Alice-
"Flight A-12, boarding."
I took a deep breath, and waved good-bye to my parents. My mom had tears in her eyes, the usual, and my dad was comforting her.
Why am I such a bad child, one that would dare to leave my dearest parents?
Let me explain. A couple of months ago, I graduated under-grad from Yale. I know, I know. Big shot school. I've been dreaming of Yale for as long as I can remember. I was always fascinated by the beautiful campus, which eerily resembles Hogwarts, and the fantastic writing as well as drama programs.
While most kids spent their childhoods finger painting, and going to the playground, I locked myself in my room, and would read all these non-fiction books.
Don't get me wrong, I still did a lot of normal kid stuff, but for some reason, I was drawn to these books. They were all pretty stupid, and probably never going to get me anywhere in life, but I would always feel so important, and grown-up when I read them. I
used to keep a little notebook too, where I would write about what I had read.
Looking back, I realize that I was pretty much doing homework, willingly. Without it being assigned.
God, I was such a loser, an if we're being honest here, I still kind of am.
Anyways, I'm going to London for a year in between college, and grad-school, and if I'm being completely honest, a break from my parents. Don't get me wrong, I love them to death, but they keep lecturing me about finding myself.
I know what I want to do. I want to be a writer. Not really a book writer, more of a journalist or someone who writes screenplays. That's why I came to London. To write. I figured, there's so much inspiration here, and that I really need a break from all things American. I already have a job at this magazine called Plume.
But Plume isn't just any other magazine. They write about all sorts of stuff going on in the world; it's not just some cheap tabloid. Okay. There's another special thing about Plume. Dylan O'Brien (yes the retired actor) is, shall we say, the "sous-editor." Who knew he was smart, right?
Well, kudos to him for quitting acting to go back to college. Apparently, he had started before he got cast on Teen Wolf, but the shooting schedule was pretty intense, so he had to put it on the back burner.
"Are you coming or not?"
I snap back into the present, to find a grumpy flight attendant with her arms crossed staring at me. Her lipstick is smudged at the corners, and her hair is all frazzled. I stifle a laugh, only to receive a piercing glare from her little beady eyes. Someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.
"Right, sorry uh-" I look down at her name tag, "Mildred."
Wow, what a shitty name. She rolls her eyes, and mutters something along the lines of "teens these days." She points for me to get on with one of her stubby fingers, and I put my hands up in surrender, and follow her finger.
Turns out, I'm the last one to board the plane. Thankfully, I have an aisle seat. There's a teenage girl to my left who tells me that she has all of the Twilight movies in her purse, along with her laptop, and do I have any headphones that she can borrow.
Normally, I wouldn't dare let a stranger near my headphones, but I also really didn't want to hear Edward and Bella professing their love for one another, through cheesy, poorly written lines. So, I diligently hand them over.
The guy who has the window seat is a scruffy old guy, who downed 2 beers in the past five minutes, and is now passed out, snoring. He's what you would call "creepy as hell," so I'm glad that I don't have to have a conversation with him.
I don't particularly love flying, or the creepy people on the plane, so I take a few Benadryl and pass out for the entire flight.
The landing wakes me up from a night without stress dreams and cold sweats. The second I get the hell off that plane, I get my bags, and call over a taxi. It wasn't until then that I realize that I had never gotten my headphones back. Dammit. Did they have apple stores around here?
I ask the driver to take me to Plume because, yay, I get to work on my first day in London. Hardcore, right? What's that saying again? All work no play makes Jane a rich girl? Something like that. Okay, it's nothing like that, but that's not the point, since we just pulled up to Plume.
The building is made entirely of brick, and towers about four stories high. I've been told, though, that only the second and third stories belong to Plume. "Your stop madam," the driver says, opening my door. Wow so courteous.
In New York, the taxi drivers practically throw you out of their car. I reach into my wallet to pay him, but I then realized that I only had American dollars. Shit, I had forgotten to go to an ATM.
"Um, can I give you this?" I say, holding up a handful of crumpled bills.
"Yes it's all right. Im going to the US in a month so I could use this then. Have a nice day," and with a tip of his hat, he was off.
Damn, these Brits are so polite. I opened the door, only to find stairs. Really no elevator? What the hell. I was exhausted from my day and I was also super jet-lagged. To make matters worse, my foot was asleep.
I ran up the stairs, trying to make it wake up, until finally, finally I got to the door marked Plume. Unfortunately, my foot hadn't woken up, and I was walking pretty quickly. All of a sudden, I tripped and fell onto a wall.
Wait, I didn't remember seeing a wall there. I look up, slowly, to a pair of gorgeous brown eyes staring back at me. I stood up straighter. Wait, I'd know that face anywhere. Dylan O'Brien.
