Truth Be Told | ✓

| a m y |

❝You find great enjoyment in occasionally professing opinions which are in fact not your own.❞ -Mr. Darcy, Pride and Prejudice

//dedicated to pathways_end whom I have to thank for this absolutely stunning cover! much appreciation //

| a m y |

PERHAPS MATTERS might have turned out differently had they not been placed directly next to each other on a delayed JetBlue plane. She might have been a lonely girl looking for work and he an overworked boy looking for company, but how could either have known when he thought her to be a glamorous Hollywood actress and she thought him to be a successful country star? She imagined them in an alternate setting, meeting as freshman at some Maryland university--the median of their two worlds. The result might have been completely different. First impressions, after all, often define the outcome.

Amy McKeane had finally boarded, releasing the leather-covered handle of the suitcase from her sweaty palm as she lifted an unsteady gaze to her designated seat. The suitcase slid back a few inches, its wheels squeaking on the hard floor of the aisle, and Amy took a shy step back, gazing down at her battered converse with a sudden nervous conviction of her own disheveled appearance.

The boy's eyes had lifted, settling briefly on her before his lightly colored eyelashes dropped back to the reading material in his hands. Amy felt her shoulders dip back slightly, unsure whether to feel relieved or slightly disappointed that she had not held his gaze for longer than the most insignificant of seconds.

She bit her lip, gaze falling heavily back on the suitcase with an unaccustomed eye; the next moment, the low sound of someone clearing his throat echoed behind her, and she stumbled back in mild terror. The stranger met her gaze, a broad, middle-aged man with thinning grey hair and a suit jacket buttoned tightly over his chest, and Amy instantly shrunk out of the way, dragging the over-packed suitcase behind her so she was shadowed protectively by the row of seats. The expression on the man's face seemed to proclaim he had not had the best day at work, and she was not interested in meddling more than was necessary.

The man walked by without a further glance, and Amy exhaled heavily, feeling her pulse now radiating more rapidly inside her throat in mild panic. By some unspoken law of humanity, the first plane ride was always supposed to be the most terrifying. She felt herself nibbling at her tongue in a sort of nervous habit she had never successfully dropped as she watched the airplane passengers move by.

"You need help with that?"

The young man behind her spoke up suddenly in a lilting Southern accent; she froze slightly before turning, not having anticipated such a melodious tone from him. As she spun around this time, she absorbed a clearer vision of his appearance--a soft thatch of tan blonde hair loosely shadowing a sharply cut jaw. The cover of the novel in his hands was slightly more visible--Pride and Prejudice.

She pulled herself away from the momentary distraction, blushing slightly as she refocused on him. "Thank you, but... but I'm all right," she managed to stammer, ducking her head as a few loose locks of her medium-length brown hair fell over her ear and dangled almost like a protective curtain over the right side of her face.

Glancing around in a final movement of helpless desperation, she caught sight of a nearby passenger, a woman around the age of forty with brown hair and a maroon sweater, reaching up to slide her own carry-on item into the compartment overhead. A short burst of triumph sparked somewhere in Amy's chest, and she reached up for the hatchway above Row 44. It opened with a click as she tugged lightly at the latch, and lifting the bag cautiously, she shoved it inside the compartment with a burst of instantaneous strength. The trapdoor again shut with a satisfying click, and Amy stepped back with a sigh of relief.