Paper Airplane

34

Chapter Thirty-Four

 

 

                The next morning, it rained.

                I take that understatement back.  The next morning, a torrential downpour drowned out Los Angeles, and when I woke to a deep rumble that seemed to shake the entire hotel and frequent blasts of light coming from the window – lightning, presumably – I couldn’t have been in a better mood. 

                It completely baffled my disheveled counterpart, who has been grumpy since he dragged himself out of bed and into the kitchen to see what we had for breakfast (not much).

                “An entire day’s worth of plans literally flushed right down the drain,” he was saying.

                I sipped at my glass of orange juice, picking up a magazine that had a picture of Harry and I in the bottom right corner.  “They weren’t literally flushed down the drain.”

                He opened the fridge for the third time in the last five minutes.  “Well, literally flushed, anyway.”

                “Where were we here?” I asked, holding the magazine up for him to see.  “I don’t remember.”

                “It looks like that day we made the blanket fort in your brother’s living room, when we went to the 7-Eleven because you were in desperate need of sweet tea.  Remember?”

                I attempted to smother my awe at his impeccable memory.  “Oh yeah.  My day off that ended up not being a day off.”

                With an exaggerated sigh, Harry slumped into the chair across from me and let his face fall into his arms.  I peeked at him through my eyelashes, unable to understand the physics behind his hair.  He hadn’t brushed it or styled it or even showered yet, and somehow every curl had its place and you can bet it was placed there, even when he tossed his head around the way he did just now.  Even when he’d just waken up.  I don’t get it.

                Styles and McAllister: the next Jay-Z and Beyonce?  My lips twitched into a ghost of a smile at that.  We’ve been fake dating for what, two and a half weeks?  Please.  As if the media could get any thirstier.

                Harry emitted a soft groan; I rolled my eyes.  “Quit moping.”

                “I hate the rain,” he muttered, the sound of his voice muffled by his arm.  “It sucks.  Literally, if it wasn’t necessary for like, essentially the survival of the planet, no one would miss it if it just stopped existing.”

                “Speak for yourself.”  I began leafing through the pages to find the story that would apparently explain why Harry and I were the next power couple.

                He lifted his head.  “What?”

                My eyes moved from the magazine to his face.  “What?”

                “You like this shit?”

                I reached for my orange juice.  “Yeah?”

                My answer was so unusual and unprecedented that apparently he was unable to respond in any way.  So while he froze in that position, eyes practically glazing over as he stared at me, dumbfounded, I returned to hunting for our story.