupid suitcase under my breath and try to pick it up.

I have this problem of separation anxiety. I am really only comfortable at home. So as a result, even when I'm only leaving for a two-week vacation, I pack about everything in my room plus a multitude of comfort toys so that I can make my surroundings as close to my house as I can. As a result, my bag weighs exactly 19.5 kilograms - pretty close to the 20 kilogram limit they have at the airport.

You're probably wondering why I'm telling you this.

Well, as I pick up my bag, it is so heavy that I drop it on the ridiculously cute girl's foot. Oh no.

Her face scrunches up in agony and I find myself wondering if she's going to scream out in pain. A small, strangled yelp comes rushing out of her mouth and I am forced to choose between giggling and apologising profusely.

Finally I decide that apologising is more appropriate. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" I wave my hands around, flustered. This waving doesn't help the situation at all but it somehow makes me feel better. "I am so, so sorry!"

I struggle to pull my stupid bag off the cute girl's foot; I grunt and jerk and finally the bag flies away from the girl and hits me square in the stomach, knocking me down to the floor where I land flat on my butt.

I just sit on the floor, trying to catch my breath, my face burning bright red as people turn and stare at me. I wonder if I can possibly humiliate myself any further.

When the girl points at me and starts to laugh, laugh so hard that she starts to wheeze, I decide that I hate my Mom. And I'm never going to an airport by myself ever again, even when I'm really old, like 25 or something!

❤ ❤ ❤ ❤

About an hour and seventeen minutes later, I'm ready to board my plane. Today has most likely been the worst day of my life. Really.

I'm nauseous and tired. I look really bad. My hair is a mess and I miss Mr. Panda who is stuffed somewhere in my suitcase. This just sucks so much. Honestly.

A voice comes out of the loudspeaker. "Anyone traveling on Flight 258 to Los Angeles leaving from Sydney should board now. This is the last announcement."

With a sigh, I turn off my music player and trudge over to the boarding gate. I hand my ticket and adjust my carry-on backpack as I board the plane. My ticket stub says 37A, so I try to find my seat right away, pushing past the smiling blonde flight attendant with a name tag Julia.

Ugh. This is so stressful.

I push my way past people in the aisles and zero my eyes in on the numbers. 33... 34... 35... 36... aha! 37!

"Excuse me," I scoot my way around the woman in front of me and attempt to put my backpack in an overhead compartment but I fail miserably. I'm too short! I stand up on my toes but I might as well be reaching for the stars. Ugh, this is so frustrating! I'm pretty sure I smack the woman next to me in the face with my carry-on, but at this point I'm too tired and disgusted with planes to care. Fortunately, a flight attendant notices my struggle and offers to help me. I thank her and look down at my seat which is luckily a window one. Then I look at 37B to see whom I have to sit next to and endure the company of on this miserable, long flight.

You're kidding me!

I blink about ten times to try and clear my vision; maybe my mind is playing tricks on me. But no.

There she is, in the flesh. The ridiculously cute girl that I dropped the suitcase on earlier.

She recognises me and a hitched, lopsided smile spreads over her face. Her sparkling eyes are grinning and it looks like she's actually trying to suppress a laugh after noticing the miserable look on my face.

I bristle, puff up my cheeks into a look of disdain, and move stiffly to my seat without a word.

It makes her laugh even harder.

Jerk.

❤ ❤ ❤ ❤

Okay, I'm going to be completely honest now. This girl is the most obnoxious person I have ever laid eyes upon. Forget what I said about her being adorable, even though she has dancing hazel eyes and dark chocolate coloured hair and the cutest freckles and - damn it, that's not the point!

She's driving me crazy!

She just keeps peering at me from corner of her eyes, and when I turn to confront her and catch her in her obnoxious actions, she turns away, twiddles her thumbs and pretends to look at her phone, acting all innocent. Stupid, stupid, stupid girl!

If I wasn't strapped into this seat belt, I might strangle her to death. That would wipe the annoying smirk off her face.

We've been sitting on this godforsaken plane for about fourteen minutes and I'm already going mad. I almost started to scream at the flight attendants showing us how to put on seat belts and showing us where the nearest exits are - they just make me even more nervous! We haven't even started moving and wait...

The pilot's voice comes over the loudspeaker. "Ladies and gentlemen, thank you for flying with Yuri Airlines today. My name is Michael and I will be your pilot to guarantee you a safe flight from Sydney to Los Angeles. We will now begin takeoff so please make sure your seat belts are fastened securely."

NO, NO, NO! Now I'm going to die for sure!

The plane starts moving and my stomach lurches. I've been scared to death of planes ever since I was very little when my best friend's aunt was killed in a plane crash. Usually my Mom is here for me to latch onto; I hide my face in her shirt and she calms me down, but this time? Nooo! This time my Mom wants me to be "independent". Except this time I'm going to die and she's going to feel so sorry.

The plane rolls forward and all thoughts of hatred towards my Mom disappear and thoughts of death fill my mind. I hate planes. I hate the smell. I hate the stupid people like the stupid cute girl and- hey!

The airplane rumbles, my ears start to pop, and without thinking I grab onto the teenage girl next to me and hide my head inside her soft, cotton white top that smells like girl and fabric softener. Good. At least she's not dirty.

I feel her jump up in shock but I just grab onto her for dear life - literally - because the plane is going to fall out of the sky any second now and I don't want to see it hurtling towards the ground. Every time the plane moves, the butterflies in my stomach multiply and I close my eyes; one of my hands is wound tightly around the girl's and my other hand is kneaded into her white t-shirt.

I can't stop thinking I'm going to die.

But the airplane just keeps ascending and before I know it, the seat belt signs have dinged off and I'm still curled up in death-grip next to the cute girl. I pull my face out of her t-shirt and tentatively let go of her hand.

Oh God. So, so embarrassing.

Looking down at my hands in my lap, my music player clutched in the right one, I mutter a quick apology. "I- I'm sorry. I don't like p- planes."

Stammering like an idiot and my face flaming, I take a chance and look at her. The girl's eyes are amused; her hitched smile is even wider now.

She's making fun of me!

She's still laughing at me!

The nerve of that girl!

"I'm sorry," I huff again, and then turn away so I can stop looking at that impudent, freckled face.

I shove my headphones indignantly into my ears and keep my eyes off that smug, sarcastic smile.

If I had any muscle in my scrawny body I'd pound her. But I don't.

Plus, it's probably a bad idea to start violence on a plane.

I close my eyes and let the music take me.

❤ ❤ ❤ ❤

Huh? Somebody's touching me! Instinctively, I whip out my arm and incidentally slap the girl in the face.

She jumps back, her eyes shocked, while I shake my head in a vain attempt to get rid of the embarrassment painting my burning cheeks. I'm thinking, she's probably scared of me now and how accident prone I am. This is just getting ridiculous.

But then I notice a small smile resting on her lips. She looks at me, her eyes still laughing. God, maybe I'll have to take an axe to this girl before she stops teasing me.

"Um, drinks are ready," she says. "Did you want something?"

She points at the flight attendant waiting impatiently in the aisle. It's the smiling blonde one named Julia but she doesn't look so happy anymore.

"What would you like to drink?" she asks in a false cheerful voice, the way one addresses a child.

"What do you have?" I ask.

She gives me a look of the utmost disdain and starts viciously pulling out the drawers, gesturing at the Coke, Sprite, V8, and other beverages.

"I'll just have orange juice," I say in a small, meek voice.

Julia rips out a carton of orange juice and pours it into a small plastic cup, thrusting it roughly at me. I grab it and set it gently on my pull-out table. The girl looks curiously at me as she sips her cup of coke and then impulsively shoves her cup at me.

"Cheers," she chortles, her voice brimming with happiness.

I give her a dirty look, which makes her laugh more.

Does this girl ever stop laughing? We could die any second now and as the plane rolls down into ocean, she would still be laughing. Laughing in her grave even.

But Mommy raised me to be polite so I rise my cup back at her and produce a sulky "cheers" in return.

Which is when my plastic cup decides to tilt itself over and empty its orange contents onto her lap.

And lo and behold, the satisfied smirk on her face is gone!

The girl stares in horror at her stained crotch and the smile that has crept onto my face suddenly retreats in fear of unjust retribution as her eyes meet mine.

"You did that on purpose."

"No, I didn't!" I protest wildly. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" I'm babbling now like an idiot, but it's okay because I could not possibly mess things up any more than I already have. When Mom bails me out of jail in L.A. she is so going to regret sending me off on my own. She should really learn to listen.

I bang the flight attendant help button and Julia is there in a flash. Her blonde hair is impeccably fashioned into a flight attendant bun, but as she takes in the scene, one strand falls out. She may be losing her calm. She wouldn't be the first flight attendant to have enough of me.

"Can I have some napkins, please?" I blurt out, pointing wildly at the girl's wet crotch.

Julia sighs indignantly, reminding me of a flustered horse. She storms off down the aisle and comes back with a handful of napkins, which she practically throws at me.

I sheepishly hand the napkins to the girl, who grabs them and begins blotching away at her crotch. Luckily she's wearing a pink miniskirt instead of white pants.

The orange juice seeps yellowish through the thin napkins, and pretty soon, the ridiculously cute girl is sitting there helplessly with a bunch of what looks like pee-stained napkins in hand. A handsome teenage boy walks by and gives her a snooty look as she frantically tries to cover up her crotch.

She turns to look at me and I cover up my face protectively with my hands, expecting some kind of retribution from her but when none comes, I find a courage to peek at her between my fingers. "I'm sorry," I squeak helplessly.

She grunts and looks away. How unattractive.

❤ ❤ ❤ ❤

Five hours into flight, after being thoroughly bored out of my hyperactive, albeit unimaginative mind, I pull a sketchbook out of my carry-on and run through a few pages. I have to say, I'm actually half decent at drawing. I glance at a portrait I drew of my Mom and Von Holtzendorff, my pet rabbit, lightly running my fingers over the graphite lines. My fingers itch for a pen, so I set my sketchbook aside and pull up my carry-on.

Where on earth are my pencils?

I scrounge around in the bottom of my bag, pull open zippers, searching wildly for any type of pencil or pen. Tell me I did not pack a sketchbook to bring on the plane and nothing to write or draw with. Tell me I am not that stupid.

I scratch past a Rice Krispies bar, some makeup, a book. I must be that stupid.

Sighing, I reach to take my sketchbook and put it back in my bag, but I freeze when I realise it's not where I left it.

I glance to my left and sure enough, the ridiculously cute girl has it.

She notices me staring at her; her eyes inch down to look at my bound sketchbook in her hand, then gives it to me, a smile still playing on her face. She also gives me a pen, as if offering consolation.

Grudgingly, I take it.

I flip open my sketchbook and go through my pictures - this girl better not have smeared or messed anything up - and when I get to the seventh page - the page I've gotten up to - I stop and freeze.

My eyes trail down to the crudely drawn picture in the corner of the white page. A scratched in stick figure is smashed underneath a suitcase - I'm guessing it's me because it's a girl; you can only tell by the long hair. And next to the squished, screaming figure is another girl with a miniskirt, her stupid stick figure face has a big mouth and as if the hint isn't enough, there's a speech bubble next to her with a big "HA HA!" inside.

God, she even looks stupid on paper.

My head snaps up and I glare furiously at the girl next to me, trying to intimidate her, but instead she just claps her hands gleefully, like a little Kindergartner who is proud of her finger painting masterpiece.

I should call her parents and tell them to pay more attention to her before she becomes a burden on society.

I uncap the pen and go to work scribbling in a stick figure with a freckled face and a goofy smile, and then draw in clothes. I make sure to doodle an obvious stain on the stick figure's miniskirt.

I hand the sketchbook back to her.

An indignant look washes over her face.

Ha ha.

❤ ❤ ❤ ❤

The plane is jerking up and down. I am going to die today. I just know it, okay? Don't ask me how, but I really am going to die.

This is so scary. The pilot announces that we're having a bit of turbulence but if you put on your seat belts everything will be okay. But I know better. I won't be swayed by some big lying fogey. People die on planes all the time. And today I'm going to die sitting next to some obnoxious idiot who will probably cackle with laughter all the way down.

My head bangs against my seat and results in a dull headache.

I glance over at Stupid who seems completely calm and at ease. She rocks back and forth in her chair, listening to music.

My face crumples up and I bury it in my hands. I hate this. I hate this.

I try to think of flowers and bunnies and happy thoughts but pictures of plane crashes I see on TV and in the newspaper keep interrupting my flow of rainbows and sunshine. And then my bunnies grow fangs and wear flight attendant costumes and have Julia faces.

I think I'm going to cry.

A thick sob wells up in my throat and I grip the sides of my seat hard, squeezing my eyes shut. If I'm really going to die, I'd rather have it come as a surprise.

I feel a slight touch on my shoulder, and it turns into a reassuring grip. I open my eyes slowly and the cute obnoxious girl is looking gently at me, as if she's promising things are going to be okay. She reaches down and squeezes my hand.

She's still smiling, but it's not an infuriating smirk.

I squeeze her hand back.

She stares straight ahead and doesn't laugh.

❤ ❤ ❤ ❤

This dumb flight is finally almost over. The pilot's voice announces that we'll be landing shortly in about 17 minutes. It's about time.

I busy myself packing up my stuff so I don't think about the landing. It's embarrassing enough that I had to hold on to complete stranger's hand for one quarter of the plane ride already.

The plane begins its descent and I fight to control the incredible beating of my heart. I breathe in and out, in and out, and keep my eyes shut.

A jarring noise grates my ears and we are here. We have landed. We are alive.

Ha ha, this evil plane has not yet brought me to my demise. It's going to have to do better than that!

I nearly jump out of my seat when the seat belt signs finally turn off and the plane has stopped taxiing. I grab my backpack and stumble into the aisle, tripping over the unfortunate victim.

It's her, of course.

Again.

Her eyes smile, and I know she's going to start laughing like a hyena again. She offers me a hand, a chuckle building up in her chest. I take her hand, an accusing look in my eyes.

She pulls me up, and before I know what I'm doing, I lose my balance and crash full force onto her, my lips pressing hard against hers.

Oh. My. God.

I jerk away, breathless, stammering. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Major case of déjà vu, by the way.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..." I blabber. "I'm sorry-"

Her stupid smirk crawls onto her face once again.

"Don't be," she answers, and pulls me back to kiss her again.

Stupid, stupid girl.

The End