#I am flying by the seat of my pants i pulled an all-nighter i have another exam i didn't stidy for bc it takes people a MONTH to prepare

[krc-krc]

What if I, and let me hold your hand while saying this, simply perish, never to return.

[sometimes-we-all-fall]

A little Bucky ff…

It was always a good idea to be the boss’ favourite toy.

She slipped down the pole, every languid inch of her body running down the cold metal. Pulling her limbs down with the darker tempo of the music and when the beat popped, she flipped her head back. Her hair was a flying bird in the air, arms swirling in a twirl that would make saints faint on the spot.

A man to her right: a handsome one with heavy tattoos and that smile, the one all the women fawned over for sure. He was the one who she’d caught the eyes of.

Anna put a hand out to the girl on her left and whispered she’d be right back. Then she climbed down the stage, a beeline straight to the man. He saw her coming and nudged at his friends and when they saw her and their jaws dropped Anna’s pride soared.

Of course Anna was gorgeous, her parents wouldn’t have gotten such a high price for her if she wasn’t.

Smiling a million dollars, Anna swayed her hips right to him. He yanked her, his fingers digging into her waist as he pressed her too close to his torso.

“That ass has my name on it princess.” He whispered in her ear.

Anna tried her hardest not to roll her eyes at the same line every man spluttered out with. Fair enough, on the ledge of her pantyline a delicate tattoo read, ‘your name.’ But she was really fucking tired of it.

“Hands off pretty boy, it's the only rule.” Anna winked but her fingers pried firmly at his hands. He sighed and gave her another firm squeeze before letting go with an overdramatic nod. She got to work then, shaking her ass in his face and running the tips of her fingers everywhere but where he wanted.

It was the whole trading chip of a stripper to leave them wanting more, always on the edge of desire and frustration and relaxation. This man was not taking kindly to her tactics though.

She had one hand in his hair, pulling just enough and the other delightfully too high on his waist. Her tits were definitely on one of each of his eyes as she danced to the music.

“Stop.” he put a hand on her throat, “teasing.” his tongue licked the column of her throat before she could pull away. And when she tried, his hand only held tighter.

Grinning, Anna slid her hand up his arm, pulling her body closer and closer, her bloodred lips inches from his neatly trimmed beard. She ran a streak of that lipstick across his cheek until her lips found the shell of his ear. The man seemed to practically purr.

“If you look behind me, on my right shoulder and next to the bar is a man I am sure is staring at you.” when his hand on her throat faltered a little all Anna’s teeth bore. “His name is James, a former soldier and present advocate for the devil.”

Her words had the man practically melting off her but Anna only leaned closer, let her knees rest between his thighs. “A personal bodyguard of mine you could say and though I told you not to touch…” she trailed off.

Anna slid a hand to the tent below her and leaned all her weight down. He grunted and huffed.

“Pay up.” she whispered, but he only sneered in her face.

She shrugged and released the poor fucker, slapping her hands together as if touching him had left her hands dirty.

The man looked all shades of pissed. “Filthy bitch. Too fucking useless to even give me blueballs.” Anna only winked.

Sad for him really, that streak on his cheek was Anna’s personal penmanship for his demise. Sure enough, as she headed to the bathroom James had gotten off his stool and strutted straight to the man.

Leaning on the cracked sink, Anna closed her eyes for a minute. It was four in the morning and she’d been in these heels for the better part of twelve hours. Her feet hurt. Her head hurt, her eyes and every inch of her body ached.

But, she took a breath and fumbled beneath the pipes of the sink and- there, found it. She only spilled three of the slim pills onto her hand, deciding not to let her head get too fuzzy tonight and chucked them to the back of her throat. The effect was instant, her head feeling like the pins weren’t there and her hands the opposite.

A shuddering breath and a swipe at the mascara under her eyes, Anna straightened herself again, plastered her filthiest smile on and clicked out the bathroom.

James had taken his spot at the bar again, brooding over a knuckle of whiskey. She went over to him, gesturing at Andy across the bar for her regular drink. She only barely missed the seat the first time and knocked into James on her second attempt.

He only exhaled deeply and elbowed her the right way. “Flags and weapons look the same Anna.”

Her brain was too fucked to even understand what the fuck he was on about. “James-”

“That’s not my name.”

“We only live once and all that bullshit. Let me be who I am. To be the best me I can be.”

He feigned a chuckle. “Where’d you hear that one?”

She peeled the skin off a peanut, “subway station.”

The corner of his mouth curled and she nearly choked on the nut.

“A smile? James, you-“

“Anna.”

She grinned evilly. “James.”

“That’s not my name.”

She threw a hand on her chest, gasping “James!”

He shook his head and gave up, swigging from the glass. She rolled her eyes, he was never any fun.

“Alright, Thomas.”

“Still not-”

“I think it’s time I went home.”

James levelled an eye at her, “your shift isn’t over yet.” Anna grimaced but nodded.

She stepped onto the floor and spun his seat so she was nestled between his legs. James raised his chin with a snort. That was the biggest invitation she’d get.

Anna tilted her head, watching where his eyes turned from ‘boss mode’ to ‘whatever’.

Dipping a hand down, she felt the bump at his crotch and ran the tips of her stiletto nails down it. His hips jerked and Anna gleamed.

Andy had turned his back and all other girls secretly hissed at her, Anna was the only one he ever tolerated. The one he’d let be rubbed off for a few extra hours in bed.

He hissed when she came close enough to smell the mint and whiskey on his breath and nipped the hairs of his stubble. She ducked down then and rubbed her nose over his throat, keening when the parcel in her hand throbbed a little.

“Up. Get up and follow me.” He hissed under his breath and she didn’t take a moment to clasp his hand and pull him to the darkest of the booths.

James spread eagled across the surface and caught her as Anna flung herself into his lap. She was on his mouth instantly, pulling and nipping his bottom lip until she was let in to explore. He was warm and soft and familiar, and she fell into the curves of his chest easily.

James hummed in approval when she rolled her hips over his bulge, so she did it again, but this time her fingers tugged those fly-away hairs on his nape. That throbbing pulsed past the leather on her thighs and Anna grinned through the kiss.

They were never gentle, always tugging and clawing at each other for that release. It wasn’t as if James couldn’t have every woman in the club if he wanted, he was the owner, but they lost each other in the familiarity. She had known him since the war ended and watched as he built this place from the ground, only ever asking to be a part of his journey. She didn’t want anything else, didn’t need; at least not from him. Anna would never ask another thing from any man ever again.

“I need you early tomorrow.” James panted through his teeth and she momentarily went still and groaned.

He picked her lips back up and ran a rough hand down her back. “Kelly quit yesterday and we have no one for the live tomorrow. I swear, it's only temporary.”

When he trailed that sweet mouth to her collar it became impossible to think. “How bad-” his devil tongue sliced a path of desire down her chest. “How bad do you want me?”

James knew what she was doing and he couldn’t care less. “Not want.” he raked his cock up her tortoursley. “I need you. Could barely survive without you.”

She was lost and nodded a yes to now and whenever. He praised her beauty before stealing the air from her lungs, his tongue doing dangerous things to her mouth and throat. And she couldn’t help herself from chasing that friction, flushing the denim seam against her aching core. James met her eagerly, happy to be the giver this time round.

He slapped the bare skin around her thong and humped her up and down his lap. She moaned too loud for decency. All too soon there was a bubble in her stomach and she began panting and falling, her limbs giving over to whatever James could offer her. He undid her with every heave but she needed more of him on every part of her body, the body that betrayed her right then.

With a shudder her head exploded into stars and the only way to hold on was to dig her nails into him, a pain that had him ripping the steady pace and fucking her into oblivion. He grunted but still wasn’t there. Only barely hanging on as Anna flew worlds over; but that wouldn’t do at all.

She pulled herself up with renewed vigor and James’ heart fluttered with anticipation. She took over then, a predator spotting its prey. Her hips drew breathy moans from him, pulling apart his sense of self and yanking them together and when her teeth flew to his throat-

He was undone. Spent and too uncontrolled to stop the sounds or jerking of his hips that nearly knocked Anna’s head on the light above them. It rippled through him in ecstasy. He pulled her right to him then, so she was flush with his chest and he could hear her second release barrel through her with the last few thrusts.

Anna lay in his neck, gathering her thoughts from the floor. James was gripping her tight enough she was practically clung to his torso like a monkey. She could feel the humming bird in his chest slowly calm as the breaths in her hair lulled. He was content and Anna was all too happy to sit there, she’d fall asleep in his arms without bother. Even the music seemed satisfied and soft.

The flashing lights had turned to a dim glow for the late nighters and Anna let herself melt. Only for him would she be so content and she knew, Anna just knew this is what it felt like to be truly home. Clustered in his heat where even the scar riddled soldier was happy to dream with his face in her hair.

Anna opened her eyes to darkness. The beeping at the side of her bed seemed to get louder with every second. She flung an arm out and shut the blasted thing up. She was still there in James’ arms for a second before reality hit.

And Anna couldn’t stop the dam from bursting as she wished with all her heart that it could have been real. That James was alive and well. That she wasn’t aching for his smile every blasted morning and his voice every night. Anna prayed that somewhere out there he was alive but it was impossible. Impossible because she was part of Hydra, part of this century and yet it hurt like no torture could ever match. James would only ever be memories in her dreams.

[joyxsoul]

han jisung as ur boyfriend

-lmao there’s so many of these, but here’s another !! (highschool au rlly lol)

-okay, so u two met at school in ur senior year. he was a class clown type, always making jokes, being loud with his friends annoying every one of his teachers along the way.

-bUt, you made him soft !! like the instant he saw you, a little smile was on his face, making his friends (especially his best friend Felix) tease lil jisung, wondering who, or what could have made him this flustered

-i mean, he stopped talking for a full two hours after he saw you, your power

-anyways !!

-you had a couple of classes together, being history and english, and jisung just loved to watch you whenever there was free time between lectures

-it sounds hella creepy (it kinda was), but the way you scrunched your nose when you were concentrated, or your smirk when you finally figured something out or finished a project made his heart jump in his chest

-you were making THE han jisung shut up

-(like i said, your power :3)

-eventually, he grew the courage to talk to you (which included a pep talk from all of his closest friends, making him stand in front of the mirror and scream, “YOU ARE THE SHIT !!”)

-his tactic was to start with a pick-up line, a very classy, “on a scale of one to america, how free are you tonight ?” 

-hyunjin cringed listening to that one, seungmin was sure jisung had blew it and was gonna beat his ass after

-you were a bit surprised; you two weren’t in the same friend group and you hadn’t been seated together at any point

-but you DEFINITELY knew who he was bc who in this school didn’t know his group (a weird combination of crackheads, intellects, and stoners)

-i’ll let you decide who the stoners are in skz ;)

-being as easygoing as you were, you just laughed, responding with “are you from tennessee ? because you’re the only ten i see”

-jisung thought he was going to piss his pants he was so nervous 

-glad that he hadn’t completely ruined his image in front of you, he pulled out the empty chair beside you and struck up a conversation, most likely something related to the substitute asleep at the teacher’s desk

- you guys began to talk more often, working together on various projects, “studying” in the library (all it was was him pointing out random people in a textbook and saying, ‘that’s you’), and sitting together at lunch

-one night, he was facetiming you about homework for your history class. it was probably around 10 pm, and he spent most of the call complaining about how the pizza place messed up his order and gave him pepperoni instead of cheese 

-he had this gray hoodie on; he looked so tired and you constantly fussed over how he should get some more sleep, but he looked so cute in-

-wait did you just call him cute

-you couldn’t lie, jisung was attractive; his almond shaped eyes, his heart shaped mouth, his fluffy long hair, how his nickname was ‘quokka’ due to his face and his personality, how he texted you every morning and night, the way he said your name-

- “y/n ? is something wrong ? stop staring at my face.”

-oh shit you have a crush on han jisung

- “i told you to stop staring !! what, you have a crush on me or something ?” you shook yourself out of it, staring at him through the screen with wide eyes

-he was playing with the strings of his hoodie, his hair being messy with all the times he ran his hand through it. it was a habit you always rolled your eyes at; he’d obviously spend time in the mornings to make it look nice, only for him to ruin in ten minutes into talking about the cold war

-your other friends (wendy and lucas in particular) always teased you about your relationship with jisung

-”DO YOU SEE THOSE PUPPY EYES ?? LOOK AT HIM STARING AT YOU! !”

-”lucas please shut up.”

-but when you did look, jisung was staring at you, his smoothie straw hanging out of his mouth

-you couldn’t help but laugh at how dumb he looked

-and wow, you almost thought you saw his cheeks turn pink when you giggled 

“i know i wasn’t the only one who saw that.” lucas was looking like he was going to cry, wendy just looked fed up

-you didn’t know when your crush on him started. in those seconds of silence where you and jisung were just ogling at each other through the phone camera, you reflected on where it could’ve all gone wrong

-was it the time he held your hand when he was walking you home when an older man got too close for your liking ? or was it the time you were hanging out at his house and he fell asleep on your lap, only to smile in his sleep when you began running your fingers through his hair ? or was it the time when you two went out for boba tea when the waitress said you were a cute couple, only for him to smile and say, “thank you.”

“..y/n ?”

-”jisung, i have a crush on you.”

-silence

-pure silence

-oh my god, you messed everything up. the screen had gone black, you didn’t hear anything. building up your courage, you actually saw that he had hung up the phone, the numbers taunting you. 

-call ended  2:29

-you didn’t know what to do. your body felt numb, all sounds muted. you could only focus on a car passing by, a bird flying against the wind, the soft raindrops against the window.

-what are you supposed to do ? you had just lost the one person who you cared about the most. you two had known each other for a little over two months, but you'd already grown extremely close. you told him everything, he trusted you.

-and you fucked up a perfect, amazing friendship.

-the rain was getting heavier now, but you didn’t mind. it was always comforting to listen to, especially when you felt upset. your parents weren’t home until sunday, and as it was a saturday night, you had plenty of time to cry it out.

-”Y/N !!”

-god, you were going crazy, you swore you just heard jisung’s voice

-”Y/N !! PLEASE LET ME IN ITS RAINING AND I’M TIRED”

-dumbfounded, you looked out your bedroom window to find jisung, still wearing his gray hoodie, a little drenched, with pebbles in his hand

-oh wow he rlly went full rom com with this one

-rushing downstairs, you pulled open the front door, only to be attacked by a hug from jisung, giggling to himself in glee

- “i got here as fast as i could, i need you.” with that, he pressed his lips against yours, still wet from the rain. he smiled into it, letting out a chuckle when you kissed him back. you pulled away quickly though, the blush on your cheeks turning into a full on tomato. jisung pouted, you poking his face as he flushed pink

- “in case you couldn't tell, i like you too. thought it was obvious.” he elbowed you, leading you up to your room while muttering “this isn’t real, this isn’t real”

-”you sleepy ?” you asked, making room for him on the bed. he just nodded, saying the homework could wait

-it was a little past midnight, and all you wanted to do was sleep. you climbed in, turning off all the lights, feeling jisung’s arms snake around your waist. he put his head into your neck, humming a song that wasn't familiar. just feeling his breath on your neck was making you drift off

- “goodnight sunshine, i’ll see you in the morning.” he placed a lazy kiss on your cheek, and drifted off.

-when it came to you two actually dating, no one was surprised (except mark, but he was oblivious at the best of times). the rest of skz couldn’t care less about what you looked like; they all knew how happy you made jisung and really, that’s all that matters

-jisung was always clingy, but dating him made it worse. he was always nearby, wanting to hold your hand, wanting to play with your fingers; basically any excuse to touch you. if you don’t like pda, he would definitely respect that, it made all those moments you shared with him that much more special

-he always had a nickname for you, but ever since you had first met, ‘sunshine’ had stuck. you never knew why, but jisung just thought you glowed, even at 3 pm on a school day or 7 am on a weekend because wow he loves you

-more than anything, he loved when you played with his hair, whether you were just touching it, or running your hands through it

-he might have liked it a bit too much, but uh you were not ready to venture down that path

-jisung would also spray his cologne on all of the hoodies he gave you because he knows how much you love it

-you have SO MANY OF HIS HOODIES IN YOUR HOME

-it’s not funny

-you keep telling him to take them back, but he doesn’t want them ?? “cooties bro. can’t.”

-you aren’t complaining, they’re comfy >:((

-jisung teases the ShiT oUt OF yOU

-like one day you came into class with your friend acting cute in an attempt to steal some of her hot cheetos

-only to have HEADASS just stare at you blankly, exclaiming “you look mentally unstable” while he laughed at you

-this along with doing middle school boy shit

-i’m talking taking your notebook and hiding it in another spot of the classroom, scaring you in the hallway, making you pull worksheets out of his hands while he passed them out

-think of ANYTHING that gives off middle school boy energy, he’s done it

-as annoying as he is

-he loves you. a lot. like, his main goal in your relationship is to make sure you’re happy with him, that you aren’t going to leave him because he isn’t putting the effort in

-you keep assuring him you love him, that you’d never do that to him. but no matter how many times he nods, or smiles

-there’s uncertainty in his eyes. because of that, he always assures you how beautiful you are, stays up all night if he has to when you pull an all nighter to study, gives you all the hoodies he can provide

-not only because he feels like he has to, but he’d do anything to see you happy; no matter how tired he feels 

-it breaks his heart to see you upset

-one day, you had gotten a test back while hanging out at jisung’s house, trying to help him study. you opened your score and your heart dropped. a 59%. that’s the worst you’d ever done. you had stayed up multiple nights to study, putting off your own personal needs in order to success

-it wasn’t enough. and that hurt

-jisung saw you start to cry and he  f r e a k e d

-oh god, his precious sunshine was crying and he didn’t know what to do

-he fumbled for a bit, saying, “it’s going to be okay !! it’s just one grade !!” only for you to cry harder and him to freak out even more

-eventually, he just hugged you from behind, laying you down on the couch. you were shaking so bad and it was making jisung tear up; he really hated seeing you like this 

-he knew talking wouldn't help, so he let you cry, wiping away your tears and rubbing small circles into your back. 

-”you’re okay sunshine, just hold onto me.” you always thought you didn’t deserve someone like him. someone so loving, so supportive. 

-but you love him. you’ve never loved someone like him; how dumb he sounded but always gave the best advice, always teasing you at any time during the day but shows up in front of your door with flowers just because

-and so when he sings “i smile” while caressing your cheek, you know there’s no place you’d rather be. in his arms, the vibration of his voice lulling you to sleep and just how warm he was

-and when you got to see him perform with the rest of his rapping group, your eyes just couldn’t leave him. his charisma, his confidence, how he’d always wink at you when he spotted you in the crowd. he was truly ethereal there, almost angelic in whatever he wore, because look at him

-almost nothing was better than seeing him backstage after a show to see him; him smirking when he’d pull you into his arms still sweaty when he’d whisper “missed you babydoll”

-no matter how much he’d nag you for staying up too late and not putting enough time into yourself, and no matter how much you’d nag him for not eating enough, you wouldn’t trade each other for the moon and all of her stars

-if soulmates existed, you were lucky enough to find yours in a shitty high school at 9:40 a.m. with a cheesy pick-up line

-but you wouldn’t have it any other way

AGHHHHH i really hope everyone liked this ?? ugh, it feels so rushed, but it’s really late here, so i hope i did sungie justice :((

[frehleys-baby]

Resurrection Fic, Chapter 1

(Alternatively titled Gene Goes Yeet, proofread by the lovely @cosmicrealmofkissteria ! Warning for mild blood and gore and death!)

Gene wished she’d just stayed asleep.

He wished he could’ve stayed asleep, wished he could’ve just rolled over and pulled Frances in his arms and went right back to sleep, hearing her sigh out a contented breath as he drifted back into dreamland.

But he couldn’t. Not tonight. Tonight was a night to atone, a night to fix mistakes of past, present and future. A night to make everything right, to turn all his wrongs around.

And Lord knows he had plenty of those.

As he coasted along a dimly lit road, he heard Frances’s breathing start to falter and become sharper as she returned to the land of the conscious.

Her short blonde bangs were messy, with the rest of her. She was in wrinkled PJs, a shirt of his and some lounge pants, barefoot.

Gene had pulled her out of bed, remembering with a bittersweet fondness how she’d clung to his arm in her sleep, grumbling protests. He’d simply kissed the furrows on her forehead until she had drifted back enough into sleep to continue putting her in the car.

Her utterly disheveled bangs were hiding eyebrows Gene knew were scrunched in confusion, and through bleary brown eyes, she struggled to identify him in the darkness of the car.

“It’s me”, he spoke, the edge of his voice cutting across the black shadow of the car, and he watched her body ease out of flight or fight mode.

“...Am I dreaming?” She asked, voice thick with drowsiness as Frances patted around the roof of the car for the light.

It flicked on as he took a breath to answer, and Gene could feel her eyes boring through him, starting to become fully awake to the world and what was occurring in the moment. He could feel the confusion, the slight fear radiating off her in hitting him like bullets. Each second longer put new holes in his skin, tearing through his control and his steeled face. They ricocheted around the car as he exhaled, and turned his eyes to briefly meet hers.

“We’re moving.”

Her eyes widened in surprise, then a laugh nervously jittered past her lips. Gene tensed at the sound, and the anxious bubble of laughter stopped as quickly as it came.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No.”

“Seriously, why are we in the car? This is a joke!”

She laughed anxiously yet again, and he recollected himself, setting his jaw.

“It’s not a joke. We’re leaving New York.”

The knives Frances shot in his direction were sharp as razors, and they simply cut into the wounds she’d already unknowingly given him.

“I did something stupid,” he finally admitted, his ego growling and writhing in protest.

“I fucked up. I fucked up real bad, Frankie.”

Her glare only hardened as he continued, and his grip on the wheel stiffened.

“I thought I could do something and I could handle it and I couldn’t. So now we have to leave. You can’t talk to anyone we knew back there. Not even your family, or friends or anyone.”

She didn’t say anything in response. Not a word, a grunt or groan or sigh, hardly a breath.

Frances didn’t even blink as she turned to face the windshield, staring down the backroad he was driving on. When she finally took a breath, the calm noise erupted into a splintering sob, and Frances brought her hands to her eyes as she began a breakdown.

It was only 3 am and Gene had already ruined a life that wasn’t his to ruin.

She had none of the things that he’d expected.

She had no anger, no pain.

She did not scream at him, she did not bellow at him to turn around, or to let her out.

Frances simply just pulled her legs to her chest, and ran her fingers through her hair, bangs falling in her eyes.

“...What did you do, Gene?”

“It doesn’t matter.” He bit back, and she sighed, resigned and tired.

“If it was bad enough to run, bad enough to put me in your damn car without the courtesy of waking me until we were on the road, it does matter.”

Gene dug his nails into the leather of his wheel, thinking back over what he’d done. It wasn’t really just one thing, rather a myriad. Bad decisions, thoughts he could make business and borrow money and get big without help, and instead he found himself at the feet of someone much larger than he’d expected.

Gene had found himself with teeth cut out of his mouth, mere warnings for “speaking like he was God”. Speaking in ultimatums, it was a terrible habit of his.

Nothing was concrete, nothing he said had to go that way. He loved his self-confidence, but right now, it had screwed him over like everyone always said it would.

God had pulled the rug out from under his feet this time, and Gene had fallen hard, and had taken Frances to the ground with him.

“...I decided I could go solo. No manager, no middle man, just me and producers and everything else. I’d make the most money, have the most power, what I said would go.”

Gene’s shoulders slumped ever so slightly as he spoke once more.

“But we didn’t have the money for it. I didn’t have the money for it.” He shamefully admitted. With how hard Gene worked his ass off to follow what he loved, and the way Frances worked too, that was the last thing he wanted to admit. They were broke after bills. There was no money left to chase after fame. There was hardly enough money to buy a gallon of milk.

Frances slapped a hand to her face, and Gene’s nostrils flared in annoyance. This was the reaction he had expected. This toxic anger he managed to rise out of her, the effect he had on her. Frances would never harm a fly, but Gene managed to make her spit fire when she grew angry. The two of them reacted like matches and striking paper; their personalities rubbing friction and causing flames.

Frances’s eyes became burnt embers, smoldering in anger.

“Jesus bleedin’ Christ, Gene!”

“So I borrowed some from some loaners-“

Her thin legs kicked his dash, and she held her head in her hands as she hunched over.

“You’re a damn idiot!”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me! You could’ve asked my parents if we needed money!”

Gene’s fists clenched and his foot began to press harder on the gas. He leered at her, and she looked flabbergasted.

“Not everyone feels comfortable running to someone else to money whenever they need it.”

“Gene, that’s better than-“

Frances turned to face him, her seatbelt straining against the movement. Her face was still as a statue, her voice little and incredulous.

“...Did you just not want to ask them?”

He scoffed, his shoulders tensing.

“Don’t be stupid.”

A knowing, soured smile stretched across her face. The spite in her eyes gleamed in the streetlights, dimming and brightening as he drove away and towards the lamp poles

“That’s exactly why, isn’t it? The high and mighty Mr. Simmons didn’t want to admit he had no cash to my parents.”

If Gene could’ve spat blood, he would’ve sent a spray across the windshield.

“Frances, that’s not-

Are you serious right now?”

She curled back into resignation, legs pressed back against her chest.

“Now I can't even tell them that. I can’t even go home now.”

Gene narrowed his eyes, then turned back to the windshield. Laser point focus beamed into what few cars drove past them, most semis that were hauling things from one place to another, pulling all-nighters because it was how they got paid. He ignored her because she was right, and he had nothing to say to make it better. He couldn’t spin this situation his way.

Or maybe he could.

Gene pulled to a stop on the road, throwing the car into park before unbuckling his seatbelt and leaning over the center console. Frances looked at him, and responded by turning her head towards the window. Her straw shaded hair was turned golden in the yellowed beams of the car’s lighting system, and her pale face was wet with tears, rehydrating the ones that had dried. He reached across, and grabbed her shoulder, pulling her towards him. Frances’s head lolled lazily towards him, and he captured her jaw with a hand, pulling her in for a kiss.

“We can do this. We don’t need your parents or your brother, or anything. Hell, we don’t even need New York or anything we left there. All we need is each other.”

“You’re forgetting something, Gene.”

He scrunched his face, actual concern flashing across his features.

He ran what he had grabbed through his head, and what his brain had decided was that he'd left nothing of importance. His frizzy curls bounced as he tilted his head in mild confusion, and she sighed, a weary smile on her lips.

“The one thing that would probably sleep in the bed with you if I let it.”

She raised an eyebrow while he mockingly pondered a thought.

“My axe. We need that, everything else can go. You, me and the axe, babe, all we need.”

He wiped her eyes with a rough thumb, and she leaned into his touch, smiling despite the pain in her eyes. He felt like they were teenagers again, and she coughed out a tear-stained laugh.

“Damn your axe, and damn you.”

He leaned back over to kiss her, and the two shut their eyes, simply taking in the other’s presence. Frances leaned into his touch, and reached for his free hand. She whispered gently, her eyes still closed. Frances rested her forehead against his, and a modicum of relaxation spread across Gene’s shoulders. Maybe they really could do this.

“I love you, you asshole.”

“I know.”

Gene took her hand, and much to her surprise, felt it yanked forward, violently, with more force than a man.

The sickening crack and snap and bend of steel hit her ears, and splinters of glass buffeted her skin, embedding in the soft flesh of her exposed arms, past the thin fabric protecting her legs. The side of Frances’s head slammed into the dash with a hearty “thwack”, the airbags deploying almost a second too soon, and she gasped. Warmth dragged languidly down her temple, and she felt a shooting pain in her arm, fading into the feeling of pins and needles.

Terrified of what she knew she’d see, or rather what she didn’t know she’d see, Frances squeezed her eyes further shut.

She patted an arm around to the seat next to her, trying to feel for something, anything. A leg, an arm, a head, something.

Nothing. All she felt was the dip in the seat from where Gene sat.

Scared eyes opened to the light of a semi casting her shadow onto the windshield, and bringing notice to the fact that there was a body laying limp across the hood of the car.

Gene.

It was Gene.

Frances scrambled to open the door, shouting, screaming obscenities and pleads, her eyes welling up with tears once more.

The passenger door creaked and groaned with her adrenaline fueled efforts, the back having been crushed by the ramming it had just received, eventually budging open enough for her to squeeze out.

Frances presses her back tight against the frame of the car, managing to narrowly get out, her pajama pants ripping on a piece of metal twisted sharp, burying its point in the flesh of her calf as she pulled past it. Frances gasped in pain, finding herself outside the car, walking barefoot on broken glass.

She hardly felt the glass in her feet, running to the front of the car and trying to look at Gene.

His chest did not move, and his mouth did not speak when she called his name once again.

Gently, with the touch a mother holds her newborn, Frances turned his head, biting her lip out of fear of the unknown.

She screamed in response to the horrific sight- Gene’s jaw had busted into two, his left eye cleaved neatly by a large piece of glass. His throat was decorated with sharp pieces of glass deciding to make his trachea their new home, and his one saved eye was filled with blood and staring lifelessly at the sky. His blood was across her hands, steaming in the nighttime cold, the air sapping what warmth his now empty body had in it.

Frances shuddered, sobbing and shaking, pressing her hands against her chest, desperate to take what little of him he’d left before he’d been so cruelly yanked from this world. She covered her mouth with a soaked palm, leaving its red-stained impression before she went to the side of the road, crying.

Frances fell to her knees and wretched, emptying herself of what was left of the dinner the two of them shared, and ridding her body of one more thing he’d had something to do with.

The sour taste of bile invaded her senses as she rose to her feet, and saw a shadow begin to loom over her. She had realized the driver of the semi was just now getting out, and when she turned to confront them, she was shoved to the ground again, her face shoved into what was previously her stomach contents. She didn’t see her assailant, her boyfriend’s murderer. But Frances has heard his voice, thick with what was either raw enjoyment or regret.

“Sorry you got involved. But you know what happened, and you can’t go.”

Frances stiffened with fear as something cold and hard pressed to the back of her head.

As she realized this was her death, she relaxed. Frances simply let her body go limp.

“Get on with it, you rotten bastard.”

She heard the safety click, and she closed her eyes.

What she hadn’t managed to hear was the rumble of another semi passing by, one that was a Good Samaritan and had called authorities to report the screaming barefoot woman on the backroad.

She heard the sirens, and she felt the metal leave her skull, footsteps crunching as they raced across the grass beside the road, the rustle of trees as the murderer disappeared into the night.

Frances sat up, wiping her face of vomit and grass with her sleeve, and stared into the face of a police officer, an older black man with silvering temples and a strong set to his jaw. Wrinkles in his forehead grew stronger as he peered further down at her.

“What the hell happened to you, child?” He asked, and Frances simply blinked.

“I left everything. And then I lost everything.”

Tag list!

@mephxles

@kissyourrosegoodbyemotley

@kissmyspaceace

@ashlethenggm

@spacefoxy-jen

@spacefoxy-irl

[agameoffanfics]

heartlines ( pt. 1 )

pairings: steve rogers x f!oc ( riley stark ) -- technically my own version of a reader character. word count: 1873 warnings: none notes: completely ignoring canon because that’s the name of my game. i wrote this for me, but y’all can read it too i guess. this is going to be a multi part series that i’m absolutely winging. it’s a surprise for all of us where it’s gonna go. summary: falling in love had been easy -- like breathing, or basking in the sun. it had happened before either of them had noticed or were able to put a stop to it -- not that they had truly wanted to. they had both been lonely and craving companionship, but neither of them had gone out seeking it. happening upon each other had been something of fury’s design.

steve had been out of the ice for a few weeks now, and was readjusting to this modern world in his shield sanctioned brooklyn apartment. he kept odd hours -- falling asleep well past midnight, waking up in a cold sweat around three am, getting up and showering and making it to the gym an hour later. it was a quiet place, especially that early in the morning. it was easy for him to get lost in his thoughts and sweat through his pain.

riley’s hours weren’t much better, though she often kept herself cooped up in the lab levels of stark tower, often hunched over several tablets of research. it wasn’t uncommon for her to pull all nighters, strictly because she had consumed far too much caffeine than any human being should have been able to process, and because being ‘on the verge of a breakthrough’ was just far too exciting to sleep through.

during a routine visit to stark industries labs, fury made it a point to catch riley before leaving to discuss something of great importance.

“ your dad says you don’t get out enough. ” it was a statement laced with the implication of a coming request. riley often ‘advised’ on shield matters, usually within the science and tech departments, and had, on occasion, been taken into the field.

“ i think i get out enough. i went and got a rainbow bagel yesterday with nat. ” she retorted and took a sip of iced coffee.

“ a rainbow bagel? ” a raised eyebrow punctuated his question and indicated that they were now moving on from the subject. “ -- i have a job for you, if you’re up for it. ”

“ but i haven’t finished the other project you -- ”

“ pass that along to your father, he’s more than capable. this is a matter of more importance. come with me. ” he said practically over his shoulder as he headed to the elevator.

riley hopped down from where she had been sitting in her high top chair and momentarily stumbled, her legs cramped from sitting cross legged. once she caught up with fury and slipped into the elevator, she leaned back against the cool metal bar and crossed her arms over her chest. “ what’s the job? ”

fury held out a tablet to her, which she took and started flipping through what looked like a shield personnel file. “ captain steve rogers. i’m sure you know about him already. i need you to drop this off to him. ”

with that, he held out a large yellow envelope, sealed and marked ‘classified’. with a raised eyebrow of her own, she took the envelope and glanced up at nick. “ this is the matter of more importance? running an errand for you? ”

“ it’s a favor. besides, rogers keeps similar hours that you do. you’re likely to find him at the location marked in his file between four and five. ”

“ at night? ”

“ in the morning. you’re usually awake then, aren’t you? i get emails from you time stamped around then all the time. ”

“ so you want me to follow this guy to his gym at four in the morning to give him an envelope? ”

“ -- pretty much. can i count on you? ”

with a sigh, she handed the tablet back and tucked the envelope under her arm as the elevator doors opened.. “ sure. ”

“ thank you, stark. ” with that, nick glided out of the building and climbed into a black sedan and was gone, leaving riley standing in the lobby of her own building, feeling a little confused at the entire exchange.

---

like clockwork, steve rogers walked into the empty gym at four am with a duffel bag over his shoulder. after a quick trip to the locker room, he had changed from his civilian clothing to a shield t-shirt and gym pants and got to work.

half an hour later, riley walked in, carrying the envelope and following the sound of fists angrily colliding with what she hoped was a punching bag. it struck her as odd that there weren’t any other sounds -- no music, no tv, nothing.

she stood a few feet away from steve for several moments, even gave a quiet hello, but had clearly not been noticed. so, she found a bench nearby, sat cross legged, and waited. she found him almost mesmerizing to watch.

the way the muscles in his arms moved with each punch was hypnotic, the sound of his fist against the bag were rhythmic, lulling her away from her own thoughts, just watching and listening -- until the bag went flying across the room, making her jump and yelp with surprise.

steve turned on his heel quickly, dropping his fists and scrunching his eyebrows together in confusion when he saw her, sitting there, with a look of shock on her face.

“ sorry! ” she said quickly, and stood up. “ sorry, i said something earlier, but you didn’t hear me, so i figured i’d wait until you were done punching things. ”

“ -- who are you? ” the question was valid, even though it did catch riley a little off guard. it wasn’t often that someone didn’t recognize her -- usually as ‘iron man’s daughter’.

“ i’m riley. riley stark. uh, ” she took a few steps closer and held the envelope out. “ fury sent me to give this to you. like, he specifically sent me here, at this time. i promise i didn’t stalk you down or anything. i’m a scientist, not a spy. ”

“ stark? ” his tone was softer than before, laced with hopefulness. “ as in -- ”

“ tony stark. iron man. yeah, that’s my dad. ” she felt slightly uncomfortable, and a little overshadowed despite the fact that she was a literal genius, boiled down to being some rich guy’s attractive daughter. but it didn’t make her any less proud to be a stark.

“ i was actually gonna say howard. ” an amused grin spread across his face, not quite touching his eyes, as he flipped the envelope over and opened it.

“ oh, yeah, ” she often forgot about her grandfather -- she had never met him, and her dad didn’t talk about him all that often. “ i forgot that you knew him. ”

“ i did. he was a great guy. good friend, too. ”

“ good, that’s -- good. ” from what her father had said, she wasn’t so sure she believed that. but, everyone was entitled to their own opinions. “ so... now you have that, i think i might go. i don’t want to impose on your work out any further. ”

“ it’s fine, really. i was about to head out soon and grab breakfast. ”

“ oh yeah? where from? ” she couldn’t help being nosy -- she loved breakfast foods.

at the name of the restaurant, riley grinned. it was a little hole in the wall type place, owned and operated by the same family for generations, and they served some of the best food she ever had. it was a twenty four hour joint, too, and she went fairly often, despite having to go all the way to brooklyn to do so.

after a few more awkward exchanges, she headed for the door, leaving steve behind to flip through the files in the dim lighting. just as she reached for the handle, she turned around and glanced him up and down before asking, “ hey, mind if i tag along? ”

steve looked up slowly from the page and raised an eyebrow. she was attractive, he couldn’t deny that, and he wondered what kind of motive she had behind asking. still, the company would be nice. “ not at all. give me five minutes to change. ”

---

the walk was a fairly silent one; steve slowed his pace so she could keep up, and they talked briefly on her job and what she did with shield.

once they arrived, steve held the door for her, and she made a bee line for her favorite spot -- the corner booth by the window, and slid in sideways to the booth against the wall, and pulled her knees close to her chest. steve took the seat opposite her, and set his bag between himself and the wall. the booths were fairly worn out blue leather, but they were comfortable in the way an old couch was.

“ you come here often? ” she asked. “ that’s not a pick up line, either. ”

with another half grin, he said, “ sometimes. the coffee’s not too bad. neither are the pancakes. ”

“ the pancakes are probably the best in the entire city. i’ve had three stacks before. my dad’s head of security had to come drive me home because i couldn’t walk. ”

“ is that so? ” he laughed lightly. 

“ yeah. don’t challenge me to any sort of eating competitions. i won’t stop until i drop. or pop. y’know, whichever comes first, ” she replied with a grin. as they placed their orders and waited for their food, they kept up the small talk. it surprised riley how easy he was to talk to, and how freely he had her laughing.

once their coffee had gone cold and the sun started to come up, she made the first move to leave. “ i should head home. sunrise is usually my bedtime. ”

“ you live in midtown, right? ” steve asked as he climbed out of the booth and pulled his bag over his shoulder. as riley stood, he pulled out his wallet and left a cash tip on the table. “ i can see you home -- if you’d like. ”

“ oh, ” her cheeks flushed just slightly at the thought of him escorting her home. it was a sweet offer, one she didn’t expect. “ you don’t have to. i know it’s wildly out of your way. ”

“ i don’t mind. i’d rather make sure you got home safely. ” he held the door open for her as they walked out onto the sidewalk, into the cool morning air. she shivered slightly and rubbed her arms, and looked up at the orange morning sky, and didn’t notice steve removing his jacket and moving to place it over her shoulders.

“ -- thank you, ” her tone was laced with mild surprise as she slipped her arms into the warm sleeves. honestly, everything about this encounter surprised her. she knew he was from an older era, but his old fashioned gentleman gestures really caught her off guard -- in the best way.

“ of course, ” he replied with a half smile. he watched her with interest as she wrapped herself in his jacket. it was big on her small frame, practically swallowing her whole. it was endearing, and made him feel some type of way he couldn’t really explain. “ so, has a rich dame like you ever ridden the subway? ”

[rtirman-blog]

33          Back to ND and a Near                 Fatal Mistake

When it was time to return to Notre Dame, Mother, Joe, Sally, and I, again, made the trip together. Only, instead of Sally and me being in the back seat with her secretly nursing me as my head was buried under her blouse, I was confidently driving the car.  Sally was in the front with me. I look at all that as a sign of personal growth.

On this trip, I actually participated in conversation.  I really don’t know whether I embarrassed Sally when we drove to Penn Station in the summer.  I suppose, I am simply exposing self judgement, i.e.  riding all the way to New York with my head under Sally’s blouse while kissing her breasts was a sign of an insecure baby. But it sure beats driving!

Suddenly, “Whoa, Richard! You Are Going into Brooklyn! “    I swerved across multiple lanes of traffic to keep us headed for Manhattan.  Luckily, we did not crash, and we, eventually, made it safely to Penn Station. After saying our good-byes on the station platform, I was soon settled in my seat, headed west for school.  As I should have known, over the holiday, I did absolutely no studying for my finals. My books traveled with me, but I never opened them. Beside weighing me down, I felt guilty for not studying.

 That semester, I squeezed out a passing grade in Embryology, pulled a saving all-nighter for my Sociology exam, and made it through German, Logic, and Physics with halfway decent grades.  I was feeling fairly good because I was moving forward. One more semester and I’ll be a junior.  The coming Spring Semester looked interesting- Chemistry (Qualitative Analysis), Physics, German, Intro to Psychology, and Music of the Twentieth Century.

 At the start of the semester, I was feeling pretty confident.  So far, Qualitative Analysis was the best chemistry class I had ever taken, and I was sailing through all my courses. However, leave it to me to complicate my existence.  When I finished working on a physics exam, which we faced every other week, I did something really stupid. The physics’ students were seated in every other seat.  Between our seats, the chemistry students were taking one of their exams.

We were in 127 Nieuwland Science Hall, a large, inclined, lecture hall accommodating about one-hundred fifty students. I was seated in the first row, flying through my exam.  Just as I finished, the chemistry student on my right very quietly asked if I would help him with a problem on his exam.  I took my scratch paper and wrote out the problem he was pointing to on his exam. As I was ready to show him his completed question, out of his mouth he whispered “WATCH OUT!”.  His fear of getting caught by the proctor, who was way up in the back of the room, his whisper was decibels higher  than a shout, and heard by everyone.  All eyes were upon us.  I quickly put my scratch paper under my exam. The proctor came directly down the aisle, and stood in front of me.  He picked up all my papers, and thumbed through them.  He found my scratch paper with the chemistry problem clearly worked out.  He then asked me, while pointing to the chemistry problem, what’s this?  I told him I had just finished my test, and I happened to see the other kid’s exam. I saw the problem, and was curious to see if I could still do it. He looked at both of us, told us to put our exams and papers on the desk, and leave.  

 That was on a Friday. By the following Monday, I was sitting in an office, under the Golden Dome, talking with the Prefect of Discipline, Father McCarragher, “affectionately” known to the student body as “Black Mac”.   He let me know that even though I was trying to help another student, I was considered just as guilty as that other student.  He also told me I was given a zero on my exam and, at the completion of the course, ten percent of my final grade will be deducted. Also, Father Mac told me he made the decision to bring me on to campus, as the University would like to know more about me.  I was to meet with Father Dean, Rector of St. Edwards Hall.

 I fully agreed I deserved punishment.  However, I quietly thought the punishment was more hurtful than it needed to be.  For sure, I intended to never repeat that offense, and having my grade lowered so drastically, misrepresents the knowledge I had gained, ergo, misrepresenting my abilities.  Wasn’t pulling me on campus enough? Couldn’t they have simply taken 10% off my exam grade, and put a note about the incident on my transcript?  Better yet, just lower my final grade one grade lower. However, the long and short of it was, I screwed up, and I needed to face whatever my professor and Father Mac saw fit.

 Later that day, I met with Father Dean, who didn’t mention a thing about my faux pas.  In a soft spoken way, he told me about St. Ed’s Hall, assigned me to a room, and went over some of the Hall rules.  We had a 10 P.M. curfew, lights out at 11 P.M., and a requirement, at least twice per week, to check-in between 6 and 7 A.M., fully dressed, at the first floor entrance to the Hall.  As it was for all students living on campus, the early morning check-in was to encourage me to attend Mass.  I asked Father Dean if I was really required to do the morning check, since I was not a Catholic, I was Episcopalian.  Yes, I was expected to participate in the morning check.  Father Dean told me once I have checked in, I could go up to my room and go back to sleep if I prefer. But he did suggest, I go to the Dining Hall or the Huddle, grab a cup of coffee, and start off those days early.  I have to say, I liked Father Dean!

I was assigned to a triple. My two roommates were two Irish Catholics, Bill Holman and Bill (sometimes Will) Johnson.  They were good friends who fought like brothers. I was fortunate, they were superb roommates.  Thy helped me settle in and feel very welcome.

 Getting in trouble at Notre Dame, and being housed in St. Ed’s, was tantamount to placing an innocent lad into a den of thieves.  Although, I am sure they did, I don’t recall Holman and Johnson ever studying, consistently. I do remember being escorted to a soda machine, that continued to pour out your drink selection if you pulled the plug out of the wall.  When we reached the machine there was a line of guys waiting, with cups to fill.  The next thing I learned from my hall mates was how to make a free telephone call. There was no such thing as a cell phone, and telephone calls were ten cents for a local call.  By piercing the telephone wire with a safety pin, you could get a dial tone by tapping the safety pin on the metal of the coin return.  The telephone wires in St. Ed’s looked like Swiss cheese. I’m certain, these kind of shenanigans could be found all over the country. AT&T got smart. They put flexible metal coverings on every public telephone wire in existence.  Our criminal behavior culminated with three or four of us, at midnight, on the roof top at the south end of Nieuwland Science Hall. We were black faced, wearing dark, navy, wool hats, and dark sweaters and pants.  There were faculty offices there, as well as exams.  It was like a Navy Seal raid on the Chemistry Department! Abort! Abort!  The windows to the faculty offices were locked. We didn’t know how to open them without breaking a window. I guess we would have to study, or do what some students would do- make cliff notes.  One of my closest buddies, whose initials are, Don Hazelton, would spend hours on cliff notes.  Before going to his exam, he would put the cliff notes in his underwear.  He figured if he got stuck, he could ask to go to the bathroom.  Even if he was escorted to the john, he would be able to be alone in a stall.  He could look at his notes, and then, flush them down the toilet.  An interesting thing is that he never had to use the bathroom scheme.  He spent so much time putting his cliff notes together, he inadvertently learned the material. It was partly responsible for making him a pretty good student.

Perhaps the best result of me being pulled on campus, I was getting the entire college experience. I was a full-fledged Notre Dame student, who lived on campus. I learned so many things about the halls, the priests, the students, and the traditions of the school. In short, I was much more a part of the University.

[krissysbookshelf]

Enjoy An Exclusive Sneek Peek Of: I See London, I See France!

Nineteen-year-old Sydney has the perfect summer mapped out. She's spending the next four and a half weeks travelling through Europe with her childhood best friend Leela. Their plans include Eiffel Tower selfies, eating cocco gelato, and making out with très hot strangers. Her plans do not include Leela's cheating ex-boyfriend showing up on the flight to London, falling for the cheating ex-boyfriend's très hot friend, monitoring her mother's spiraling mental health via texts, or feeling like the rope in a friendship tug of war.  

LEARN MORE

  LONDON, ENGLAND

  The Basics: London, the capital of England, is the perfect gateway city for your European adventure. You can fly there directly from pretty much anywhere in America, it’s a five-hour time difference from the East Coast, plus the Brits speak English.

Um, most of the time. They snog instead of kiss, wear knickers instead of underwear, and spend pounds instead of dollars, so you might not always understand what they’re bloody (bloody=curse word!) talking about.

I am going to Europe. EUROPE. I am leaving the country.

I have never left the country, and now I’m going to at least five countries.

If we make it to the gate.

“Run, Leela, run! Come on! Hurry!” I yell as the two of us charge through the airport. “They just called final boarding!”

“Wait!” she calls back. “I lost a sandal!”

I turn to see her hopping on one foot. Her bright blue purse is overflowing with a black leather wallet, Vogue, People, EW, Newsweek, hand sanitizer, a small notepad, pencils, her iPhone, and an open metallic makeup bag the size of a microwave. She’s also holding a white plastic bag stuffed with chips, a vitaminwater, and a sandwich.

“I dropped the napkins!” she says. “I have to go back for the napkins!”

“Forget the napkins,” I order. “We don’t have time for napkins. Put your foot back in your shoe and keep moving! I’ll take your food, let’s go!”

I grab her bag along with mine and keep running. Instead of a purse, I’m wearing a small black backpack that’s keeping everything in place. My passport. My wallet. My guidebook. Four paperbacks—One Day, The Paris Wife, Daughter of Smoke and Bone, and My Brilliant Friend—that all take place in cities I’m planning to visit. Now that it’s summer vacation, I can finally read whatever I want.

When we get to the gate there is only one person in front of us.

The board says: London Flight: 401 Departs: 5:00 p.m. Final Boarding

“We made it!” I say, panting. “I can’t believe it.”

Our first almost-delay was when my mother nearly had a panic attack when Leela’s parents picked me up to take us to the airport. She’d come to the driveway to say good-bye, but as I was getting into the car, I saw her eyes glaze over and she seemed very far away. “Mom?” I said, freezing in my spot. “Are you okay?”

“Just a bit light-headed,” she answered, retreating toward the house. “Don’t worry about me. Go. Have a safe flight.”

I felt slightly sick as I watched her close the front door behind her. I wondered: Can I really do this? Can I really leave?

“Everything okay?” Leela’s dad asked.

“Yes,” I said. “Let’s go.”

So we went.

Traffic was miserable, costing us an extra ten minutes. Then security pulled Leela over to examine her massive makeup bag to make sure she wasn’t breaking any kind of liquids rule.

“Why do you need so many lipsticks?” I asked her.

“That’s a ridiculous question.”

“Then why didn’t you pack them in your suitcase?”

“Most of them are in my suitcase. But I couldn’t pack all of them in there. I was worried they would melt.”

The final straw was my fault. I insisted on stopping at our terminal’s Fresh Market to get sandwiches. That way we’d be able to eat as soon as we got on the plane, be done before takeoff, and could go straight to sleep. But the line inched forward and we almost missed boarding.

Yet we made it. We lost the napkins, kept the lipsticks, and we made it. Now, we’re here at the gate. Electricity and excitement rush up my spine—I’m seriously, no joke, actually doing this. I am traveling around Europe with my best friend for four and a half weeks. Holy crap.

“Boarding pass and passport, please,” the flight attendant says when it’s our turn.

“Here you go,” I say, and hand over my paperwork.

“Have a good flight, Sydney,” the flight attendant tells me, and hands back my stuff. She turns to Leela.

“Damn,” Leela says. “My boarding pass was with the napkins.”

Tip: Are you taking a late-night flight? Sleep on the plane! That way you’ll be well rested when you land and ready to hit the ground running.

Otherwise you’re totally going to be a hot mess by noon.

Somehow we make it. We spot the pile of napkins and the boarding pass and thirty minutes later, we’re in the air. I take a final bite of my Fresh Market sandwich. “Bathroom, then sleep,” I say.

“Perfect,” Leela says, still chewing. “I’ll watch our stuff.”

Her stuff is already overflowing from her seatback pocket, and covering both her floor area and mine.

As I make my way toward the back, I can’t believe I actually left. I haven’t been on a plane since I was ten, over nine years ago. I feel free, like a balloon floating through the sky.

The plane rocks to the left.

Free. And slightly untethered.

I push away any feelings of uneasiness. The next four and a half weeks are going to be amazing. Incredible. Amazingly incredible.

I smile at the passengers as I pass them. Hello, little boy. Hello, little girl. Hello, too-skinny mom. Hello, extremely sweaty dad. Hello, cute guy.

At first, I don’t recognize him.

Then I think: His shaggy brown hair, pink cheeks, and lazy smile look familiar.

Then I realize. MATT. IT’S MATT. Leela’s ex-boyfriend MATT.

I have never met Matt in person, since Leela met him in Montreal at McGill University, but I recognize him from her Facebook, Snapchat, and Instagram. Selfies of the two of them on the top of a mountain (#climbedit #MontRoyal), pulling all-nighters at the library (#needcoffee), and sharing a plate of french fries, gravy, and cheese curds (#myfirstpoutine).

Leela introduced us via FaceTime, too.

He’s definitely as cute in real life as he was on the phone.

He’s watching something on his iPad. I make a U-turn, go back to our row, and sink into my aisle seat.

“I forgot my parents’ converter,” Leela says. “To plug stuff in.”

“Don’t worry about that. I bought one and definitely packed it. We can share.” I place my hand on her arm. “But brace yourself, my friend. Matt’s on the plane.”

Leela gasps. “My Matt?”

“Yes.”

“No,” she finally says when she catches her breath. She drops the rest of her sandwich in her lap. Cheddar. Everywhere.

“Yes,” I repeat.

“Are you sure it’s him?”

“Ninety-nine percent sure.”

“What row?”

“Thirtyish. He’s wearing a McGill sweatshirt.”

She buries her face in her hands. “The jackass is on my airplane. What the hell is he doing on my airplane?”

“Technically the airplane is owned by Delta. Yet operated by Virgin Atlantic.”

She doesn’t laugh, even though it was super funny. Okay, maybe not super funny, but definitely a little funny. I would have laughed if she’d said it.

“He must be in our original seats,” she says. “Thank God I switched mine to be next to you. Thank God. Could you imagine if I had to sit next to him for the entire plane ride? I would die. DIE.”

“Can we not talk about dying when we’re on a plane over the ocean? Thank you.”

“He was supposed to cancel his ticket,” she continues. “I told him you were coming with me, and he said he’d go home and get a job in Toronto instead. So why is he here? On my plane? Why would he fly out of Baltimore? He doesn’t even live in Baltimore! I do!”

“Didn’t you buy the tickets to London together? He probably just kept his. Or maybe he likes the Orioles? I don’t know,” I say. I look out the small window by her head. All I see is blue. “Are you going to go back and yell at him?”

“Yes! No. I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to talk to him. He knows I’m on the plane. If he wants to see me, he can look for me. He’s an ass.” She jerks up. “Crap. Was he sitting with someone?”

“I don’t know,” I say. “I was so surprised to see him I ran right back here. I never made it to the bathroom.”

“Did he notice you?” she asks, worried. “I’m sure he’d recognize you too.”

“No, no. He was watching something. I don’t think he saw me.”

“Please, please, please go back and see if he’s sitting with anyone.”

“Right now?”

“Yes. Please. I need to know.” She shakes her head. “No way he’s going to Europe by himself.”

“He might be,” I say. “Lots of people do.”

“No,” she says. “He’s not the solo traveler type. Oh God, I bet he’s with that chick Ava. She’s probably sitting right next to him. They’re probably feeding each other peanuts. Peanuts! I hate peanuts! Who actually eats the peanuts they give you on airplanes?”

“They don’t pass out peanuts anymore. Too many allergies. It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen.”

“Can you just pretend you’re going to the bathroom and check?”

“I actually do have to go to the bathroom. Still.”

“Perfect. Problem solved.” Leela’s face is desperate, pleading. Her brown eyes look crazed. Even her usual sleek brown hair is mussed, adding to an overall manic look.

I unbuckle my seat belt and stand up. We’re in row fourteen. The plane rumbles beneath my feet as I carefully maneuver my way to the back. Twenty-eight. Twenty-nine. Thirty.

I look up. And there he is. Still in the aisle seat. Still watching a movie. There’s an older man reading a James Patterson novel to the left of him.

Not Ava. Small miracle.

Matt looks up. Notices me staring. We lock eyes. I look away but it’s too late. Oops.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hello, Matthew,” I say. Crap. If he didn’t know who I was at first, I blew it as soon as I said his name. I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do, so I keep moving, using the backs of people’s chairs to wipe off my now-sweaty palms. Luckily there’s no one in the bathroom, so I quickly step in and lock the door behind me.

On my way back, I pretend he doesn’t exist.

Leela is gripping her armrests like the plane is going down.

“He’s alone. And he saw me,” I say.

“What do I do?”

“I don’t know. Go talk to him?”

“He should come talk to me! He should apologize again! He cheated on me! He’s on my plane!” Her voice is a hysterical whisper.

“You’re right,” I say. “He should come talk to you.”

“He’d better,” she says.

I take a deep breath of stale airplane air and wiggle around, trying to get comfortable. It’s tough, since the seat seems to be designed for a preschooler.

Leela combs her fingers through her long dark hair. “Do I look okay? In case he comes back?”

“You look great,” I tell her.

“How’s my lipstick?”

“Still good,” I say.

“Thank you, Bite.”

I slip off my shoes and try to stretch out my socked toes. “What’s Bite?”

“This Canadian brand of lipstick I’m obsessed with. I’m applying for an internship there next summer. I love their branding.” Leela is studying marketing at McGill.

I’m studying English lit at the University of Maryland.

I turn to her, realizing the implication of what she just said. “You might stay in Canada next summer?”

“Maybe,” she says. “If I get the internship.”

I sink back into my seat, feeling something close to relief that I came on this trip. Leela and I need this month together. A friendship can’t survive on childhood memories alone. We have to create new experiences, or the friendship will shrivel up. Like the orchids my dad sent me for my birthday that I completely forgot to water.

She points to the screen above us. “Want to watch the movie?”

“I thought we were going to sleep?”

“I can’t sleep at a time like this! Also I have to pee. And there’s no way in hell I’m going to the bathroom.”

Tip: You might want to get CFAR (Cancel for Any Reason) insurance to prepare for the unexpected.

If you don’t, you’re SOL if your boyfriend hooks up with some random girl and you want a refund on your ticket. Sorry.

Leela and I had always planned on traveling together.

We’d been best friends since the third grade. We picked matching outfits in advance and told people we were twins. Although we were both around the same middle-row-on-picture-day height, I doubt anyone was fooled; she’s Indian and has dark skin and wavy long dark brown hair, and I’m pale with curly medium-brown Jewish-girl hair.

While other kids played soccer and went to ballet, Leela and I read books. The Princess Diaries. Anne of Green Gables. But our favorite books took place in England. Mary Poppins. Matilda. Harry Potter. Peter Pan. Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging. Thongs! Snogging! Ha!

We vowed that one day, when we were older, we would go to England and have our own adventures. London would be so much more fun than Maryland. We would have tea with our pinkies up. We’d go to Buckingham Palace. We’d fly across the city with umbrellas and broomsticks. We’d get engaged in London. Okay, not really, but Leela’s parents had gotten engaged in London and wasn’t that the most romantic thing you’d ever heard?

In middle school, we became obsessed with the Eiffel Tower. We decided we’d go to Paris and London. In high school, Leela studied French and discovered stinky cheese. I read Anna and the French Kiss, Just One Day, and a whole lot about Marie Antoinette.

My cousin Melanie actually backpacked through Europe when she was nineteen. She went for six months. She explained that backpacking through Europe didn’t mean hiking from city to city over mountains like I kind of thought it did. She took trains, and she just carried all her things in a backpack instead of a suitcase. We couldn’t imagine. How would everything fit? I wanted to travel with all my stuff in a backpack! We wanted to backpack through Europe!

Even after Leela got into McGill University in Montreal, Canada, and I got a scholarship to go to University of Maryland—which was great because I could live at home, and I felt like I needed to live at home—our plans didn’t change.

“We’re still going to Europe next summer,” she said.

“Of course,” I told her, although unlike Leela, I didn’t have a passport.

The night before she left for Canada she said, “We’re still going to Europe this summer,” as she hugged me good-bye.

I promised we would.

Leela met Matt on the first day of Frosh. That’s the week of drunken debauchery at McGill, the week before school starts. Like in Europe, the drinking age in Montreal is eighteen.

At the start of the year, Leela and I spoke or texted every day. But as the months went by and I got caught up in classes and studying and parties and driving to and from campus in addition to running around for my mother and my sister, Addison, my response time got slower and slower.

Leela: Call me when you can. I miss you! Leela: Remember me? Leela: Cough, cough, this is still your number, right? Me: I’m sorry! I suck! I’m so busy! I love you!

I missed the days when our daily lives were intertwined with school and gossip and hanging out and reading and just watching TV together.

My phone buzzed in late February.

Leela: We’re still going to Europe together, right?

I didn’t answer right away. I wanted to go to Europe. Badly.

A week later she wrote again.

Leela: Hello, stranger. What’s the story for this summer? ARE we going to Europe or not? If yes, we have to get plane tickets.

I hesitated, my hands on my phone. Our friendship needed this trip. But I couldn’t say yes. I wrote back:

I don’t know. Leela: Your mom will be fine. Me: I’m not sure that’s true.

I waited for Leela to respond. She finally texted:

Leela: But we’ve been planning this trip FOREVER!! Me: I know.

I thought about it. I missed Leela like crazy, but I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t leave my mother for the summer. She wouldn’t be fine.

My mother has a severe anxiety disorder called agoraphobia. People think agoraphobia is a fear of going to public places, but that’s not totally it. Agoraphobics are afraid of being out in public and losing control, so they prefer to stay in places they think of as safe.

That’s how my father explained it anyway.

When my little sister and I were still in elementary school, my mom always asked my dad to drive, and we were always the first to leave events, but she still came to our school plays and book fairs and teacher conferences. She worked from home since she’s a children’s book illustrator, but she still left the house. She didn’t love it, but she did it. She and my dad argued all the time. He wanted to go for more dinners, more parties, to meet more people, see more things. She wanted him to slow down and pay attention to his family. He liked to be out. She liked to play Monopoly and watch TV. He wanted to see a marriage counselor. She refused. Her aunt was a therapist, and she thought her aunt was a total kook.

So he went without her. And then when I was in seventh grade, he moved out without her. Without us.

After she and my father got divorced, everything went downhill. She was driving us to my middle school’s winter carnival when she had a panic attack. I was in the front, and my sister was in the back seat. We were at a red light when the light turned green and my mom didn’t move.

“Mom?” I said, and then noticed that her face was white and her hands were shaking. “Mom, are you okay?” She didn’t look okay. She looked like she was about to pass out.

The navy Taurus behind us started to honk. Once. Twice. Again. HONNNNNK.

What was happening?

“You have to drive, Mom,” Addison piped up from the back seat. “You can’t b-b-block the road!” Addison had developed a bit of a stammer. Stress, her teacher said. She was only in the fourth grade.

“I . . .” My mom’s voice cracked. “I don’t feel well. I think I’m . . . my chest hurts.”

Was she having a heart attack? My own heart started to race.

HONNNNNNK.

“Mom? Mom?” Addison cried out.

“Pull into the Dunkin’ Donuts over there,” I said suddenly. I put my hand on top of her arm. It was cold and clammy.

She pressed her foot lightly on the gas, crossed the lane, and drove into the parking lot, her hands still gripping the wheel. She put the car into park.

“What are you doing?” Addison asked, her voice rising. “You guys are freaking me out!”

“Does your chest still hurt?” I asked.

My mother nodded. She continued to shake. An Adele song played on the radio.

It was a heart attack. My mother was having a heart attack. I had to do something. What could I do? I needed help. We had to go to the hospital. “Should I . . . should I call an ambulance?” I looked for her purse. Where was her purse? I needed her phone!

She shook her head no, but didn’t speak.

“Mom? Where’s your purse?” I asked. “I need to call an ambulance.”

“No,” she said finally. “Don’t. I’m just . . . nervous.”

What did that mean?

“Nervous?” Addison asked, and then squeaked out a laugh. “About the winter carnival?”

My mom closed her eyes. “Syd. Run inside and get me water?”

“Okay.” I jumped out of the car and into the cold, relieved to have something constructive to do. I watched them through the store window as I waited in line. My mother’s hands were no longer gripping the steering wheel, and her door was open slightly. She seemed to be taking deep breaths.

A minute later I got back in the car, opened the bottle of water, and handed it to her. “Do you feel better?”

She took a long sip. “A little.”

“It’s for sure not a heart attack?” I asked.

“A heart attack?” Addison screeched. “You think Mom is having a heart attack?”

“I’m not having a heart attack,” my mother said quickly. “I’m fine. It’s just a panic attack. I had them when I was younger. Just give me a minute.”

We sat still, the radio continuing to play.

“Okay,” my mom said after a few songs.

“We don’t need to go to the carnival,” I said. “Do you want to go home?”

“No!” Addison squawked. “The carnival has c-c-otton candy.”

I wanted to yell at my sister but didn’t want to stress my mom out even more.

My mom’s lower lip trembled. “I wouldn’t mind lying down.”

I put my hand back on her arm. “It’s okay. It’s not that important.”

For the next few years, my mom wouldn’t drive anywhere unless I was in the passenger seat. She said she liked having me beside her. I calmed her down. Addison and I started taking the school bus to and from school, and I went along with my mom to her appointments, to the mall, to the grocery store, to the pharmacy, to wherever she or my sister needed to go. She was worried that without me there she would have another panic attack, and somehow lose control of the car. I liked knowing that I could help. That I could make my mother feel better.

When I was sixteen-and-a-half and I got my license, I started doing most of the driving. That way my mom could relax in the passenger seat and not have to worry about having a panic attack at all. I didn’t mind: I felt needed. I hated that she worried so much, and that her world was getting smaller and smaller, but I was glad I could help and I liked driving and that I basically had my own car. I got to take it to school and wherever I wanted. I also had to pick up Addison after swimming and take my mom to the grocery store.

Until we stopped going to the grocery store. One minute my mom was studying a frozen lasagna in the freezer section of Safeway and the next minute her hands were shaking and the lasagna was on the floor. She was sweating and hyperventilating, and she needed me to take her out of there, take her outside right away before she fainted. I grabbed her hands, we left the groceries in the cart and the frozen lasagna on the floor, and I found a bench outside. I told her to take big breaths, that she was going to be okay, that I loved her, and she was going to be fine.

She hasn’t been back to the Safeway since. You can order online from Safeway, and they deliver in an hour.

My mom was pretty sure she’d have a panic attack at our high school parent-teacher nights, so couldn’t my father go to those, he didn’t live that far away, and then he could tell her what they said? He liked doing stuff like that. Surely he could do at least that after moving out on all of us. He could. And he did.

He also asked her to see a therapist.

She said she’d be fine. She’d had a few panic attacks as a teenager, but they had gone away. She ordered some books with relaxation techniques.

When they still didn’t go away, I begged her to at least ask her regular doctor for help. She finally agreed.

I drove her to the appointment and read Ned Vizzini’s It’s Kind of a Funny Story in the waiting room. Her doctor told her that she had to learn to relax, and prescribed an antidepressant. My mom took it every day for a month but said it made her brain cloudy, and then she still had a panic attack when she tried to take us to see a movie. So she stopped taking the pills.

That was two years ago.

These days she doesn’t drive. Or go to the grocery store. Or to the movies. Or to shopping malls, or go on trains, or planes, or take cabs. She won’t see another doctor, or try another medication. She doesn’t want to feel drugged out. I’m not sure what else I can do to help her, but it’s hard to watch her in pain. So I do what I can to keep the panic away.

My mom will sit in the backyard, and even go for walks, but she needs me to be with her when she leaves the house to keep her calm. She doesn’t want to risk panicking and fainting and god forbid hitting her head on the concrete and bleeding all over the sidewalk without anyone to help her.

It took me a week to answer Leela’s text about whether or not we were still on. I finally wrote back:

I’m sorry. I can’t.

She wrote back immediately:

BOOOOOO. Are you sure? I really want to go with you. Me: I want to go with you too. I’M SORRY.

Two weeks later she wrote:

How would you feel about me going to Europe with Matt? I would OF COURSE rather go with you. Would you be upset? Be HONEST.

I felt terrible about it, but I couldn’t say that since I wasn’t a selfish asshole. I wrote back:

Go for it. You have my blessing. Leela: Love you. Thanks. Now I just have to convince my parents. . . They like Matt but I’m not sure how they’re going to feel about me traveling with my boyfriend.

Leela’s parents had always been in favor of our plan to go to Europe since they thought a month of traveling would be good for her. They thought it would teach her to be more independent. Even though she went to school in another country, she still never had to act like a grown-up. She lived in a dorm and had a meal plan. She went to class and came back. Plus, her older sister, Vanya, was a senior at McGill, checking up on her and paving the way. Leela was lucky.

I wasn’t sure if I was rooting for her parents to say yes or no.

Three days later Leela wrote:

They said yes! My mom says she likes the idea! She says she feels even safer knowing he’s with me. Sexist but at least they said yes.

I didn’t respond right away. She was going to Europe without me. She was going to Europe with Matt.

Leela finished her freshman year at McGill in the middle of May and came home.

At the beginning of June, she stormed into Books in Wonderland, where I work every summer, tears streaking her cheeks. “Matt kissed some girl named Ava at a bar,” she said.

I took a break and led her outside. We sat on the edge of the sidewalk, our knees hiked up into our chests. “How do you know?” I asked.

“He admitted it. I asked if something was going on, and he said yes. Claimed it was a mistake. He didn’t mean for it to happen. He was at a party, and it was an accident. He was freaked out about how serious we were getting. He said he’s still freaked about how serious we’re getting. But come on, how do you accidentally kiss someone?”

I considered. “I’m not sure. I think it’s physically impossible. You’d both have to have your mouths open, and you’d have to bump into each other at a very bizarre angle.”

She hiccup-laughed. “Exactly. So what am I supposed to do about Europe?”

“Damn.”

“No kidding.”

Matt and Leela had decided to travel through Europe together for a month. Four and a half weeks, to be exact. They were flying to London on July first and flying out of Rome on August second. They were leaving in three weeks.

“Do you still want to go?” I asked.

“With him?”

“No. Not with him. You can’t go to Europe with a guy who just cheated on you. Do you want to go to Europe by yourself?”

“No, I don’t want to go by myself! I can’t go by myself!”

“Of course you can. People travel by themselves all the time. You can go wherever you want. A bookstore in London. A beach in Italy. The Louvre! You’ll eat gelato! Macarons! Stinky cheese!”

“He doesn’t even like stinky cheese,” she said, sniffing.

“Then he has no taste.”

She turned to me. Her expression was hopeful. “Come with me.”

I laughed. “I can’t.”

“You can, Sydney. Please come.” She brightened. “Isn’t Addison working at Sunny’s this summer?”

“Yeah.” She’d gotten a job at the grill by the local pool.

“So she’s here. And she has her license now, right? She can help your mom.”

“She just got it last month. I’m not sure she feels comfortable driving yet. I think she’d be really mad.”

I’ve always tried to shield my sister from the stress of taking care of our mom. I was the one who made sure my mother left the house every day. I was the one who drove her around. In the years right after the divorce, my sister had been too young to help, and I didn’t want to worry her. Besides her stammer, she also started to fall behind in math. Luckily we found tutors and speech specialists who could come to the house.

“Your mom would be mad?”

“No, Addison would be mad. And my mom. They both would. I can’t go. I’m sorry. I wish I could but I can’t.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?” Leela asked. “Think about it. It’s the trip of a lifetime. And you deserve it, Syd, you really do. You do so much for your family. You need time off. And we never get to see each other anymore. I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” I said. And I hadn’t exactly been the world’s greatest friend this year. And Leela needed me. She really did. And she’d always, always been there for me.

Maybe my mom would be okay if my sister helped her? It was only four and a half weeks. I looked back at the bookstore. Eleanor, the owner of Books in Wonderland, wouldn’t mind. She had enough extra staff.

I blew out a breath. “How much would the trip cost exactly?”

Leela squeezed my arm. “Not THAT much. We can do it on sixty dollars a day. That’s like two thousand for the whole thing.”

“Plus the flight. How much was yours?”

“Eight hundred. Flying into London and flying out of Rome. Are you going to come? Please say you’re going to come!”

“And how do we get around?”

“Eurail. Seven hundred.”

“So three thousand five hundred. That’s a lot. But I have some Bat Mitzvah money left. And I’ve been working here for the last month . . . I think I have about three thousand dollars I could scrape together.”

“Maybe your dad has airline points?”

My dad did have airline points. He had a shitload of airline points. He never invited us to stay at his one-bedroom apartment, but he always offered us airline points.

“Take a vacation,” he’d say. “Have some fun.”

“I don’t even have a passport,” I said.

“You can get one fast. I swear. We’ll expedite it.”

Could I do this? Could I go? The possibility felt like a window being cracked open. I could practically taste the fresh air. The fresh air, gelato, macarons, and stinky cheese.

“I bet we could stay with Kat for part of the time,” I said. I’d met Kat at college. She was working at a gallery in Paris for the summer, and her parents had rented her an apartment. “That would save us a few euros.”

“Yes!” she said. “We can do this! You’re coming to Europe! Woot!”

My cheeks flushed. “Don’t get too excited. I have to talk to my family.”

That night I waited for Addison to get dropped off at home. When she walked into the foyer, her hair was wet and piled on top of her head. We both have our mother’s curly brown hair and round face and our dad’s light brown eyes. Addison’s shorter than I am and more muscular since she swims almost every day and plays third base for the JV girls’ softball team.

She wasn’t the same helpless kid she used to be. She could drive. She had a job. She had even lost her stammer.

“Hey,” I said, lowering my voice since our mom was in the kitchen. “I have a crazy question.”

She dropped her knapsack on the floor. “What?”

“Matt cheated on Leela—”

She made a sour face. “Jerk!”

“I know. But the thing is, now she wants me to go to Europe with her.”

She blinked. Fast. “Oh. Okay. You always wanted to go, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have the cash?”

“Maybe. But I would only do it if you think you can handle Mom. Could you? You can drive so I wouldn’t be leaving you stranded. All you have to do is make sure she walks around the block once a day to get some exercise and drive her around if she has to go somewhere. It’s only a month. Four and a half weeks. Would you be okay with that? In theory?”

She shrugged. “I guess.”

“Yeah? Think about it. I don’t have to go.”

“No, you should go. Sounds fun.”

“Yeah? And you’d get the car to yourself all summer. . . .”

She smiled. “I definitely like the sound of that.”

“If something horrible happens I’ll come back early. I’ll get on the next plane. Swear.”

She rolled her eyes. “What do you think is going to happen exactly?”

“Who knows with Mom? She could refuse to leave her bedroom entirely. Or stop showering. I don’t know. Something. If there’s an emergency I’ll come back. Deal?”

“Deal,” she said. She unzipped her knapsack, took out her wet bathing suit, and uncrumpled it. She didn’t seem worried at all.

Hope swelled inside of me.

“What’s Mom making for dinner?” she asked.

“Chicken stir fry.”

“Do you think it’s ready? I’m starving.” She headed into the kitchen, wet bathing suit in hand, not a care in the world.

Okay then.

My heart hammered over dinner. Could I really do this? No. Yes. Should I bring it up? No. Yes. What would my mom say?

My sister helped herself to more chicken and broccoli. “So I hear it’s just us this summer, huh, Mom?”

Shit.

“What do you mean?” my mother asked, eyebrows scrunching together.

Addison made an oops face at me. She clearly hadn’t realized I had not discussed this with Mom yet.

Now or never.

I stared at my plate and the words tumbled out of my mouth like vomit. “Matt cheated on Leela, she’s miserable and needs someone to travel with, I want to go, Dad has airline points, it won’t cost you anything, Addison will help you, is that okay?”

My mom put her fork down. “Can you repeat that? Slowly?”

I repeated it. Slowly. Her face got paler and paler with each sentence. Oh, no. Was she going to have a panic attack right at the table?

Instead of speaking, her shaking hands reached for her glass of water.

“Do you hate the idea?” I asked, my shoulders falling. “I don’t have to go. Forget it.”

She cleared her throat. “No,” she said. “You should go.” She took another sip of water. She seemed to notice her hands were shaking and hid them under the table.

“We’ll be fine,” my sister said, rolling her eyes. “It’s not that big of a deal.”

It was a big deal. But I wanted to go. And Leela needed me.

That night, I lay in my twin bed, the same bed I’d slept in my entire life, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars I’d stuck to the ceiling when I was eight. Could I really do this? My mom said she’d be fine. My sister said she could handle it. I wanted—desperately—to see Europe.

I took out my phone.

Me: OK. I’m in.

  Original post: http://ift.tt/2uUOdqM

from Blogger http://ift.tt/2tWpDZ4