Paper Airplane

5

Chapter Five

                I have had worse things happen to me.  I have caused worse things to happen.  I tried to remind myself of those two things as I watched Harry Styles of One Direction look around, embarrassed, and then down at his shirt.  His eyes switched to me for a second, and then back to his shirt.

                And although worse things have happened, right now, it sure doesn’t seem like it.

                I still haven’t answered his question yet, which only adds to the amount of awkwardness this situation is harboring.  My face was flaming; what should I do?  Offer to help him clean it?  Offer to pay for it?  Just apologize?  No, I couldn’t do any of those things because I’ve been staring at him for probably three whole minutes without responding.  Oh my God, I need to get out of here.

                Ignoring the throbbing in my knees and the stinging on my palms, I tipped my head and quickly stepped around the smoothie-clad boy, nearly into one of the other boys – Niall, I believe – because I was only watching my feet.  But once I was free of all of them, I ran.  Around the rest of the balcony and back out the way Brady and I came in.

                Brady’s driver was standing with the security guards and easily recognized me as I sprinted past him.

                “Miss McAllister!  Wait!”

                I didn’t have far to run; the SUV was parked on the curb, and the few crowds of people I had to wrestle my way through didn’t pose much of an obstacle when I was this determined.  But when I reached the vehicle, it was locked.  Anxiously, I looked around for the driver.

                “Miss McAllister,” he breathed, catching up to me.  “What’s wrong?”

                “Nothing.  I just need to get in here, please.”

                “Is someone harassing you?  Where’s your brother?”

                “He’s okay,” I waved his worry off quickly, yanking at the locked door handle a couple times so that he’d get the hint.  “I’m going to text him.  Can you unlock the doors please?”

                “Sure.  Are we leaving, then, Miss McAllister?”  The driver whose name I really should learn walked around the front of the SUV, and I heard the jingle of his keys before I answered him.

                “Um, I think so.  If Brady comes out here soon enough.  And call me Lexie, please.”

                “Sure.”

                The sound of the doors unlocking had me yanking mine open and sliding in as fast as I could, nearly slamming it behind me.  I pulled my phone out of my bra and was about to send my brother a text when I realized that I had one.

                Lex, where’d you go?

                My fingers flew across my touch screen in response.

                SUV.  Let’s go, please.

                I let my head fall back onto the seat, my eyes closing.  My face still felt hot and my existence felt entirely too large – I wanted to shrivel up and disappear.  I’ve messed up a lot since showing up in this God-forsaken city, but this has got to be the worst.  To dump a smoothie on someone is one thing, especially if it’s by accident.  But to dump a smoothie on a celebrity?  Not to mention an internationally beloved one?  Is it even possible to be this unlucky?