Flight A2783

Now would be a good time to get started on the writing assignment that's due my first day at the school. Which is like two days after I arrive.

Whoohoo procrastination.

I'm sure you're all familiar with this particular concept. I know I am. The last writing assignment I had, I did the night before it was due and it turned out to be perfection. I mean, I got an A, a low A at that, but still. It was an A.

Procrastination is fucking rewarding, I tell you.

My laptop is sitting there on the tray, blank document opened up, the little cursor blinking. Hmm. I'm supposed to write about how anonymity affects culture and peoples lives. Like what the fuck. What am I supposed to say? This is something I should write about in a philosophy class. Not my creative writing class. Jesus.

I could just look at my old papers on shit like this. Ooh the one about knowledge and the people's rights to knowledge. I could read that one. I got B on that one but that's still pretty good. Or the one about the true meaning of beauty. Lol what the fuck.

I pull up the beauty one and proceed to read it, catching the reason why I got a B on that one as well. Well thought out, but not well written. My technique is lacking. I don't have a style that really speaks to the reader. My assertions are kind of just shoved at the reader. It isn't told in a way that would get the reader to see my view. I need to work on that.

I chew my lip, fully aware of Harry reading my paper as I try to think of a game plan for my actual paper. I could use a template and work from there-

"Can you not stare at me?" I snap, flicking Harry's nose. "I'm trying to write."

"You're a writer?" Harry asks, waving a hand in the general direction of my laptop. "I would've pegged you for some social-oriented major."

I snort. "Trust me. My human relations skills aren't very high on the skills list." I run a hand through my hair. "I don't know if you can tell from that little encounter we had with your fangirls."

"You could be a lawyer," Harry suggests. "Or a motivational speaker."

"Yeah and make a bunch of money from talking to a room of low-lifes who should really spend their money on something other than an inappropriately-enthused person spewing bullshit about how everyone has potential?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow. "How about no."

Harry shrugs. "Just a suggestion."

I click back onto the tab with my blank document and format the paper, just to give me something to start with. Something to do.

Anonymity gives the faceless the option of being unknown, but not unheard.

Yeah. That sounds good. That could be my central idea. Now I just need to revolve the rest of my paper around that.

I continue writing, proud of myself for thinking of such a good thesis. In high school, we were always drilled with the fact that a paper with a shitty thesis will be shitty. Makes sense. I mean they didn't exactly say it like that but you get the general idea.

About twenty minutes later, three pages in, and two consumed bags of peanuts later, I'm stumped again. Fuck.

"You could say that anonymity can inspire people to be the best version of themselves," Harry says, not looking up from his phone.

I chew my lip, thinking it over. Harry stares at me as I do this, then coughs and looks away.

"Yeah, I guess that would work," I mutter, starting a new paragraph and using that as my topic sentence for that one. "You sure you don't want to be a writer?" I ask as I elaborate on in my paper about the statement.

"Nah," Harry replies. "If I wasn't doing this I'd probably be working in the same bakery I worked in when I was younger."

I snort, thinking that he's joking. I look at him and he doesn't have his cheeky, adorable-ass smirk on his face. Not joking, then. "Wait, you're serious?"

"Dixie Chicks serious," Harry replies.

"You did not just say that," I say in horror.

"I did," Harry replies. "I worked in a bakery where all the old ladies liked to pinch my bum."

"Yeah, because your ass is soo bootylicious," I say drily.

"Not as bootylicious as Kim Kardashian's," Harry counters.

"Uh, uh," I disagree. "Nicki Minaj-esque."

"They do have comparable bums."

"Yeah, they have different shapes you know?"

"Yeah, I can see that."

"Yeah," I say.

And in the quiet we sneak glances at each other.

"Wow. We really just had a conversation about bums," Harry says flatly, shaking his head. "That's kind of sad."

"Really?" I ask, cocking an eyebrow as I continue to write. "Don't you guys as a male species talk about girls' butts and boobs like all the time?"

Harry gives me an offended look. "Not all guys are like that!"

"Right," I say doubtfully, my fingers flying across the keyboard.

"We aren't!"

"Mhmm," I enunciate.

"I'm not!"

"Sure."

"I'm telling you, I really don't talk about lady parts," Harry says indignantly.

"Yeah, okay."

Harry scowls. "I know what this is about."

I cock an eyebrow. "Do you, now."

"I do."

I just look at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He doesn't. "Are you going to tell me about your fabulous theory or am I supposed to just drop the subject?"

"Either would be preferable," Harry concedes. I roll my eyes. "But I'll tell you the theory."

Still waiting for the idiot to explain the fucking theory. Jesus. He needs Jesus. I need Jesus.

Ya'll need Jesus.

"Tell me the fucking theory or I'll slap you so hard your four nipples will concave."

Harry raises his eyebrow. "Patience is a virtue."

"My fist is my virtue."

Harry sighs. "Fine." Another pregnant pause. This pause is nine months pregnant. "I think you're still mad about the best friends having sex thing."

Silence. Crickets chirping.

"I'm not upset," I say flatly. I shut my laptop and set it back in my backpack.

"You are."

"I'm not."

"Are."

"Not."

"Are."

"I am not. Calm. Your. Shit."

"My shits are calmed. Your tits are the ones that need calming."

Wow.

"WHOA THERE. That just crossed a whole new line," I say, my eyes widening.

"Well, excuuuse me," Harry says in a very bad, and I mean bad, ghetto voice. Along with head and finger wagging.

"You're not excused." I make a face. "Especially for your extremely bad impersonation of a stereotypical ghetto girl."

"I'm sorry."

"No, you're not."

"You're right. I'm not," Harry agrees cheerfully. "I'm British. I have an excuse."

I scoff. "Don't play the 'I'm British' card with me. It doesn't work. I'm not convinced. In fact, I don't think you could convince me of anything."

"I know something else that would."

I snort. "I highly doubt that you do."

"Challenge accepted."

I groan. "Oh god, you did not just-what are you doing?" I say as Harry stands up, towering above me because I'm sitting down.

Harry puts one knee on my seat and leans down, one hand holding onto the seat by my head. His face is level with mine, slightly tilted. His face is centimeters away. Harry's gaze doesn't waver as he licks his lips and drags his teeth over his bottom lip.

I'm convinced.

He can stop now.

Seriously.

Before I rip his pants off.

Good god.

Fuck. Fuck me. Shit.

I let out a sharp breath, blinking rapidly. My eyes flit down to his lips. Those stupidly delicious looking pink lips. Then back up to his eyes. God. "Uhhh..."

Harry's lips pull up into a slow smirk, one that makes my heartbeat spaz out. Harry moves his face closer, to my ear, his lips brushing my earlobe as he speaks. "Are you convinced?" He murmurs, his voice low and gravelly.

I give a quick shake of the head, my eyes wide and my hands gripping the armrests. I take a deep breath, and do something I have particular experience in doing. Very often, in fact.

I knee him in the balls.

"FUCK," Harry bellows, collapsing on his knees and then onto his back in the aisle. He cups himself, his eyes shut tight. I think I even see a tear.

#sorrynotsorry

"What the actual fuck was that for?" Harry hisses, glaring at me through tear-filled eyes. People are staring, and I just watch him with a blank expression.

The bitchy stewardess from earlier comes and asks of Harry is okay, bending down slightly so he could get a good view if her granny-panties and stockings. Ew.

No. Does he look okay, bitch? Cheesus crust. Ugh.

Harry struggles to his feet, staggering, really, and I let out a snort. Harry continues to glare at me as he gingerly sits down. "You knee me in the balls, ruining my possible chances of ever having children and you snort?" I bite my lip to keep from laughing. "If you laugh I will tickle you so hard you'll vomit."

"You sure you want me to upchuck? Because it'll be like drinking all that vodka and shit all over again," I reply. Harry just gives me another glare.

"You suck," he says, shutting his eyes. I open my mouth to retort, but he seems to sense this and peeks open an eye. "Don't even say anything. I need to recover from this assault upon my manhood."

I scoff and pull my phone out, tapping on Lulu's icon in my texts.

From: Brandy

To:Lulu

Shit

Lulu doesn't reply. God I swear if she and her asshole of a boyfriend are in my bed I will take a knife to that boy's dick.

From: Lulu

I'm kind of in the middle of something

From: Brandy

In the middle of what

From: Lulu

Uhhh

From: Brandy

Are you in my bed

From: Lulu

Maybe

From: Brandy

Fuck you

From: Lulu

I'll wash the sheets

From: Lulu

I promise

From: Brandy

You better

From: Brandy

Or else

From: Lulu

Love you bae<3

From: Brandy

Yeah yeah

Lulu doesn't reply after that so I set my phone back down and pull my knees up to my chest, resting my forehead on them. That boy has a wack effect on me. Harry makes my heart pound so fucking fast its like a drum roll.

And it's freaking me out.

***

"So you wanna explain why you almost kissed me?" I blurt, refusing to look at him. I can feel my face get hot. What is this? I never blush.

Harry snickers, then looks at my face and stops. He shrugs. "I dunno. Wasn't thinking."

I scoff. "You seem to do a lot of that." He raises his eyebrows. "Not thinking," I elaborate.

Jesus fuck.

He's not telling me the truth. Whatever. All I know is I actually wanted him to kiss me. This is so fucking weird.

Ack.

I need to go take a lap or something. Or jump off this plane.

I can't.

I can't deal.

"What's your favorite color?" I blurt, then I mentally take out a gun, cock it, press it to my head and pull the trigger.

And then in my mind, my head blows off.

"First you want me to explain why I almost kissed you and now you want to know my favorite color?" Harry asks, sounding amused. "Are you bipolar? Or do you have multiple personalities?"

"No," I say through clenched teeth. "I just asked you a simple question you dipshit."

Harry raises his eyebrows. "Fine." He sits up and sighs. "It's orange."

"Orange like an orange, or orange like a sunset orange?" I ask. Wow. Getting all poetic and fancy-shmancy. I'm impressed with myself. Nice job, me. High five, me.

Ooh kill em.

"Orange like the sunset," Harry replies. "Yours?"

"I'm the one asking the questions, mister."

"You asked me and I told you. You can at least tell me what your favorite fucking color is."

"Fine. Whatever. Blue. But powder blue. Like a baby's room," I reply. "Favorite food."

"Corn."

Lmao. Yeah. I just thought that in my head. Do you people not?

"Corn?" I repeat incredulously, snorting. "Why?"

"Because it's like one of the most delicious things ever."

"No. It's not," I disagree. "In-N-Out cheeseburger and fries. That's something I could eat for the rest of my life."

"Never had it."

Silence. Crickets. The breeze blowing through the non-existent trees.

"You were in California with your so-called a girlfriend who is one of the most famous California girls and she doesn't take you to In-N-Out?" I say, staring at him. "What. A. Bitch."

"She's a bitch for not taking me to In-N-Out?" Harry asks, raising his eyebrows.

"Yes."

"Well then."

"Yeah."

There’s silence.

“Why does that make her a bitch? There’s no way that a cheeseburger and fries are that good.”

“Yes. There is. Those burgers are like sex, between buns.” I pause as a sick thought occurs to me. “And I’m not just talking about anal.” Harry makes a face. “They are like heaven in a bite. Like taking a bite from an apple from the Garden of Eden or whatever the fuck it’s called.”

“You are rapidly raising my expectations,” Harry says finally, giving me a weird look. “I swear. If this burger isn’t as good as you say-”

“What makes you think I’ll have any sort of contact with you after this flight?” I interrupt, cocking an eyebrow. Harry falters, then chews his lip.

“I didn’t think of that.”

“You might want to do some of that. You know. Thinking,” I say slowly, as if he’s an extremely stupid five year old. “Using your brain.”

“I was hoping you’d give me your number,” Harry says quietly. My heart pounds. I think of earlier, when Harry was in the bathroom. I shake my head, as if this would filter the thought out of my head. It doesn’t.

I take a deep breath. “Well you thought wrong,” I reply finally, turning away.