Damien Carmichael leads a double life. By day he's a high school senior at an elite prep school, just trying to get through his last year without any trouble. He has a girlfriend and up until this year, he was the star player of the lacrosse team.
...
Their little weekend getaway had turned into a week-long getaway. They hadn't intended to stay as long as they had, after all, neither of them had brought along luggage, not that they needed it. They had barely stayed clothed long enough for their clothes to get dirty. Still, Damien had eventually sent his clothes to be laundered, if for no other reason than the possibility that the two might be able to go shopping later.
It was nearing the first of June, making it exactly ten days before graduation.
"If we just stay here, we can fly out directly from JFK to Heathrow," Damien had said, staring up at the ceiling. He had been doing that a lot lately he realized.
"Aren't the tickets through another airport?" Oliver asked.
Damien shrugged, "We can exchange them."
"What about our walk?"
"Fuck it," Damien said with a chuckle, turning over so that he was laying directly on Oliver's chest. Oliver had managed, somehow, to sneak alcohol to them, and Damien was feeling the post-dinner, post-coital, post-several dozen shots glow.
Oliver shrugged, "Meh, I've got no one who will care whether or not I walk. But won't your parents be pissed?"
Damien giggled to himself, "I don't think they ever expected me to walk," he admitted. "Not till you came along anyway."
"Why'd you change your mind?" Oliver asked.
"Dunno. Thought you'd want to walk. Get cheered on by my parents, and your dad's garage friends."
Oliver eyed him at that, "Did you invite them?"
"Nope," Damien replied, popping the P. "But you know mother, I'm sure she did."
Oliver groaned, "Then we have to go. I can't let down your parents, and my friends."
Damien merely sighed, "You're right," he said. "First thing tomorrow morning, we'll take the train back to Westlake."
Oliver nodded, "That sounds reasonable enough," he said.
The next morning had turned into the next several mornings, and before either of them knew it, it was the day before graduation, and they still hadn't left Manhattan.
"Shit," Damien hissed, calling one of his father's drivers at a quarter to noon. They had just woken up to the startling realization that they had yet to leave, and at the rate they were currently going they would miss their graduation altogether.
Damien sighed, quickly calling around to his father's contacts in search of a private jet that could take them to Burlington International in the next few hours. The train would take far too long, and though he supposed flying commercial wouldn't kill him, he much preferred to avoid it if he could, they already had the flight to London directly after graduation, to look forward to.
To Damien's dismay, however, all of his father's contacts had proved useless, and the earliest commercial flight didn't leave for Burlington for another seven hours, giving them ample time to check-in at the airport and have a nice lunch/dinner there, if they wanted. It was hardly ideal, but as Damien saw it, there was really no other way.
If nothing else, Damien thought, the added wait time would give him more time to work on his novel.
He was nearing the end, so close, he could almost taste it, but just far enough away that he felt himself go a little mad. This is what you get for spending the better part of two weeks on your back, his mind supplied for him.
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