~8~

The late August sun shines just a fraction warmer today as I load the limo trunk with my one suit case and carry-on. There's something almost exhilarating about taking so little across the country, like this really is a turning point for my life. A chance to start over and make my own name for myself.

It's been three months, eight days, and fourteen hours since the moment I sent in my audition video (Yes, I counted). I had never imagined that everything would align so perfectly, that life would actually boil down to this moment. I had tossed and turned all night out of pure excitement and nerves, which resulted in no sleep and a lot of list making. I must have repacked my bag at least half a dozen times before five o'clock this morning.

I close the trunk and wipe my sweaty palms on the leggings I'm wearing. Turning to Heather, I can already gauge the pride in her expression.

"Baby girl," she says softly, taking hold over my shoulders, "I look good today, so I don't want to cry."

I laugh, "I owe Max twenty bucks if I cry at all before I board the plane."

Her smile somehow grows even bigger, before she pulls me into a tight hug, "Don't second guess yourself, Brooklynn. Now you can finally show people the talented, amazing girl I know and love," Heather whispers.

"I'm going to miss you so much," I say, pulling my cheek from her shoulder, and taking note of her signature berry perfume for the last time in awhile.

"You'll be fine without me. You will be doing what you were made to do." She tucks a loose strand of hair behind my ear and looks me over as if I'm her own daughter, "It's me I'm a bit worried about. I already miss you too."

She quickly frees me from her arms and fans her face, sniffing and then taking a deep breath, "That was a close one," she chuckles and I offer the same.

Max and his mother arrive almost simultaneously, and quickly bid their own short-lived goodbyes. Mrs. Witherson wishes me the best and gives me a quick embrace as well.

Mom is the last to come down to the parking lot, and before I know it, I'm waving goodbye to the two people being left at the complex gate as we pull out and into city traffic.

The trip to the airport seems longer than it should, but Max enjoys every minute of the ride in the expensive car, even if it's not a limo. An Acura or something? I really don't know cars. It's black, if that means anything.

Mom makes some rude remark about how he would never be able to afford something like it, but Max shakes off the comment, so I do too. At first I was surprised as to the fact that Mom was actually accompanying us on the drive, but then I overheard her declaring that it was on the way to her meeting anyway. I mean, that's pretty much what it always is to her isn't it? I'm either a convenience or not so.

Finally stopping the car in front of a main entrance close to our gate at JFK airport, Max and I look at each other. I know exactly what we're both thinking.

This is it.

He gives a small grin before hopping out of the slick exterior vehicle.

Mom turns to me for the first time in at least a half an hour. Her eyes fall gentle and she opens her palm, inviting mine, "My girl, going to one of the country's top arts schools."

I try to smile but my lip quivers. There are so many emotions flooding through me right now. I've been planning this moment for the longest time, playing out every possible outcome from the second I finally say goodbye.

Mom squeezes my hand from the front seat. Suddenly I'm leaning forward, being held in an awkwardly separated but tight hug. Regardless, I fully give in, soaking up the attention. I know that I need closure, some kind of reassurance. So I convince myself right then and there that for once in my life, my mom is indeed proud of me.

"You're just going to adore being a fashion major." She continues.

My breath catches in the back of my throat and I let my body shrink away from hers. I know, I'm a terrible person. But said I was going to tell her and I'm definitely not a liar.

Time to rip off the bandage I guess.

"Mom, I'm actually majoring in—" I start to blurt, my heart pounding against my rib cage in utter fear, but I'm interrupted by a familiar ringing sound.

Mom instantly answers the call, pressing the cellular device her ear and completely tuning out what I had said. She concludes this heart-filled departure with a hasty wave.

Wow.

She mutters a few sloppy sentences along the lines of, "Have fun. Let me know if you need anything." But I shut the car door behind me before I can even completely register.

Yeah right, like she'd even pick up the phone for me.

My chest throbs all over again, but this time with a stirring anger. I feel as though a flame has been ignited against my face as I aggressively slip in between Max and the trunk. This is enough of a signal for him to step away, neither protesting nor questioning me. I fumble around in my baggage to find a cap, then thread my ponytail through and place it low on my head, having every intention of blocking out the the world.

I can't wait to put my headphones in too.

But a stalky figure emerges from the drivers seat and instantly softens my cold attitude, "Let me help you with that, Miss Brooklynn," Bernie says.

"Thank you," I respond, wrapping my arms around him as soon as he has the suitcase set on the pavement, "I'll miss you too."

"Perhaps I can send you, treats, yeah?" He chuckles over his deep accent.

"Me and my stomach will be happily awaiting." I smile.

Max and I quickly continue inside so that we have time to go through customs before the flight. I don't dare to even take a glance back towards where my mother waits, because I can promise you she never thought to look back up at me.

My best friend and I make our way through the airport. I keep my gaze focused downward, counting the passing floor tiles and keeping watch over Max's feet to guide me. I can't help but fiddle with my backpack straps to keep my shaken hands busy. Shockingly, I don't feel like crying, and that's not just because I'm being betted against doing so. Rather, I only really feel somewhat embarrassed and disappointed. To think that my mom cares to know what I'm majoring is already stupid. She doesn't even deserve for me to tell her.

Max, still without a word, swiftly takes my hand in his. At this, I break through the surface of my rambling thoughts and look up at him. He continues to scan what's in front of us, not drawing any attention to the action. I decide against speaking either, and just appreciate the silent comfort.

This really is it.

And it should be the happiest day ever.

It's to stop caring about those who don't care about me, or to be sheltered by what others think. Because finally, I'm getting to do what I've dreamed of doing since I was six years old, and I wouldn't have it be with anyone else but whose hand is currently enlaced in my own.

•••

"Mine!" Max shouts as he slides past me and into the window seat of our plane. After the two seconds it takes to fully sprawl himself out on the seat so that there's no way I can squeeze in, he looks up at me with a satisfied grin.

"You're such a baby," I complain as I take the seat next to him.

The middle seat. Yay.

He sticks his tongue out at me, which really only proves my statement. This dork can't be mature for five minutes.

"Hi," hiccups a young girl as she takes the remaining seat in the row of three. Her porcelain skin is dotted with soft freckles on her rose stained cheeks, and her thick hair is pulled back into a high bun.

"Hello!" I chirp with a warm smile at the presence of the child.

"I think this is my seat," she says, hesitantly sliding her bag off her narrow shoulders. Her nervous smile reveals two frontal gaps that appear to have been abandoned by a set of teeth.

"I'm Brooklynn," I introduce, intrigued by the girl's features. Her eyes are very similar to my own but brighter, and she owns a cute button nose. She looks about ten, but frankly, has a complexion most would kill for.

"My name's Kenzie," she replies.

"And I'm Max. I'm an astronaut," he pipes in, extending his hand to the girl. Hers is half the size of his at most, but she proceeds with the greeting, adding in an adorable giggle.

I roll my eyes, "He's lying."

"What's his name then?" She cocks her head at this.

"No he's— never mind," I say, "Are you flying by yourself?"

Kenzie shakes her head in response, "My mom and baby brother are up there." She points, though her exact direction is lost in the crowded seating.

"I see."

"I'm going to somewhere in Washington I think. We're visiting my grandma and grandpa before school starts again. Where are you going?" The girl questions, slowly warming up to our company.

"California," I inform her. Max and I have a layover in Seattle, so I imagine that Kenzie is staying somewhere near there.

Max nods, "Brooklynn here is a rockstar, that's why we're going to Cali."

Great. Now this little girl can tell her mom that she sat on the plane next to a sixteen year old rockstar and a seventeen year old astronaut.

"That's so cool!" She squirms in her seat, "I just take pictures."

"So we've got a pro photographer aboard too?" Max emphasizes, making the girl's smile widen, "You any good?" he asks. Art in all forms tends to instantly spark his interest.

"Oh, I don't know. I just love doing it," Kenzie says, her cheeks undergoing a slight pinker shade.

"That's really the best answer though," he replies.

"I have a binder," she giddily tells us, removing it from her backpack, "These are my absolute favorites."

I flip through the thin book, verbally admiring the girl's work. Most of the pictures were definitely of her dog, but she had a couple pages with variety. I come across one of a sunflower on a rainy day, and honestly, I would set it as my phone wallpaper. She is quite good at using a camera, for her age. "You're very talented, Kenzie."

Max stops my turning the page with his index finger, "This one. I love this one."

This particular photo captured a bicycle propped up against a small fence. It is a little blurry, but that almost seems to enhance it rather than take anything away. I can see why it had caught Max's eye.

"Me too!" The girl happily grins, "You can keep it if you'd like. Mom has it on her computer at home."

"I would be honored," he says with such sincerity that it warms my heart.

Soon the plane's speaker system cuts through the other busy sounds around us. It rattles out a few precautions and the announcement that we will now be taking off.

I watch Kenzie now grip the seat and ease her head back, closing her eyes and taking deep, steady breaths. The plane engine comes to life as I place my own hand onto the girl's. "Hey, Its okay. We will be there before you know it."

She doesn't respond, only forces a small smile and closes her eyes once again.

"My uncle died in a plane crash," she finally blurts.

Ouch. How am I supposed to comfort her now? She has every reason in the world to be scared.

I'm just about to open my mouth to say who-knows-what when Max boldly speaks up, "I'm really sorry, Kenzie. But this baby," he pats the plane wall, "this is state of the art. I'm sure your mom wouldn't have put you on this plane if it wasn't the safest one out there."

Max winks to me, obviously content with his handle on things. But only I know how hard that was for him. Max's dad died in a plane crash when he was also ten years old. He doesn't talk about it much—or really at all. But even after seven years; memories will haunt, old wounds sting, and scars resist to fade.

"Describe your dream picture," Max continues, furthering the distraction.

"What?" asks Kenzie.

"If you could get a shot of anything, what would it look like?"

At this, her eyes light up—identical to Max's when face to face with this kind of topic. You can almost feel their minds spinning. It's honestly one of the most beautiful things I've ever seen.

"A girl on a swing set, in the ocean!" She exclaims, continuing into more detail.

Odd selection, but okay. I'm not the artist here. Max listens to the girl intently, asking her about different aspects of this make-believe photograph.

I'm not sure that I have looked up at him with so much respect.

•••

A building yawn escapes my mouth as my eyes flutter open. My limbs ache to stretch but I'm simply not awake enough to fulfill such an action. I hardly take naps, but when I do I never fail to ask myself the panicked question of 'where am I?' after awakening. Almost never though, is the answer thousands of feet in the sky.

Once I am comprehensive enough to recognize that I am indeed on a plane, common sense suggests that I had fallen asleep— on Max's shoulder.

But I don't move, not yet.

I'm fascinated by the notebook rested in his lap. Another of his own creations that never cease to amaze me nor grasp my wonder. The pencil sketch looks very familiar, but groggy unclear thoughts still linger in my state.

I watch his hands flip the pencil over and press the eraser to the paper.

"No," I manage.

"Excuse me?" He asks, smirking down at me still resting against him.

"It's perfect the way it is."

"Glad you think so. I'm surprised you didn't drool on it too."

I sit up at this, wiping the corners of my mouth. I don't say anything though, now seeing the nicely sized spot I left on the sleeve of his shirt.

"Uh—well, I need to use the bathroom." I say, trying to get out of the awkward grin Max is giving me.

After the interesting experience in the plane's bathroom (don't ask), I begin to wander back to my seat. Since we are the second from the last row, I'm already in earshot of Max and Kenzie's conversation before I even round the corner.

"She's super pretty," says Kenzie's youthful voice.

"She is," Max responds.

I know what this looks like, but I'm not eavesdropping—nor even stopping to listen really. It's more of a leisurely pause.

"Are you going to marry her?"

My heart skips a beat and Max must have a similar reaction, because I can hear him choke and start coughing.

"What's up with him?" I ask nonchalantly, moving from my recreational location. Not a hiding spot. No.

"Nothing!" They both express in unison. Kenzie giggles. Max holds a faintly nervous smile as I sit back down.

"I have something for you," Max eventually speaks, handing his drawing over to Kenzie.

A silent gasp escapes her mouth, "It's my dream picture."

"Yeah." Max runs his hand through his hair.

Now that my brain is clicking again, the sketch completely comes to life in front of my eyes. It's a beach scene, with a silhouetted girl perched upon one of two swings, hanging just above the shallow water. A few random objects are scattered in a unclear path in the sand, including a pair of shoes, a clock and a radio. The moon casts a lively glow against the ocean waves, deeply contrasting the dark and textured sky above.

Now that I could plainly see Kenzie's envision, it didn't seem so obscure anymore. It is beautiful.

"I love it," the girl states, staring down at her newfound treasure.