Sky High

"Now sweetie, we're just a few rows away if you need us, okay?"
"Come on mom, I'm not a little kid. At seventeen, I think I can handle myself."
My mother was unnecessarily concerned after our seats got mixed up on the plane, and no one was willing to switch seats so that a family of four could sit together. It ended up three seats, and one seat four rows down.
I was quick to volunteer to take the single seat. My family, consisting of my travel sick father who depended too much on his wife, my mother and my 9 year old brother had no choice but to let me sit alone. And I was so happy.
We had just taken an eight hour flight from Dubai, and were about to leave London airport for Chicago to get home.
I couldn't stand another eight hour flight with them.

I quickly shuffled to my seat, grumbling excessively at the slow-moving people like the moody teen I was. I tugged off my Chicago State hoodie and fixed my black and white All Time Low baseball tee.
Plopping ungracefully on the aisle seat, I wondered who would take the seat next to me.
'Hope it's someone tolerable,' I thought.
I flicked through my phone before I had to switch it off for safety reasons (which, by the way, was a threat that was disproved by The Mythbusters. I contemplated leaving it on, but decided against).
I shoved in my earphones and put my iPod on full blast to drown out the mundane conversations of passengers and droning beeps and whirrs the giant aircraft made.
"Sorry, that's my seat."
I was too lost in the guitar riffs and drum beats of my favourite band to even bother to look up. I simple stood and moved out of the way before sitting back down.
"I'm sorry Madame," a flight attendant placed a Hanson my shoulder. "I'm afraid that for taxi and take off, you'll have to switch off any mobile devices." That fake smile plastered on her face almost made me want to laugh.
"Sure, sorry," I mumbled.
'I got your picture I'm coming wi-'
Sorry, Alex.
I shoved my iPod in to my pocket and started to tap the arm rest rhythmically.
We sat through safety demonstrations and finally, the plane was sky high.
"Only eight hours left," I said, too loud.
"Yeah," a gruff voice beside me replied. I wasn't talking to you, sir. I glanced at him and gave an empty smile.
I had to stop myself from performing a double-take.
Was that?
No. No way.
After ten minutes of contemplating what to do, I slowly and subtly craned my neck towards the man sitting beside me.
Jack. Barakat.
The guitarist if All Time Low, my hero, the greatest man on Earth in my eyes. His band name was splattered across my t-shirt. I'd wondered if he'd seen it yet? Feeling a little self-conscious, I used my arms to subtly cover up the t-shirt, praying to God he hadn't seen it. I stared at the seatbelt sign; hoping, begging, pleading for it to switch off so I could get my hoodie.

What was he doing here?! Going to Chicago obviously. Dumbass.
Where are the rest of the band?!
I could feel myself starting to panic. My face turned scarlet both with embarrassment and excitement.
Just then, the seatbelt sign ping'd off.
I leaped out of my seat after snapping open my belt buckle and pulled my hoodie on over my head.
I could feel myself starting to relax, just a little. I looked at Jack. He was pressed up against the window, staring at the passing clouds we were so near to.
He turned back to me and saw me staring.
"Oh, sorry, did you want to look out the window?" He asked with a smile.
Shit he sounded even sexier in real life.
I could see he hadn't slept in a while. He looked groggy; hadn't shaved either.
"No thanks, I'm okay," I croaked.
I sat back down.
"I love the views from planes. Aren't they amazing?" He sounded like a little kid. "It's sad though. You're like... So close to touching those clouds, you know? They're only a few feet away. But how dangerous would it be if you managed to get your hand outside a moving aeroplane."
"That's true," I managed.
"I hope I'm not boring you," he chuckled. "I talk too much."
I found myself staring again. He wasn't even looking at me, his eyes were still glued to the passing clouds. Listening to him speak about something sort of meaningful instead of dicks felt kind of odd, but nice.
"Of course not." He continued.
"Beautiful things are hard to get to, huh?"
"They are," I marvelled at how much he was talking to me even though he didn't know my name. It's as if he read my mind. He spun around.
"What's your name?"
"I'm Hannah." I replied, wide eyed. I forgot he didn't know I was his biggest fan, and know not only his full name, but his date of birth, place of birth, parents' names, siblings' names, occupation and where he was exactly two weeks ago (at a show in LA, in case you were wondering.)
"What's yours?" I asked. Haha.
"I'm Jack, and it's my dream to touch a cloud." I shook his hand, his calloused fingers brushing lightly on my wrist.
"That's a sweet dream."