where are ü now | b.b (CURRENTLY ON-HOLD)

x i x

click. click. click.

A storm of paparazzi bolted to our car the millisecond they realised our car entering the drop-off area of Heathrow Airport. It was a task for Uncle Leo, our chaperone, to park in front of one of the doors with them crowding around the car.

1139 hours, Sunday

Every now and then, it gets me fairly nervous. Although having gone through this all my life, it gives you a slight pump of adrenaline and panic. You never know what may happen being surrounded by lunatics (the paps).

"You okay? You've turned a little pale." Dad asked and examined my face. "Question here is, when am I not?" I joked to turn the mood around. Mum, who was beside me, grabbed ahold of both my hands and caressed them. It was just the three of us for this trip. Mike decided to stay home and spend time with Maria and his mates. Mike was never one to go for a Hanson-Beckham trip.

Since I was by the window, away from the entrance of the airport, I stared at the paparazzi; the windows were tinted so they couldn't see me. I purposely made faces to them. Though I had a doubt the tinted windows wouldn't be a great competition to the blinding flashes from the cameras.

Without a warning, Uncle Leo opened the door to Dad's side and the "show" began. Dad jumped out with a muddy-green duffle bag on hanging on his left shoulder. Dad stood at the front of the door, waiting for Mum and I to get out. Mum got out first; with class may I add. Mum wore a loosely fitted button up shirt printed with cartooned daisies with a single front pocket. With that, she went for a pair of slim-leg trousers with a fine white pinstripe.

I, in the other hand, decided to go for a casual style. I was honestly too lazy to pick out an elegant outfit. After all, it was just Los Angeles, not Paris. I dressed in a Taupe-coloured open-shoulder hoodie, black seamless leggings and my pair of grey Nike sneakers.

Dad grabbed Mum's hand and they walked to the entrance first with some security from Heathrow Airport. "Tellement genre de vous deux. Damnit j'existe!" I muttered and thinned my lips into a straight line.

I tightened my grip on the strap of my black leather bag and put my aviator glasses on. Uncle Leo offered his hand out to me so I took it. Both my feet landed on the tarred ground; the hem of my hoodie lifted up a bit showing a glimpse of my stomach. I sighed and bit on my bottom lip. Some of the skin were peeling off. A habit.

Uncle Leo shut the door to the car and now Uncle Aiden was in charge of taking care of me. He stood on my left and had his arms around me. The air was dense and humid, summer in London was currently hot. I felt dizzy with the flashes, and my fingers were trembling.

"Megan! Megan! Look here!" Where is here, genius?

"Megan, how are you and Brooklyn?" I only ever mattered because of Brooklyn. My existence is not significant unless Brooklyn is part of it. I'm going to be very truthful here, the only factor that matters when you're a girlfriend of a known boy celebrity is that you're his girlfriend. It isn't about your intelligence and usually it isn't about what you do. You don't even seem to be a human when you become one.

Nearly at the entrance, I run in to end my time around the paparazzi. Before the paparazzi could catch up, I looked around to find Mum and Dad. They were on a buggy; requested for us from Heathrow. I ran towards the buggy in excitement and jumped at the back seat facing the opposite way from the others. Uncle Aiden shook his head in embarrassment and walked to the buggy to sit next to me. "And the fact that you're turning sixteen in a few months weirds the hell out of me."

"No judging." I narrowed my eyes at him. I rocked back and forth as the driver pressed the pedal too hard. "Never said I was. I've known ya' for years, darlin'. Yet I don't know your limit of being abnormal."