I laughed, sending my duffle off my shoulder and onto the pavement. “So you’re Jameson, right?”
“Yep” he said, popping the ‘p’ “But I swear I’m going to kill you if you call me that. I’m mostly called James or something.”
“Okay, okay, I won’t call you that, James.” I teased, accentuating his name. He shook his head and then looking over his shoulder at the packed lanes, James spoke, “Yeah, well just get in the car; I do believe we’re holding everyone up at the moment, and I do not want angry travelers on my hands.”
“Alright then” I said, bending over to lift my bag before he stopped me. “I got it” he said, heaving my duffle over his shoulder and into the back of his truck, making a large thud. He then bent over and it looked like he was securing it so it wouldn’t move around while driving.
“Uhm, thanks. I mean, I could’ve done that myself, but whatever.” I told him, opening the passenger side’s door and lifting and sliding myself into the elevated truck seat.
“No prob.” He said as he slid into the driver’s seat checking his mirrors and putting the car into drive. “Oh yeah! I almost forgot, belt up.”
“What?” I stated, slightly confused until he told me, “Seatbelt. Sorry, it’s kinda my slang phrase for ‘Put-Your-Seatbelt-On’”
“Oh” was all I said, feeling incredibly brainless, reaching behind me to grab the belt and clicking it into place.
“Alright, it’s time to roll!” he pronounced flicking on the radio, playing the extremely overplayed song ‘We Are Young’ by the band ‘fun.’ As we were exiting the airport section, he started singing along. “…SO WE SET THE WORLD ON FIRE….”
And before he could continue, I covered my ears and yelled over the radio and his pitiful singing, “OH MY GOD, PLEASE TURN THAT OFF. THAT’S THE MOST AWFUL SONG EVER!”
He responded by turning the radio off and replying, “Oh come on, you don’t mean that.”
“Oh yes I do, that song is honestly the worst song ever, I can’t stand it!”
“But you can’t mean that. You only hate the song because it’s overplayed. And just because a song’s overplayed, doesn’t make the song bad.” He paused. “And it’s not the most horrible song. Have you even heard some other music on the radio?”
“Well… No. I guess not. I mean I rarely listen to the radio, but whenever I do, it’s always this song and it’s just really annoying.”
“Hmm…” he pondered for a bit then said “Okay, I agree with you on that. It is the most annoying song on the radio, but it’s definitely not the worst. I was just trying to get a feel of what you listened to…”
He continued, “Which reminds me, what do you listen to?”
“Uhm..” I fidgeted, wondering why James was asking me this and then as if noticing my discomfort, he laughed “I swear I’m not a creeper who wants to know what you listen to, oh my God!”
I raised a brow at him almost asking him to continue but mentally kicked myself because I realized that was incredibly stupid, seeing as he couldn’t even see me because his eyes were glued on the road.
“But, why do you care so much about what I listen to?” I asked.
“It’s a good icebreaker okay? Music is universal and a standard in everyone’s life. And anyways, you can tell a lot about a person by the tunes they listen to.” He explained and continued “I’ve never met a person in my life who has never not-answered that question.”
Pressing my nose up against the glass, I watched the city scenery fly by. I would’ve forgotten he had even asked a question had he not coughed and questioned me again with a “So? What kind of tunes d’you listen to?”
Without removing my face from the glass, I answered, “It changes day to day usually.” I stopped thinking of what to say next then continued, “But The Smiths aretoday’s special.”
Keeping both of his hands on the wheel, he wiped his nose on his T-shirt covered shoulder and replied, “No way! Seriously?”
“Uhm yeah. They’re great.”
We were both silent for a minute, James with his sunglassed eyes focused on the road and Me, staring at things that didn’t really matter, like sidewalks and buildings I would never see again. This thought sent me straightening my back against the seat and drifting my eyes to James.
He seemed to notice I was staring so he cleared his throat and glanced over his shoulder “Is there something on my face or are you the creepy one now?”
I snorted for a bit and asked him why he was wearing sunglasses when there wasn’t even any sun out.
“Because they cool, okay? Plus, one of my friends got them for my birthday and I figured I use them, so there. Did that answer your question sufficiently your highness?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, no need to get defensive, Mr. Sunglasses, it was only a simple question. Got something to hide, eh?” I countered, waggling an eyebrow at him.”
“Pfft. As if. I’m cleaner than soap.”
And those were the last words spoken on the already awkward drive. My head started to lull into the crook of the seat and head rest and I found myself lightly dozing, my eyes shut, and after what it felt like an hour, I felt the car come to a halt.
My eyes snapped open, and sitting upright in the seat, took a look around. As I examined the area, I noticed an absence. An absence of James sitting in the driver’s seat. Startled at his disappearance, I opened the passenger side of the door and hopped onto the grey pavement, fixing my faded grey shirt that got disoriented during the light slumber.
A shock went through the right side of my body and I whipped around to see a grinning James holding my duffle at his side.
“Hi” was all he said.
“I don’t suppose jabbing me in the side was necessary Jameson.” I said, using his real name. “Anyways, is this Aunt P.’s apartment or…” I trailed off.
“I can tell you it was absolutely necessary. And yes, this is my mom’s apartment. Welcome to what I like to call, ‘Le Casa Jameson.” He turned around to face the building and spread his arms wide as if presenting the egg-shell white, apartment that looked to be four-stories high.
“Le Casa Jameson?” I asked, dubiously. I mean who calls their house after the
——————————————————————————————————————————————
A/N: Oh my gosh, I didn’t even finish and I’m probably gonna take a chunk of this out >__<
People behind me were shoving me forwards into the large mass of people with luggage trailing behind them, some wheels clacking louder than others. I think I saw a little boy tripping on the edge of a moving piece of luggage, but it happened so fast, I’m not even sure what my eyes saw.
I didn’t even notice where my feet were taking me when my phone vibrated, immediately stopping me to drop my duffle on the floor and to take out my phone.
“Hello?”
“Oh, Avery! Is that you? Did you get off the plane alright? Did anyone cause you trouble?”
Oh, it was my aunt Penelope. I’m supposed to stay at her house for a week before I actually get to the camp.
“Uhm, hi Aunt Penelope. To answer your questions, yes, yes and no.”
“That’s good to hear. Hey, I’m just calling you to let you know that I can’t pick you up from the airport today – “
“Wait what? Aunt P, you can’t leave me here! I have no money!” I interrupted her loudly over the hustle and bustle of the rushing people to get home.
“Oh hush, would you let me finish? I swear, you’re worse than your brother at times. But I was going to say that your cousin Anthony – you remember him right? – was going to pick you up because I’m in a meeting right now and I might get a promotion.” I was about to open my mouth and say I’ve never even met an Anthony but she beat me to it.
“Oh, sorry, I really need to go. Anthony should be there in a couple of minutes. Be good. I love you.” And then she hung up followed with a tone.
Gee Aunt P, thanks for leaving me to be picked up by my cousin Anthony whom I’ve never even met or seen in my life.
I huffed a little bit, but then did the sensible thing, collecting my luggage and allowing myself to be swept in the torrent of people drifting towards the front of the airport where cars were parking, picking people up, and leaving continually on a regular basis.
When my feet crossed the threshold in-between the inside of the airport and the outdoors, I could feel the cold air colliding with my face. It felt… refreshing almost. I stepped up to the curb and as most people would I waited.
Slightly shifting the duffle over my shoulder I continued to wait for my ‘cousin’ Anthony, alternating my weight between my left foot and my right foot. It didn’t take too long of a wait though, because after five-or-so minutes, A gray truck driving past had a page of notebook pasted to the window broadcasting the words, “YO, AVERY NOEL COX” in incredibly thick, black marker.
I immediately straightened my figure and raised both my arms, flailing them carelessly so that he would notice me. But apparently he didn’t because instead of pulling in as I hoped, he continued to drive to the end of the lane and pulled up there. Where I wasn’t standing. Just my freaking luck.
Sighing, I swung the straps of the duffle further on my shoulder and set out to the gray truck idling by the curb. It didn’t take too long though, as I used lengthened strides to reach my desired destination.
When I arrived there, I swung on the heels of my sneakers before knocking on the glass. I couldn’t tell what his reaction was, because he wasn’t even facing me but he tilted his head towards me with his sunglasses (there’s not even any sun out!) and I could see the butt of a cigarette sticking out from the corner of his mouth.
We stared at each other for a good thirty seconds through the glass– it may not seem like a long time, but it is when you’re just awkwardly standing there – before he got out of the car and walked around the front of it
It felt pretty awkward when he stood in front of me because he was a good head taller than my already short build at five feet nothing.
I couldn’t really believe he was my ‘so-called-cousin’ because in physical appearance, we looked nothing alike. Him with his somewhat tanned skin, jet-black hair and sloped nose and me with my ‘I-sunburn-instead-of-tanning’ skin, faintly red-brown hair, and sharp nose. I blinked twice before he broke the ice.
“So, you’re Avery Cox right?” he asked waiting for confirmation.
“Uhh, yeah. I guess I am if I’m knocking a window with the name “Avery Noelle Cox” on it.” I joked lightly and then added “ – by the way, you spelled my middle name wrong.” I smiled “It has an ‘L’ and an ‘E’ at the end.”
“Oh thank God. I wouldn’t want to bring the wrong girl home. And in my defense, my mom texted me your name, telling me too pick you up at the airport, so don’t blame me.” He held his hands up in a way that said ‘I’m innocent, I swear!’
——————————————————————————————————————————————
i’ll put something here later, I’m too la-zy. Plus, I don’t want to spoil anything or whatever.
Even though it was midafternoon, the sky was overcast and gray, devoid of a single ray of sun.
Once the plane parked in the gate, we were allowed to unbuckle our seat restraints and start collecting our luggage from the top bins. The two men to the right of me hastily took this opportunity to gather their belongings and exit the plane, while I was waiting for most of the occupants to leave.
When quite a few people left, I lifted myself from the fabric-covered seat, holding onto the seat in front of me, side-stepped to the aisle and reached up in the bins to retrieve my old brown duffle that looked new, but had actually been stuffed in the back of my closet for the past four years when my aunt decided to gift me it when I was entering the eighth grade.
Lugging the duffle bag over my shoulder, I made my way to the front of the plane where one of the flight attendants directed everyone to the hallway that led you to the gate of the airport. Flight attendants always irked me for some reason. They always gave these bogus smiles with their red-lipstick-covered mouths and their impeccably white teeth.
As I passed her, I heard her say something along the lines of “…I hope you choose…. o fly again in the future!”
Subconsciously rolling my eyes, I continued down the hallway until I reached the interior of the airport and holy shit. I’ve never seen that much glass in one building. It was like instead of walls, they decided to totally deck it out with glass and metal beams.
People behind me were shoving me forwards into the large mass of people with luggage trailing behind them.
——————————————————————————————————————————————
Day 2 - What’s the title of your story? Why did you choose the name you did?
Leaning back as far as I can in the space-limited-airport seat, I begin to think that this isn’t such a bad idea. You see, for the summer, my parents are sending me to a summer camp. You might think this odd, I mean, most teenagers practically beg their parents to spend thousands of dollars to go to a camp. But I actually loathe the idea. But I might be getting used to it. I’m not entirely sure.
My name is Avery Noel Cox and I may or may not come up alive for the next school year. I had already battled my ehem, aircraft buddy for the arm rest and I sure as hell wasn’t going to move my arm to let the thirty-something-year-old-with-slight-stubble claim it. My current location on the row was the dreaded window seat at 21A. Usually people usually associate the title of ‘Worst-Airplane-Seat’ with the middle, but I completely abhorred the window seat.
It’s all very cramped in there for one. Almost no space. At all. And, if you wanted to get up, you’d have to ask the people to your right (in my case) awkwardly that you’d like to use the bathroom. Which would most likely irritate them, which I did not want to do.
And if you did manage to get past that part, you’d go to the bathroom, finish, go to your seat, tap them on the shoulder and wait patiently for the two people to move into the aisle so you could get to your seat.
The aisle row was so much better. You didn’t have to ask anyone to move, so you could get up and dance as you pleased and when the flight attendants dished out some fizzy drinks, there was less chance of spillage. But the middle was an okay seat. You got somewhat of a view, and you only had to bother one person to use the restroom.
I suppose I wouldn’t be complaining about this if I mildly liked my destination. But I didn’t, and so my constant internal battles continue. I checked the watch face on my wrist and quickly calculated how much time there was until the plane landed. Thirty minutes.
I drummed my fingers over my denim-covered legs and began to flow into a rhythm that sounded similar to a song of one of my favorite bands, The White Stripes. And after what felt like ages to me, the ‘Please-Put-Your-Seatbelt-On’ light flashed on and gave that soft ‘bing’ and a flight attendant announced that we were going to be landing shortly and to turn off all electronics.
I never really got what the big deal was, turning off your electronics, but I did it anyway, shoving my phone in the front pocket of jeans I was wearing. I resumed my finger drumming while the plane was making this large, whoosh-y noise that was unique to a plane. Then the wheels hit the ground and taking the little advantage the window seat gave, I peeked outside and saw the Seattle-Tacoma airport (Sea-Tac) in all of its curvy-glass glory.
Even though it was midafternoon, the sky was overcast and gray.
——————————————————————————————————————————————
