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FIVE: The Stevensons

I strolled with my small suitcase through the Liverpool John Lennon airport.

It took about twenty hours to get there and then I'd be picked up by my new family.

To be honest, I was quite anxious to meet them. I had never really gotten to know anyone outside the SOC. And this family didn't know what I did, meaning they couldn't judge me on anything from my past and only by my first impression.

I sat down at one of the chairs in my gate and I looked at the information I got on my hosts. The parents' names are Miranda and Phillip Stevenson. They have two kids. A daughter who was twenty-one, and a son who is five years younger. Their names are Kylie and Asher.

I studied their background information. Mr. Stevenson is a cop apparently, so if I were to get in trouble, he could help me. Mrs. Stevenson is a nurse. So my guess was that she wasn't home very often. I also looked at their birth dates and family members for a while and then decided to go through my new passport again. 18 year old Emma Hawthorne. Two years younger than my actual age. Not sure how to feel about it, but I guess I'll get used to it.

Also, how am I ever going to sneak out of the house to achieve anything on this mission?

***

I boarded the plane and sat in my respective seat near the window. I brought a pair of earplugs and a couple of books in my hand luggage so I wouldn't get bored during the flight.

There wasn't a lot of time before the plane took off and I couldn't help but notice that there wasn't anyone sitting next to me. God bless. I know from experience that it's almost obligatory to make small talk when you're sitting next to a stranger. Anywhere really.

I hate small talk and have never been good at it. I feel like it's useless to ask how someone's day is going, or what they think of the weather, 'isn't it lovely?' No. I'd much rather have a conversation about the important things in life. Which is something you would probably rather do with someone you're already familiar with, and therefore I do not enjoy talking to strangers. Period.

While I was having this internal conversation and stared out of the plane's window, I didn't notice a person had placed itself next to me. I was tempted to roll my eyes at my misfortune, but that motion might have seemed as though I was a lunatic who had escaped from the nuthouse, so I decided not to. However, I did feel the urge to just ignore the person and act like I hadn't seen them, unfortunately, I was raised better than that – as much as that's possible in a house full of killing machines in the form of young girls – so I acknowledged the man, so it seemed, who had taken place next to me by giving them a small smile. He nodded in response and we both turned to do whatever we were doing.

A couple of hours later, I had to change flights because there wasn't a direct flight from Liverpool to Colorado Springs, unfortunately.

Having changed flights a total amount of three times, I finally arrived at the Colorado Springs airport. The picture of the four-membered family was stuck in my head and it wasn't very difficult to spot them in the small crowd that was formed at the exit.

I watched them all get excited and wave at me. They seemed nice enough, and I waved back in a friendly manner.

   Once I was close enough, I released my suitcase in order to greet them. "Hi! You must be Emma." The woman, Miranda, said, shaking my hand gently. I nodded, "Nice to meet you." I told her, smiling, in my all American accent. "My name is Miranda," she introduced herself. She was a dark blonde with hazel eyes. Next up was dad, a masculine, tall guy with dark hair and light brown eyes, "Phillip Stevenson, nice to meet you." He told me with a firm grip. I didn't waver, "Emma." Then came the daughter, who was actually one year older. But little did they know that I wasn't the age I claimed to be. "Hi. I'm Kylie." She looked a lot like her mom, but she had her father's eyes. "Nice to meet you, I'm Emma." And lastly was the youngest of the bunch, "Asher." The fifteen year old stated firmly when he shook my hand. "Guess you already know my name." I told him, after having recited my fake name twice. He smiled, "Yup."