I wake with a start. My eyes immediately scan my surroundings.
Why am I on a plane?
Oh, right. I'd almost forgotten.
My father had finally gotten the job he and my mother stressed over for months, so we packed all our belongings and prepared for the move. It wasn't until we stood in line at the airport, and I glanced at my ticket that I realized we weren't moving to another state, but to another country. If we'd stayed in Glasgow, Kentucky for just two more weeks, I'd finally have my diploma. Instead, my parents decided moving across the Atlantic Ocean to make more money was more important than their daughter's high school graduation. At least they didn't pretend to care.
I turn to my mother, who's sitting in the seat beside me. Seeing that she is asleep, I check my watch. It read 6:10pm, but that's the Kentucky time zone. I sigh.
In London, where I'm being forced to move, it's six hours ahead, 12:10am. We've been in the air for seven hours, and I've been asleep for almost four. There's still over an hour left of flight time. By the time we get to our hotel, it should be about 2:30am.
I groan loudly as the thought of being the new girl at yet another school dawns on me. I feel my mother shift beside me. My eyes dart to her, praying she stays asleep. The last thing I need is another one of her lectures about how much I'll love London, all the museums and buildings, architecture and history, blah, blah, blah... I'd seen enough on Google Images. All I wanted was to stay with Emily and graduate from a school where I'd actually made a friend. I guess that was asking too much from my parents.
To my disappointment, her eyes flutter open. She sees me watching her and sits up slowly.
"Hey," she says, rubbing her eyes. "Did you sleep okay?"
I shrug. "Yeah."
She nods, and I watch her lose interest quickly. "There's a bathroom in the back, if you need to freshen up."
This is her way of telling me to check my appearance. I stand and squeeze past her, rolling my eyes when she quietly whispers, "Don't forget to lock the door." I pass other passengers, most of whom are snoring or occupying themselves with something unproductive. I make it to the back of the plane, where a small backlit sign says RESTROOM. My eye catches a tiny door with the green unoccupied symbol. I push open the door and slide the lock behind me before turning to stare into the small mirror that takes up most of the wall.
My wavy brunette hair falls about five inches past my shoulders, and my hazel eyes look almost gray in the dim lighting. Freckles dot my face, which I hate. My dad always said my freckles were "angel kisses" and my mom called them "beauty marks." I called them flaws. I'm thin for being as lazy as I am, with an average body shape that isn't visible through the thick layer of baggy clothes I threw on before reluctantly getting on the plane. A single layer of mascara emphasizes my eyes almost perfectly. Somehow, I'd managed to learn how to apply just the right amount of makeup to my plain face in order to make it look almost pretty.
My reflection stares back at me, and I realize how unoriginal I must look to other people. Just a boring, seventeen-year-old girl with long hair, dark eyes, and baggy clothes. I felt like a character in a dumb teen romance... without the romance. So just dumb?
When we first moved to Kentucky, my parents told me to make friends. They told me it was the last move, that we'd be staying in one place for a while, that I could hang posters and paint my bedroom walls and make friends, even date. So I did all of those things (except date, obviously... have I mentioned how boring my face is?). I bought band posters and succulents, painted my walls a dark shade of blue, even added some gold specks along the edging and corners to bring it all together.
And, of course, we moved right when I thought I'd finally made a real friend. My first day at school, I dropped all my books. Emily, a quiet girl in the grade below me, stopped to help me pick up my belongings. I noticed she was wearing a Bring Me the Horizon T-shirt and couldn't help but spark up a conversation. We connected through our unique taste in music. From then on, we were always hip-to-hip. Together we drove through the town, blasting our music, screaming lyrics from the open windows of her Chevy truck. We did projects together, hung out every day after school, even had sleepovers at her house. Until today, at least.
I should've known better than to trust them. After all this time, we've never stayed in one place more than a couple of months. Except for Glasgow. We stayed there for six. And then we left everything behind for yet another new location.
A knock sounds on the bathroom door, and I jump, all thoughts escaping my mind. "Just a second," I say. Quickly, I run my fingers under the faucet and through my hair. With one last glance at my reflection, I open the door and walk past the waiting woman and back to my seat. I close my eyes and pray for sleep to comfort me one last time before my new life begins.
~~~
"Emma, wake up," a voice says, shaking my shoulder. I groan and turn away, not bothering to open my eyes.
"Five more minutes," I mumble.
"Emma, we've landed. It's time to go." My mother's voice is urgent. She shakes my shoulder again.
"Okay, okay," I groan miserably, forcing myself to sit up. "I'm awake." I try opening my eyes, but the lights nearly blind me. I blink and allow them to adjust, then look around. Besides my parents, there are only a few people left on the plane. My father stands with his carry-on bag in one hand and mine in the other, his blue tie sticking out boldly against his silver suit. My mother holds her purse in her hands. I watch her dig inside a few pockets before she pulls out bright, red lipstick and applies it to her already smothered lips and motions for me to follow them towards the exit door.
"Come on, sweetie," she says, trying to force a smile. It appears unwelcoming and quite humorous against her clown-like makeup. "We have to get our suitcases from the conveyor belt."
I stand and stretch slowly, reaching my arms behind my back. I don't stop reaching until a satisfying pop is heard from my lower back. My parents stare with an irritated expression.
"Oh, come on," I say, rolling my eyes. "It's not like you haven't heard my back crack before."
"Emma, I've told you many times," my mother says sternly, her voice sharp, "cracking your back is unladylike."
"And terrible for your physique," my father adds.
"Whatever," I groan, pushing past them. They follow, my mother's heels clicking behind me. I roll my eyes again, feeling sorry for myself because I'm related to such high-class pricks.
Ever since I was born and my parents got "real" jobs, they'd been very... professional. My father is never seen without a suit and tie, while my mother's favorite outfit is a boring tight shirt with a button-up overcoat and heels. The way they dress fits their professions, and those professions are all I can remember about my childhood, not the groupie my mother was before attending law school or the rocking guitarist my father was before training to be a recording contractor.
My father's job is the reason we moved in the first place. My mother could be a lawyer anywhere, but my dad was always the guy who found a good deal in the music business and uplifted all of our lives. And yeah, the more we moved, the more money we seemed to have, but the more money we had, the stricter my parents got, and the more excluded I felt from my own family.
~~~
I lean against the wall while my parents stand by the conveyor belt, waiting for our suitcases to appear among the endless trail of luggage. When they finally do, I follow my parents down an escalator, towards a set of double doors, dragging all three carry-on bags behind me while they handle the heavy stuff. As we walk, I notice the emptiness of the airport. Our footsteps echo against the white walls, and very few people from our flight follow us down the long hallway.
We walk outside. The air is chilly, but I don't want to dig in my suitcase for a jacket. I dump the carry-on bags on the asphalt and collapse onto the curb, exhausted and annoyed. The streets are deserted except for a few parked cars.
"Emma," my mother gasps suddenly, "that bag costs more than your plane ticket!"
I roll my eyes and stand up slowly, grabbing her bag roughly as I stand, and drop a hand to my hip, facing her. "Happy?"
She scoffs and returns her attention to her new cellphone, probably setting up client contact information.
"Where's our apartment?" I ask, attempting to change the subject.
"After we wave down a cab, it's another two hour drive," my mother responds, smoothing her dress pants with gentle hands after dropping the phone in her purse.
I groan. Two hours in a small, smelly cab with these two. Sounds like a grand time.
Finally, a cab pulls up to the curb. We move forward as a group, probably looking like desperate tourists, and wait for the driver to help heave our bags in the trunk. I watch as the driver props open the car door and jogs over to where we stand.
"Evening!" he says, lifting his blue cap in a polite greeting. He looks no older than twenty-five with features that are pointed and kind. His dark brown eyes meet mine, hair dancing in the breeze, and the second he starts talking, I notice his heavy British accent. "I'm Phillip." He grins. "But you can call me Phil. How is everyone tonight?"
"Fine, thanks," my mother responds quickly, her manners automatically kicking into gear. "I'm Madeleine. This is my husband, Frank, and our daughter, Emma."
"Lovely to meet you," Phil says politely. "By your accent, I assume you're from the States?" I watch as he pops open the trunk and gently sets each suitcase inside, organizing and spacing them in a way he seems to have done many times before.
"Yep," says my father. "Just moved here from Kentucky."
"Wow, that's a ways," Phil smiles, glancing at us over his shoulder. "What a lovely country." My parents nod, smiling back. I say nothing.
We pile into the cab while Phil finishes stuffing our many belongings into the trunk. My father tells Phil where to go, and we start driving. As we drive, my parents and Phil talk about an endless amount of things, from why we moved here to how beautiful London is. I stare out the window, watching the twinkling streetlights pass. My eyes never leave the window.
Two long hours later, we come to a stop outside a wide brick building with two rows of windows, each with white shutters and a window box with bright, blooming flowers. A sidewalk leads to the front door with big, green shrubs on either side. The landscaping is beautiful; woodchip gardens wind through the grass, creating unique pathways. It reminds me of the Palace of Versailles' garden groves.
We lug our belongings from the trunk, then walk to the stained-glass entrance door as Phil drives off. We approach, and my jaw drops as I notice the intricate details carved into the wood.
Inside, a large chandelier hangs from the sparkling ceiling. I wonder, for a moment, if the ceiling is actually made of diamonds, but then I notice the carpet has the same sparkle and decide the idea is a bit of a lame attempt at making the entrance appear fancy. The walls are painted a dark green and lined with white trim. The carpet is so white I think for a minute there might be light coming through the crevices. Large paintings hang from the walls of the lobby and large leather couches sit alone in front of a fireplace with a large glass coffee table on the other side of the room.
I'm suddenly overcome with a feeling of estrangement. How am I related to people who want to stay at an extravagant place like this?
My parents approach the desk while I stay by the entrance door with the luggage.
"Hello," a kind voice says behind me. I turn and come face-to-face with an absolutely gorgeous girl with brown eyes, no makeup, and curly brown hair stretched back in a loose ponytail. She wore pink polka-dotted pajamas. A grinning boy with teal eyes and brown hair stands beside her. They hold hands and look to be around my age. The girl looks tired, but the boy's eyes are wide.
"Hi," I respond, giving the couple a smile.
"My name's Eleanor," the girl says with a grin, her British accent just as heavy as the cab driver's. "And this is--"
"Louis!" the boy says enthusiastically, causing me to jump. "Nice to meet you."
"Louis, you scared the poor girl," Eleanor giggles, giving his arm a gentle slap. His mouth forms a frown.
"Why did you hurt me?" he asks innocently.
She giggles again before quietly saying, "Love you," and stands on her tiptoes to peck his cheek. He immediately perks up.
"I'm loved!" he says happily, raising both hands in the air, bringing Eleanor's hand up too. I laugh at his energy and her casual acceptance of it.
"What's your name?" Eleanor asks, smiling sweetly while Louis grins down at me beside her.
"I'm Emma," I say, holding in my laughter as Louis repeatedly pokes Eleanor's cheek. She is quick to turn her head and attempt to bite his finger. He gasps and pulls his finger back.
"Emma?" she says, turning to me again. I nod. "Cool. Our names both start with an 'E'." Her smile is wide, then it fades as she gasps, lets go of Louis' hand and reaches for my shoulders, her grip firm. "It's a sign. We're meant to be friends."
I smile at her. "Sounds good to me."
"Where're you from?"
"She sounds American," Louis says, answering for me.
"What he said," I say. "You're a really cute couple."
"Thanks!" Louis says, smiling cheekily.
"Louis," Eleanor giggles, "stop being so loud. It's literally four o'clock in the morning."
"Don't boss me around, missy," he responds quickly, leaning into her face. Eleanor quickly pecks his lips. "Cooties!" he shouts before sticking out his tongue. Another laugh escapes my lips, and I realize this is the first time I've laughed since leaving Glasgow and Emily behind.
"What are you two doing up so late?" I ask curiously. "Or, I guess, this early," I add.
"This fool," Eleanor starts, jabbing her thumb at Louis, "likes to wake me up in the middle of the night so we can go-" (she uses air quotes) "'-exploring.'"
"It's good exercise!" Louis cheers, pointing to his left temple. "Great for the mind." I smile at his positive attitude. Eleanor glares at him, a smile playing on her lips. She turns to me.
"Your accent is so cute! Which state are you from?"
I blush, forgetting, yet again, that I have an accent to them, not just the other way around. "Thank you," I say, smiling. "Yours, too. I'm from Kentucky."
"Very cool." Eleanor beams, and I suddenly want to know more about her and about her strange, outgoing boyfriend. I wonder if she has other friends who are just as nice, or if Louis has any fun boys that would like to meet an American girl who's never had a boyfriend, even if she nearly passes out when a guy speaks to her with any sort of accent.
"You simply must meet the boys," Louis says quickly, as if reading my mind. He reaches forward and grabs my right hand, yanking me and Eleanor along as he stomps toward a nearby elevator.
"Louis!" Eleanor retorts, pulling back on his tight grip. "Her parents are over there and it's four in the morning."
"What's your point?" he asks, continuing to drag me and Eleanor towards the elevator.
"Louis!" She laughs and finally tugs her hand out of his grasp, then bolts towards my parents, who've paid no attention to our interaction whatsoever.
"My lady!" he shouts, letting go of my hand and running after her. I chase after them both, watching as Eleanor runs past my parents and leaps on to the lobby couch. Louis jumps onto her two seconds later. Both of them are laughing. I slow to a walk as I approach the couple on the couch. I glance at the front desk receptionist, but he doesn't seem to notice the ruckus. Louis lies on top of Eleanor, pecking her whole face with kisses.
"Louis, get off me!" She chuckles and pushes him to the floor. He lands with a loud thump.
"Emma, darling," I hear my mom call, a hint of annoyance clouding her tone. "We're going to our room now."
I turn and see my parents standing by the elevator. "Okay," I tell them. "Just a minute." I turn to Louis and Eleanor, who are both getting to their feet. "I have to go," I say, waving as I back away. "I'm sorry."
"Wait," Eleanor says, rushing towards me. She motions for a hug, and I allow her to wrap her thin arms around me, squeezing tight. "It was lovely to meet you, Emma," she says, pulling back and smiling.
"It was nice to meet you, too, Eleanor," I say, returning her happy expression meaningfully.
"What about me?" Louis asks, coming up next to his girlfriend.
"And you, Louis. Especially you." I chuckle as his face lights up.
"Are you busy tomorrow?" Eleanor asks. "The boys would love you."
"I'm free," I smile, "besides some unpacking." I'm not sure what she means by "the boys," but I assume she's talking about their other friends. We exchange cell phone numbers, and I turn to leave.
"Bye, Emma!" Eleanor shouts. I turn and see her waving, Louis jumping up and down beside her, waving both his hands in the air. I wave back, not being able to contain my laughter.
"See you tomorrow, Em!" Louis says excitedly.
"I can't wait!" I shout back, laughing and walking into the elevator with my parents. The last thing I see before the elevator doors come to a gentle close is the smiling faces of my newly found friends.
"They seem..." My mother hesitates. "Nice," she finally says, but her tone is criticizing.
I grin widely. "They are."
Right then and there, I make a silent prayer that I won't have to leave them behind.