“I’m not really catching a flight,” I whispered to her. Her face crunched up, and she looked at me as if I were speaking in ancient tongues.
“I know this is a little odd, but please can I just stand here while you help other people? I’m trying to hide from someone.” I rolled my eyes and tried to give her a knowing sisterly look. “You know. Men,” I tutted. But my attempts at sisterly bonding were not working on this puckered-lipped waif. She glared at me.
“No, this would not be all right,” she spat. Her pitch-black hair was scraped back into a perfect ballerina bun. It was so tight that it looked like it was pulling her eyes and forehead back, DIY Botox. Her lips were stained a deep mauve color—very on fleek—and her eyelashes were as long as a cow’s.
“Ticket, please!” She sounded like a stuck record now. I bit my lip and shook my head, refusing to move.
“Hey, lady!” the American with the lobster wife shouted out. His deep voice was so loud and booming, that once again a few people turned.
“Miss, I must insist that if you do not have a ticket, you must leave the line immediately.” The woman spoke again, her mauve lips enunciating the words.
“Yeah!” The American agreed, and suddenly two other people joined in and the general volume of the conversation increased several more decibels. I looked around nervously and then, much to my horror, I saw Matt again. I turned my back on him and lowered my head to the counter.
“Well?” the woman at the counter asked.
“I . . . I . . .” Terror washed over me in violent waves that made me start sweating.
“Oh, for God’s sake, you’re holding up the whole queue,” someone else from the crowd shouted.
“I’m going to miss my flight if this carries on,” another person chipped in.
“Yeah!” the American seconded. “And then I’ll have to sue you and the airline.”
“Ticket!” the woman behind the counter pressed.
I looked around, everyone was staring at me and then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw Matt’s head turn.Shit!Our eyes locked for a second and then he started moving towards me. I turned quickly.
“Ticket, I want one. NOW!” I yelled in her face.
“Which flight?” she asked.
“I don’t care,” I hissed at the woman. “Just get me on the next flight to, to . . .”
“Val!” Matt was shouting now. I vaguely heard the woman behind the desk mutter something about some island somewhere. I didn’t care.
“Yes! That one. That flight! Hurry, hurry, hurry.”
I turned and watched in jaw-dropping horror as Matt started getting closer and closer, pushing his way through the thick crowd.
“Move it, move it, move it!” I tapped my hand on the counter as the woman typed.
“That will be—”
“I don’t care,” I cut her off, thrusting my credit card and passport at her. Who the hell cared what it cost? I needed to get out of there.
“Luggage to check in?”
“No. Carry-on.”
“Okay, then enjoy your—”
“VAL!” he screamed. I grabbed the ticket from the woman’s hands and ran through the international security gates as fast as I bloody could, not stopping to look behind me.
20 Aug.
Dear Diary,
I know it’s been a while. But I’ve been so busy and this Matt thing is all I can think about. It’s driving me fucking crazy. It’s like I have a song stuck on repeat in my head. And I don’t know how many hints I’m meant to drop either? There is only so much laughing and leaning and staring and touching a girl can do before she comes across as a total creep. The only thing I haven’t tried yet is taking actual clothing off and cartwheeling in front of him with my lady parts in the air!
