A Bucket List for Ella

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

                  "Ella, hurry up or we won't make our flight," an impatient Nico called from a bit farther down the hall. I sat here, struggling to lug my heavy suitcase with my thin arms while also carrying a laptop bag on my shoulder. To top it all off, people were staring.

"It would be nice if you would help me a little bit," I groaned, fidgeting with the strap on my shoulder that was digging into my neck. "After all, that's what we're paying you for, isn't it?"

When I said we, I meant me. My parents died, but in a way it was alright. They were never super close to me, though I knew they loved me, and their inheritance was what helped pay for my cancer treatments. Now I lived with my godmother and godfather; my mom's best friend from high school and her husband. And she was nice, but she was a dental assistant, had two kids of her own and worked long hours, so she didn't have a lot of time for me. I guess that was alright in a way, considering I was never much of a people-person to begin with.

Now, usually I was quite fond of Nico. He was great, in a sort of oh-he's-nice-and-easy-on-the-eyes sort of way. I most certainly didn't have feelings for him, and today was an example of why. Although Nico could be extremely caring, he could also be a royal pain in the ass.

"Come on Ella," Nico said. He walked over to me dramatically and, taking my suitcase in one hand and his in the other, managed to haul our bags to customs. I was left to deal with only the horrid laptop bag, which I now removed from my shoulder and carried in my right hand.

We had just arrived at LAX from Vancouver and I followed Nico like a lost puppy to customs. Once through, we would board a flight from Los Angeles to Sydney, Australia.

We approached the customs window and looked up at the guard.

"Nico James Romero?" the 50-something year old guard said, looking up at Nico with the look that tends to accompany higher-up airport/border personnel.

"That's me," Nico replied. The guard humphed in acknowledgement.

"And Ella Marie Anderson?" he said, eyeing my picture and then me, very carefully and suspiciously.

"That's me," I said. The man looked me up and down again, as if he didn't recognize me as the girl in the picture with the long, flowing brown hair.

"I have cancer okay? My hair fell out," I mumbled while looking down at my tan-colored Uggs.

"I'm sorry," he said, and when I looked up I noticed his face had gone tomato-red. After asking the usual questions, he motioned us off by saying, "You're headed to Gate 24, to your right."

"Thank you," Nico said, all but ripping our passports out from the man's hand.

"Have a safe trip," the man said, and something deep inside of me told me that he probably wasn't referring to just our flight.

***

"Airplane food sucks," Nico complained, pushing around pieces of shepherd's pie on his plate.

"Hospital food is worse, and you know it," I grumbled. Nico let out a sigh, clearly for my benefit, and went back to eating his food, or rather playing with it.

"You know Elle, you can be a real pain sometimes. It's a good thing you're paying me for this," he remarked, waving his hands around at everything as if it was insanity. I also noted that he once again called me by the nickname he had given me in the past month of hanging out; Elle.