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DECEMBER 16TH
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Picture this: a girl, sprinting across the road as fast as she can in order to not miss her bus, her eyes wide with panic and her blonde hair flying as she runs. With her right hand pulling along her suitcase, her left carrying five shopping bags, and the space between her left arm and her chin filled to the brim with tinsel...
Blaire swears she isn't overcompensating for anything.
(She might be lying...)
Let's rewind.
Truth is, Blaire wants—no, needs—this Christmas to go well. Last year was nothing short of a shitshow, and quite frankly, Blaire wants to forget all about it. Her plan to have the best winter break relies on her being home in Manhattan, and the first step is catching her bus on time.
"Please tell me I'm going to make it," Blaire begs to the ticket seller as she dashes up to the booth. She struggles to pull out a piece of paper from her pocket, almost dropping the tinsel, and hands the schedule over to him. Her bus time has been circled with a bright red marker, and she points to it. "I still have a minute left, but I can't see my bus out there—is it running late?"
"Jesus, where'd you get this thing?" The ticket seller says, taking the schedule and flipping it over in his hands. He couldn't have been much older than her.
Blaire feels uneasy. "Why, what's wrong with it?"
"This is, like, super old." He winces. "Your bus actually left fifteen minutes ago. The next one..." He spends a minute clicking on the computer in front of him, and Blaire feels like she might die of anticipation. "The next bus isn't for another hour."
