Destination Reached

JAKE

Sophia. Sophia. Her name was Sophia. So-phi-a. Three syllables had never sounded so beautiful. Sophia, derived from the greek word sophos. It meant wisdom, kind of on the nose don't you think? She was even better than I'd thought. Never in my life had I heard someone say the words "Agatha Christie is a macabre goddess", and never have I loved a sentence so much.

I made her laugh too. I was still relishing in the triumph of that one. Her laugh was adorable. And I'd been trying to get her to do it again since the first time it happened. I might sell my soul just to hear her laugh again.

We hadn't stopped talking since she'd woken up. It seemed to relax her. The plane's turbulence also hadn't ceased, and I saw the way her fingernails dug inot her seat cushion. She definitely did not like flying. I was happy to be her distraction if it meant I got to talk to her.

Now I had loads of information to add to the things I know list. Her name was Sophia Randall. She was eighteen, like me, and had just graduated too. She was from Brookline, which explained why I'd never seen her around. My dad's house was in Andover, close to my school. The towns were about an hour away from one another and our schools didn't play in the same league for sports. Although I assumed I wouldn't have seen her even if we were. She didn't strike me as the sort of person who attended sporting events.

"Philips Academy?" she was saying "Should've known you were a private school boy."

"Hey! I think I cover the prep pretty well." I tried to, at least. It was harder when I was around my dad. Bradford Jones III was a well known name around Andover.

"He says in his British accent," Sophia smiled, blue eyes twinkling. I could've died happy right there. She cleared her throat, mimicking me, "I think I cover the prep pretty well, chap. Cheerio, mate. Tea's on Tuesday innit?" It was worse than Dick Van Dyke in Mary Poppins.

I bit my lip to keep from laughing, "Was that your British accent?"

"That's what you sound like."

"I sincerely hope not."

"I sincerely hope not," Sophia mocked again, this time in a deeper voice.

I chuckled, "That was horrible."

"Don't you mean rubbish?" she asked, smirking. She was really committed to this whole bit. And somehow her horrible British accent only made her more attractive. "Was it rubbish, mate? Absolute rubbish, eh?"

"Oh, dear god it's worse," I laughed out loud, breaking into a broad grin. I clutched my heart, "It's actually getting worse. I— I didn't think it was possible."

She elbowed me, giggling, "Oi!"

I'd made her laugh again, thank god. It was like diving into a clear lake on a hot summer day, deliciously cool and unbelievably sweet. Her laugh was everything.

I covered my ears dramatically, "I can't— please put me out of my misery."

After our amusement had subsided, we'd gotten a few dirty looks from the couple in front of us, who had a sleeping baby, I turned to her, questioning, "So what about you?"

"What about me?"

It was hard not to lose myself in Sophia's eyes. They weren't blue like I'd originally thought. I mean, they were, but it wasn't just blue. They were a deep indigo, almost glowing, like two identical pools of vibrant ink. They sparkled when she laughed that wonderful laugh, glinted when I challenged her. I quite enjoyed challenging her, and she seemed to enjoy it as well.