River Crossing

Chapter Five

"What time is it?" I ask as we step out of the plane.

Taylor checks her watch. "Very early in the morning."

My eyes grow wide. How long was I on that plane? 

My body is beginning to shut down, however, Andrew and Taylor look fine – maybe the jetlag does not affect them as much since they probably travel more than I do.

I stumble when I get off the travellator, my mind foggy with sleep. My brain is so bleary that I do not even process the fact that I am falling, going as far as to forget how to scream just before my cheek hits the linoleum floor – only it does not.

Andrew has caught me yet again, saving my dress from being ripped to shreds by the metal teeth of the travellator. He sets me back on my feet once more, the hand he has on the small of my back keeping my in check – and shooting flames throughout my body.

Blushing from the physical contact, I thank him and step back, throwing in some distance between us. I look down, smoothing out my skirt and trying to dry my clammy hands on it in the process.

"Something wrong?" Taylor turns around and asks, having missed all the drama.

I shake my head and continue following my future professor, ignoring her son as I speed to catch up to her. Andrew lingers in the back, nonchalantly slipping his earphone on and pretending that he did not just save my life.

In the wide glass panel opening up to the city, I catch a glimpse of London for the first time in person. The buildings were lit up like beacons in the night. Even though it is closer to dawn than midnight, the city seems as alive as ever, its nightlife keeping the heartbeat alive.

It is nothing at all like my sleepy, quiet town.

"What's wrong?" Andrew asks, not exactly interested in finding out the answer to his question as he skips a song on his play queue.

I press a palm to the cold surface of the window, entranced by the nightscape of the capital of England in all its shinning glory.

"It's so different," I mutter, almost regretfully.

Andrew steps closer to get a better view, pulling out one of his earbuds. "Overwhelming, huh?"

"I guess..."

"Thinking about it turning back?"

I jolt in surprise, taken aback by his boldness, and insulting remark. "What makes you think that?"

"You're readable," He smiles and in that split second, I decide that I will do anything to get him to smile again.

Andrew steps forward reaching out and freeing me from my violin case. Carefully, he slings it onto his back.

"Thanks," I acknowledge.

"Don't think too much about it, you'll love it in Brooklyn."

We exit the departure hall and Taylor reminds us that we have to board our flight in two hours. Then she leaves in favour of getting some shopping done.

I find myself strolling through the airport with Andrew, neither of us knowing where to go or what to do after checking in our bags.

He has his hands in his pockets and his hair is a mess. The plane trip has only made him look even scruffier, but girls were downright staring at me.

I look around at the shops trying to ignore the glares sent my way. My heart yearns for me to yell 'he's all yours' at the crowd. Eventually, I duck into a cosy coffee shop to escape the hot water.

Heads turn when I enter with Andrew, the bell at the door not exactly helping me out. The girls turn to look on with keep interest as we make our way to the counter. As I order, I try to ignore the daggers being shot into my back.

The moment we sit down, a girl about our age saunters over. I laugh when Andrew chokes on his drink, pulling out a novel and resting it on the table.

"Hello," She smiles. "You're a long way from home, aren't you, big boy?"

Andrew visibly relaxes, leaning further back into the armchair. "Apparently so."

"I can always tell American from British," The girl says, flicking her hair. "I'm Britney Whitlock."

"Andrew Nick Killian." He shoots her the smile that turns my knees to jelly. Then his focus shifts to me. "Britney, you should meet River, she's-"

"Totally not worth your time," Interrupts Britney.

Andrew shakes his head. "No, no, River's not-"

"Look, she doesn't deserve you." The air at the table turns sour. My hand trembles when I flip the page as I try not to bite her head off.

Britney turns to regard me coldly. "Scram."

"Well, I've got all my stuff here..." I trail off shortly after my confidence heads for the hills when she shoots me a tough stare.

"Just go, will you?" She snaps.

Inhaling sharply, I stand up quickly, my hand closing around the cup of coffee I bought. I raise the mug up, watching as Britney's eyes widen as if realising how badly coffee stains white fabric.

I take a threatening step towards her, my lips pulling back into a sly grin. Then I thrust the cup out to her.

Britney shrieks and flinches, moving back. After a moment, she opens her eyes. My drink is still in my hand... still the right side up.

"Didn't you know that wasting food is terrible?" I ask innocently. Then I turn to Andrew and remark, "Honestly, some people are raised with better manners than others, but I can't blame her."

Britney just stares at me in shock.

Clicking my tongue, I set the drink down, picking up my things and leaving the shop.

"Enjoy the coffee, Britney."

₭₳₸

"Why don't you swap with me?" Offers Taylor as we walk to the plane.

"Sorry?" I frown, not quiet understanding her.

She takes my ticket, exchanging it for hers. I just look at her, confused.

"Your seat is away from ours – I figured that you'd prefer to stay with Andrew."

"You don't mind?" I slip the ticket into my passport, my fingers stiff with hesitation.

Taylor smiles. "You've got a window seat, I think the view will keep me out happy enough." She pats my shoulder.

The center aisle has three seats, which means that the empty seat next to Andrew is going to be occupied by a stranger. However he seems fine with it.

Thankfully I survive the take-off, rewarding myself with a packet of peanuts that the flight attendant hands to me. While waiting for the seatbelt sign to blink off, I munch on the snack.

When the light finally snaps off, I grab a change of clothes, excusing myself to use the toilet. The walk down the aisle is scary as I try my best not to trip and fall over every time the plane hit a spot of turbulence.

In the tiny washroom, I change out of my dress and leggings, pulling on a blouse and jeans. I run my hands through my tangled curls and brush my teeth, trying to make myself look more presentable.

Looking in the mirror once more, I tug on my knitted jumper – somehow managing not to catch my elbow on any of the fixtures. Victorious, I head back to my seat, ordering a glass of juice when the cart comes down.