Describing Him (Ansel Elgort)

10 // Road Trip (part 1)

(A/N: Sorry this chapter is so short, I will post part two hopefully soon, I just felt like I needed to post... Thanks everyone for reading! 1.2k! Wow! Ily all!!!!!)

The only time I've ever been away from my family for more than a night is seventh grade camp, which I came home half a week early because I threw up from homesickness. Don't ask me how.

I've always made up excuses for why I didn't go to camp after that, but everyone kind of figured it out.

'New York Heights' was due to film in New York for at least five weeks.

I had never been to New York. It had always been on Indie's list of places she wanted to travel to, and Josh had been, but I never had any interest in going, even while writing my book. I don't know why. I guess I just didn't want to have the same cliché dream about being free in New York like every other teenager.

I'd spoken to Ansel and he helped arranged a plane for me and a few others in the cast, but he wasn't flying there, and somehow he convinced me to accompany him on the drive. I hate long car trips, mainly because I get bored and car sick, and I made this pretty clear to Ansel. If he heard me, he didn't care.

"You ready sweetie?" Asks Mom, kissing my forehead. She'd taken the day off just to see me into Ansel's car. If I didn't know better, I'd say she was worried. I wouldn't blame her though. It's not like I go in a strange boy's car to New York every day. Plus, she's never met Ansel.

I reassure her that I hadn't forgotten anything and get out my phone to text Ansel.

I'm ready

I send.

He texted back three minutes later saying he was outside, and just as I picked up my bag the doorbell rang. Mom answers it.

"Oh, hello, you must be Mrs Anderson, I'm Ansel," I hear from the front door. I walk into the entrance behind my mother, half waving to Ansel who gives me a smile.

"Hello Ansel, yes, I'm Margo's mother." She shifts uncomfortably. "Ah, Margo tells me you are sharing a hotel room?" She says awkwardly, so softly I almost don't hear.

"Oh no no! Don't worry, Margo will have her own bed. I wouldn't -" I clear my throat before Ansel continues. He is, to be fair, doing a very good job.

My mother spins around to face me. Her face drops for a second, but then she says with much excitement:

"Margo! I made you some lunch, just so you don't have to eat any of that crappy take out that I know teenagers are supposed to like. have a lovely time! Awww, I'll miss you!"

She hands me the lasagne and gives me an awkward hug, which involves some lasagne squashing.

"Thank you Mom," I say, but I don't know how I'm going to heat up lasagne in a car on a highway.

When we finally leave my house (which took 15 minutes longer than expected, according at Ansel) and pack the car, we automatically sat in our own seating arrangement that hardly changed the whole trip. Ansel drove, his fingers drumming on the steering wheel and his coke wedge in his shirt pocket, the straw in his mouth so whenever he felt like it he could take a sip. I sat next to him, my feet up on the dashboard, even though I felt super awkward making myself at home, Ansel insisted. My territory is marked with the two piles of books, both for school and fun, and I almost always have my head in a book. The food - snacks, mainly, and the McDonald's we bought in replace of the lasagne we thew out - belongs between our two seats. I have never felt more at home, or more content.