The Road Trip

• One •

Do not look up.

Why when you hear those words—whether in your head or spoken—it's the first thing you do?

I had just said that to myself and the next second I was raising my head.

I prided myself on my self-control, but when it came to Lucas Finn, I seemed to forget I had any at all.

He was sitting exactly opposite of me with two rows between us, staring at me with a smirk I wanted to slap off his face. His legs out wide in front of him and arms crossed. His red headphones were pushed back slightly on one side so he could hear any announcements.

The floor-to-ceiling windows behind him looked out onto the tarmac. The cloudless blue sky was bright, almost too white bright, and my brain had started to register that I oddly hadn't seen a plane take off in quite a while. But Luke kept annoyingly distracting me.

Finn means "fair." The opposite of Lucas Finn with his tanned olive skin and brown that could be mistaken for black hair. Everything about him was dark—except for his light blue eyes.

I peeled my dark hazel eyes away from his and looked up at the screen behind the desk where DELAYED was displayed in the bottom right corner in bold red.

It had already been three hours. What was the problem? I crossed my legs and looked back at Luke. His elbows were now on his knees; his face in his phone. I couldn't see his expression.

Of course, he looked good in his nondescript off-white T-shirt with the breast pocket hanging slightly open like it was smirking at me. His gray jeans were tight but not too tight. His faded blue Adidas shoes were lightly tied. He reached a hand up and swept his bangs to the side.

The whispers and giggles of the younger college girls sitting next to me in their oversized Tufts T-shirts and gym shorts drew my head sideways.

Ten years later and nothing had changed. That first day Luke walked into my high school, you could hear the whispers he left in his wake. By the end of the week, he had friends in every group: the type of person that fit into every stereotypical high school clique like he never belonged in one over the other.

He may give off this mysterious tenebrous vibe, but when he opened his mouth, you realized his personality was the complete opposite of his first impression—he shined.

He was effortless. Always so damn effortless.

And somehow, here we were in the Boston airport on the same flight back home to Seattle. I saw him more than enough when we were both at Harvard, but it had been a year since we both graduated. I hadn't missed him at all (no matter how fun he was to look at).

I glanced back to DELAYED before it suddenly changed to CANCELED right before my eyes.

This was starting off... not well.

My fists clenched. My heart rate accelerated. I could feel the pressure building behind my eyes. I looked at the gray-haired lady who was buried in the old school phone hanging from the wall. Her back turned away from the front of the counter. A line of people had already formed. I watched her beady eyes glancing back, ignoring their questions. Her mouth was turned down in the corners, reminding me of a pug.

I slung my backpack over my shoulders and started marching to the desk. Eight more feet and I'd be at the front. Mid-step my body jerked back like a cartoon character.

"Relax, Reese!"

That deep laugh. It made me angrier. His voice was like syrup. Smooth, deep, sweet.

"I will not relax, Luke." I think my arms were what you would call flailing, but he had a tight grip on my waist. "Let me go."