I never wanted to go on the trip in the first place.
That was what was running through my head as I navigated the crowded airport. I hated traveling, for myriad of very valid reasons. I was more of a homebody, preferring to stay in my room with a cup of tea and a good book. I liked consistency, routine. I hated anything that took me out of my comfort zone, which consisted of the surrounding cities and towns of my hometown in Massachusetts.
Hawaii was extremely far out of my comfort zone. Curse my older sister for moving across the Pacific Ocean. She was literally the only reason I was doing this.
Abby was the more adventurous one. She enjoyed things like snowboarding and zip lines, rock climbing, cliff jumping. Anything that ranked high on my list as capital T terrifying, she loved. Abby craved that adrenaline rush, while I balked at driving in the snow.
My school's senior trip this year was white water rafting, I almost didn't go. If it weren't for my two best friends, who basically had to drag me on the bus, I probably wouldn't have. It was basically one of the most horrible experiences of my life. I mean— I nearly drowned.
It hadn't always been that way. Sure, Abby had always been more of a daredevil. And I had aired on the cautious side. You had to when your older sister was jumping out of trees to see if she could fly. Someone had to be the voice of reason.
People used to think it was hilarious. Here I was, this tiny four year old, reprimanding eight year old Abby about chasing a ball into the street. We hadn't gone to such extremes until— well, until the accident.
When I was ten years old, my mom died in a car crash. Abby was fifteen at the time. It hit both of us hard. Our dad had never been in the picture, so we'd been taken under the care of our Grandma Rose, who I loved more than anything. Now, Abby was twenty two and living in Hawaii. She had left Massachusetts the second she graduated high school, no plan, no college, no nothing.
That was Abby. She dove headfirst into everything, no fear. Meanwhile, once this summer was over I was headed to Wellesley College. A mere hour train ride away from my grandmother's house. Not only was I going to a college close to home, but I was going there with my best friend since kindergarten. I knew what major I was picking, what classes I wanted to take, everything. Basically, the complete opposite of Abby.
Anyways, back to my point. My summer had been hijacked. My last summer before college, I had wanted to spend it with my friends, in my hometown, doing everything we normally do. But nooooo, Abby had found an amazing job opportunity for me in Hawaii. Oh, and she was more than happy to house me for the summer. No matter how much I protested. Both my grandmother and Abby seemed to think it was a wonderful idea.
"It'll be good for you, Soph," they'd said. "It's going to be so much fun."
I sincerely doubted that. But the Randall women were stubborn. I should know. In any case, I was currently rolling a black suitcase around Terminal A, my favorite backpack slung over my shoulder.
Security had been a nightmare. No I was not smuggling weapons under my clothing, I just had a metal bra strap, thank you. I was just relieved that I was running on schedule. One of my biggest airport fears was missing my flight. I was also looking forward to sitting down. I'd started the Agatha Christie novel I'd bought for the plane on the car ride here, and I'd left off right at the climax. Yes, I was already halfway through the book. Yes it was supposed to be for the plane. Hey, that was what the four backup books in my carry on were for, okay?
I passed a boy around my age wearing headphones. His foot was tapping on the carpeted floor. I glanced briefly at his phone screen to see what he was listening to. Judging by the football pin on his dingy duffel bag, the gym shorts, and the letterman jacket peeking out of his carry on, I was assuming something either rap or country. I knew boys like this back home. The football players. In fact, I'd bet good money that this guy's name was Brad or Chad or something equally frat bro- esque. I couldn't stand guys like that. Could barely stomach a conversation with them beyond, can I have the answers for homework? No.
My eyebrows shot up when I read the song name on the screen. "The Other Side of The Door" My forehead wrinkled. That was a Taylor Swift song. And not a super well known one either. A great one, but not popular. How odd. Maybe he had it on shuffle or something.
I sat down and cracked open my novel, but I didn't get far before my phone buzzed. I tried to ignore it, but then it buzzed thrice more. I sighed, retrieving it from the front pocket of my bag. Seven texts. Two from Abby and five from the group chat with my two best friends, Reagan and Thomas. Or Tommy, as he liked to go by.
I decided to answer Abby's first. She was an impatient person.
Abs <3 : Plane boarding yet?
Abs <3 : SO excited to see youuuu!!
Sophia: not yet, almost
Abs <3 : Are you excited?! :))))))
Sophia: sure
Abs <3 : you dont sound excited >:(
Sophia: sure!
Abs <3 : Better
I was trying to be excited, I really was. Most eighteen year old girls would jump at the chance to spend the summer on a tropical island. There was definitely something wrong with me, but who cared. All I wanted was to stay in Massachusetts.
Next was the group chat.
reagan✨: bro what's happening?
tommy 😇: how's the airport? when's your flight leave?
tommy 😇: helllooooo get your nose out of the book i know you're reading and pay attention to us!
tommy 😇: now i'm getting worried sophie
reagan✨: you're such a sap. srsly tho soph what's with the radio silence? i knew this would happen tommy she's forgotten us already
Sophia: i have not forgotten about you reagan
reagan✨: she lives
tommy 😇: you okay?
Sophia: i'm fine larsen relax. just sat down at the gate
tommy 😇: just sat down huh?
Sophia: ok i sat down 20 min ago
tommy 😇: that's what i thought
Sophia: oh hush
tommy 😇: you were reading a book weren't you?
Sophia: no
tommy 😇: which means yes
Sophia: :|
tommy 😇: i know you so well ;)
reagan✨: ew
reagan✨: get a room guys
reagan✨: please keep the flirting to a minimum in the gc im abt to hurl
tommy 😇: there was no flirting
reagan✨: whatever loverboy
tommy 😇: shut up reagan
I began to text Reagan privately. I could not believe her. I'd told her a million times— she never listened to me. Never had. Reagan and I had met in kindergarten. We were seated next to each other in classes every single year because of our last names. Richards always came right after Randall. She was super athletic, like made varsity for both field hockey and soccer in freshman year athletic. Fantastic at math, which worked out nicely because that was my worst subject. She was my ride or die. She knew everything about me and I knew everything about her.
Sophia: REAGAN
Reagan: what?
Sophia: YOU KNOW WHAT
Sophia: you have to stop with the tommy thing
Reagan: oh come on soph he's been crushing on you since middle school
That was not true. Okay maybe it was true. Tommy had been my lab partner in seventh grade and we'd immediately hit it off. He was sweet and funny, and the nicest member of the male species I'd ever encountered. Eventually, he'd sort of become a part of our little group. Our duo turned into a trio. Well, as Reagan tells it, he followed us around everywhere until we finally gave in.
Reagan has always held the opinion that Tommy was like— madly in love with me. Sure we'd always kind of had that will they won't they thing going on that all girl and boy best friends have. Sure we'd gone to prom together, homecomings, formals, but that was always as friends. We'd never actually taken a step in the non platonic direction. I wasn't sure I wanted to.
I also didn't know if my reluctance was from the fact that I just didn't like him that way, or I was scared of messing up the friendship. I didn't know what he was thinking either. Well— actually I was pretty sure he wanted to. Take the step, I mean. Reagan was a hundred percent sure he wanted to and took every opportunity to put it out in the open. I was going to kill her one of these days.
Sophia: he has not!
Sophia: it's worse when you bring it up
Reagan: someone has to
Reagan: the awkwardness is too much for me
Reagan: he almost kissed you at senior prom and you STILL haven't talked about it
Sophia: i should not have told you that!
Reagan: i know right
Reagan: dumb move dude
Sophia: you really think he likes me like that?
Reagan: OH MY GOD
Reagan: how many fucking times do i have to go thru this soph?!
Reagan: he is smitten with you
Reagan: i know because it's all i hear abt. he talks about you 24/7 it's exhausting he's such an annoying hopeless romantic
Reagan: the real question is do you like him
Sophia: ...
Sophia: idk
Reagan: well that's helpful
"Boarding has now begun for Flight 237. Boarding has now begun." Oh. That was me. Good timing actually, I wanted to avoid this conversation with Reagan as much as possible. It wasn't that I didn't like Tommy. I did. I promise. I really really did.
He texted me good morning and good night every single day without fail. He cared about people and the world. He drove me and Reagan everywhere and painted our nails at slumber parties. Hell, he wanted to be a surgeon. He wasn't bad looking either. On the skinny side, cute Clark Kent glasses and fair hair. He had a nice smile and always smelled like laundry detergent. Clean. Kind. That was Thomas Larsen.
Of course I liked him. He was my best friend. I just wasn't sure I liked him the way Reagan thought he liked me. What was that supposed to feel like anyways?
I rummaged through my backpack for my plane ticket, shoving my book back inside. Agatha Christie would have to wait. I adjusted my jeans as I rose to my feet. They were a little too big for me, but I wore them all the same, since they used to belong to my mom. I'll be honest, most things were too big on me. I was on the miniature side of the height scale. It was funny really, because Reagan was an Amazon. She was 5'8 without heels, and I was 5'5 with them. Tommy was just one inch taller than Reagan, a fact which he loved to lord over her. Our prom pictures were comical, the two of them towering over me like giants.
When they called my boarding group, I was the first one in line. I like to be prepared. And I also liked the window seat. Even though I wouldn't be able to see anything, of course I was taking an evening flight, but it had been one of the only ones that hadn't been completely booked up. Hawaii was popular this time of year, apparently. I hoped I'd be the only one in my row. I didn't want to have to make small talk with the person next to me.
"Ticket please, miss." I gave it to her. "Have a nice flight."
"You too," I said without thinking. I groaned internally as I headed down to the plane. You too? You too?! I should not be allowed around people. This. This was why I stayed in my room.
I weaved my way though the aisle, passing a sniveling toddler with a fistful of cheerios and his harried looking mother. Past a rotund man in a Hawaiian shirt who leered at me as I shuffled by, and a large family all wearing brightly colored t-shirts emblazoned with O'Malley Family Reunion.
Finally, I found my seat. It was near the back of the plane, which I'd heard was safer in the event of a crash. I hefted my suitcase over my shoulder, attempting and failing to each the over head compartment. Well this sucked. Even on my tiptoes my fingertips barely grazed the shelf.
Ugh. I hated being short sometimes. I tried yet again, straining myself. I felt sweat beading at the nape of my neck. I probably looked like an idiot, jumping up and down.
"Um— do you need help?" A voice came from behind me, or rather above me.
I spun around, slightly startled, and found myself face to face, well... face to chest with the same guy I'd seen waiting at the gate. Figured. God, I hate my life. "I— no- yeah," I sighed resignedly, "yeah, sorry."
He shook his head, "It's no problem." With irritating ease he lifted my suitcase aloft, placing it into the empty space. I saw his biceps flex as he did so. Yup. Definitely a football player. Though he was tall enough to play basketball.
"Thank you," I said, sliding into my assigned row. The window seat was unoccupied, at least there was that.
"Oh, hey," the boy finished putting his own duffel bag in the overhead, "looks like we're sitting next to each other."
Of course we were. Could nothing go right on this trip? I did not want to spend eleven hours sitting next to Tyler Brad Chad McJockerson, listening to him drone on about sports or whatever it was football players talked about. This was the stuff of books, stuff you see in the movies and all over social media. You meet someone on a plane and hit it off. I should be thrilled.
I was not thrilled.
He was attractive and all. I was doing my best not to look at him too closely, but I could see he had brown curls and a chiseled jawline. But he was definitely not my type. And I was definitely not his. Guys who looked like him didn't associate with girls like me unless they needed something for school. Guys like him didn't like girls like me because I didn't care that they didn't like me. It bothered them. And I was okay with that. The less interaction with these kind of guys, the better.
"Looks like it." I scooted myself as close to the edge of my seat as possible, taking out my phone. This way he'd know that he didn't have to make conversation with me. A text from Reagan popped up the second I turned it on.
Reagan: bitch where did you go
Sophia: sorry i just boarded
Sophia: you will not BELIEVE who i'm sitting next to
Reagan: phoebe bridgers
Reagan: NO WAIT!
Reagan: taylor swift!
Sophia: what?
Sophia: no
Reagan: emma watson?
Sophia: no! stop guessing
Sophia: it's just this guy our age who's like a total jock ugh
Reagan: is he cute?
Sophia: what?
Sophia: why?
Sophia: no
Reagan: oh so he's really cute
Sophia: no i didn't say that
Sophia: that's not the point!
Reagan: omg he must be really really cute
Sophia: REAGAN!
Reagan: SOPHIA YOU ARE SITTING NEXT TO A CUTE GUY ON A PLANE!
Reagan: THAT'S THE DREAM BRO
Reagan: oh my god have you talked to him yet?
Reagan: ask for his snap
Reagan: wait how old is he
Reagan: what's his name
Reagan: send me a picture
Reagan: omg soph it's like a rom com this is so perfect
Sophia: um one second ago you were rooting for me and tommy?
Reagan: i don't care who you're with babe i just want you to be happy
Reagan: maybe hot guy on the plane can make you happy
Sophia: i doubt that
Sophia: AND I NEVER SAID HE WAS HOT
Reagan: but you did tho
Reagan: put yourself out there soph
Reagan: go for it
Reagan: talk to him
Reagan: seize the day
Sophia: what if i don't feel like seizing the day?
Reagan: SOPHIA KATHARINE RANDALL JUST TALK TO HIM YOU BIG WIMP
I did not heed Reagan's advice. Instead, I put my phone back in my pocket and unzipped my backpack. I knew exactly how to ensure that the boy would not talk to me for the whole trip. I pulled out my book, focusing intently on the page. Soon, I was lost in the words of Detective Poirot, transported to the ship cruising along the Nile River.
That's what I liked about books. When I was reading, the whole world melted away. All my worries, my hopes, my dreams, my fears. Everything. Reading was where I found my peace. Books had saved me when my mom died. That and art.
I loved to sketch, people mainly, but landscapes were fun sometimes. My mom had been an artist. She painted. She also made jewelry. In fact, she'd made the necklace I was wearing. But that wasn't my favorite thing she'd made. No, that was the bracelet. It was dirty and kinda gross now, but when I was seven, she'd given it to me. Three strings, purple, pink, and blue. One for me, one for my mom, and one for Abby. It had been the three of us against the world.
I cleared my head, refocusing on my book. It was a very enticing mystery. Agatha Christie always had me hooked from the first bloody sentence. As long as I had my books, maybe this flight wouldn't be so bad.