The Rosewoods Rock & Roll Box Set

by Katrina Abbott

  Dad suddenly got up from the table and turned toward the china cabinet and pulled out one of the drawers, reaching for something. He turned back around and sat down, sliding a large beige envelope across the table toward me. I looked down at it and then up at Dad, who nodded toward it.

  It wasn’t sealed, so I slid my fingers in and pulled out the two passports—the only contents of the envelope. The first one was mine. The second one wasn’t, but had my picture in it. I knew what that meant.

  “You’re now Brooklyn Sylvie Prescott,” Dad said, confirming my guess.

  It wasn’t the first time I’d taken on a fake name, so I just nodded and slid the pile back into the envelope. At least the Brooklyn part was real. I bet when my parents had named me that, they didn’t realize at the time it would end up being one of the most popular names for girls my age, a fact that was both annoying and convenient at the same time.

  He gave me a moment to process before he continued, “The regular protocol is to be followed. No social media. Avoid pictures. No one gets the real story. Understood?”

  “Of course, Dad.” I said, like I had countless times before. My commitment to following protocol could mean the difference between life and death. I got that. Still. Someday it might be nice to have something of a normal teenage life.

  As my parents turned their conversation to world news and politics, I tuned them out and looked through the window to the London skyline. I was going to miss the city that had been my home for two years. I would also miss the people I’d come to know, even if they weren’t precisely friends. But as I watched the city beyond our window, a tiny seed of excitement began to germinate inside of me.

  Until later in my room when I Googled the school.

  My parents were right in that it was very highly esteemed. It looked like a nice place in that old ivy-covered brick way and even had its own stables right on campus. But they forgot to mention one important fact. And I had to think they totally did it on purpose: The Rosewood Academy for Academic Excellence is an all-girls school.

  Sigh. So much for that hope of finding a boyfriend.

  ~ ♥ ~

  It felt like a pivotal moment, getting on the plane. I guess it was one—moving back to the States from London. Starting a new life, leaving the old one—and my parents—far behind. I was excited and at the same time terrified. Would I like my roommate? How about my classmates? Would this school be full of celebutantes and snobs?

  And most importantly, would they like me?

  I tucked that thought away for the time being as I waited for the people in front of me to get themselves sorted in the aisle. I knew I’d be heading to the back of the plane, but at least it was a window seat, so I only had to deal with one adjacent-sitting stranger on the way to New York. Maybe I’d get lucky and the plane wouldn’t be full. Right, I told myself, almost laughing at the thought. Because the universe is always kind. My luck I’d get stuck next to a giant guy who loved talking about his various gastrointestinal problems only slightly more than he loved garlicky foods.

  My backpack still slung over my shoulders, I tugged my carry-on bag down the aisle, keeping my eye on the row numbers: forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight. There. Row forty-nine, seat B was so far unoccupied, so I said a little prayer as I shoved my carry-on into the overhead bin that it would stay so.

  I took my earphones and sleep mask out of my backpack and tucked the bag under the seat in front of me, then lowered myself into seat C. Still no one beside me.

  I pulled the seatbelt across and fastened it with a satisfying click when a young-ish woman stopped at my row. She wouldn’t be so bad, I told myself, giving her a friendly smile. She returned the smile and dropped into seat A, leaving the one between us empty. She leaned over the aisle and spoke to a man sitting in the other aisle seat, so it looked like they wouldn’t be using that center one.

  I finally settled in and waited, watching over the seat in front of me as people got themselves sorted, stuffing their luggage and coats into the overhead bins and getting out their assorted pillows and technology for the long overseas flight. As the aisle started to clear when most people were getting settled in their seats, one of the flight attendants came down, snapping the overhead doors closed.

  Still, the seat beside me remained vacant.

  I exhaled and closed my eyes, waiting for takeoff, grateful for my good luck.

  Until a few minutes later, when the seat moved under me and an elbow met my ribs.

  My eyes flew open and I let out a gasp, more out of shock than pain.

  “Sorry,” said the grinning guy who was now sitting in seat B. “Didn’t think I’d make it,” he added, his breath labored as he recovered from what must have been a sprint through the terminal.

  “It’s okay,” I said, smiling back at him and hoping my face wasn’t as red as it felt at that precise moment.

  Because okay, so the universe wasn’t going to grant me a free seat for the eight hour flight, but it was going to give me this. This being a really cute English guy. He looked to be in his early twenties and had on a light blue button-down over a white t-shirt and a pair of worn jeans that probably felt like flannel right out of the dryer. Speaking of, he almost smelled like he was right out of the dryer, all clean and warm, and I fought the urge to lean in close to get a good whiff.

  Add to that his sapphire blue eyes and messy dark hair and if I hadn’t already been seated, I would have felt just a little bit dizzy.

  Get a grip, I told myself. I dropped my eyes to look at my fidgeting fingers as I tried to do the math on how many minutes and seconds I was going to spend seated next to this guy.

  Needing something to do other than math, I took the Sky Mall catalog out of the seat pocket in front of me and started flipping through it, still very hyperaware of the guy as he settled in and fastened his seatbelt.

  “I’m Graeme, by the way,” he said suddenly and when I lifted my eyes, I noticed his hand out.

  Being right beside him made shaking hands an awkward maneuver, but I rested the magazine on my lap and stealthily dragged my slightly sweaty palm along my thigh before sliding my hand into his. “Brooklyn.”

  If he noticed any clamminess, he didn’t let on.

  “Charmed,” he said, which was hilarious because if either of us was charming, it sure wasn’t me. “Here’s to a smooth flight.”

  Here’s to not making a fool of myself in front of you, I thought. Outwardly, I simply smiled and returned my eyes to the magazine, but not my attention. Every move, every breath, I felt or heard as my entire consciousness was tuned to this guy beside me.

  Trying to strategize the best way to engage him, I rejected pretty much every idea my decidedly non-charming brain threw out.

  Witty banter? Not unless stuttering and saying ridiculously lame things could be considered witty.

  ‘Accidentally’ bump his hand over the armrest? Too intimate.

  ‘Accidentally’ bump his thigh with my knee? Waaaay too intimate.

  Get up to go to the bathroom and slide across his lap? Okay, not. Giving a cute guy an unsolicited lapdance on a plane is not a good way to get his attention. I mean, of course, it would totally get his attention, but not in a good way at all.

  So yeah. My choices were pretty limited and all had the potential for disaster. Which meant I did nothing.

  After the safety demo where I pretended to pay attention out of respect for the flight attendants, I slid the Sky Mall catalog back into the pouch and pulled out my sleeping mask. It was reasonable to have a nap on an evening overseas flight and just to sell it a little, I faked a small yawn.

  And nearly did a fist-pump when Graeme yawned almost right after, telling me he was paying attention. It was possible that was one hell of a coincidence, but I didn’t think so.

  Pretending I hadn’t noticed (and hoping he didn’t notice the tiny smile I was fighting) I pulled the mask over my face, hunkered
down in my seat and stuffed my hands into the side pockets of my hoodie.

  “Sleep tight,” I heard from beside me.

  “Thanks,” I said, allowing the smile now, wishing I hadn’t covered my eyes, but now it was too late. The mask was on, I was committed to sleeping. Or pretending to sleep while I listened to him rustle and breathe beside me.

  Finally, as his breathing evened out and deepened, I matched my breaths to his and eventually drifted off.

  ~ ♥ ~

  It took a second of panic over being completely blind and in what sounded like some sort of wind tunnel before I remembered the sleep mask and where I was. Once that realization hit home, another one landed: my head was resting on something. Something warm and distinctly human. That smelled like manly laundry.

  I cursed in my head as I gingerly removed the mask from my eyes and confirmed my worst fear: that I was indeed sleeping on Graeme, the cute stranger beside me. My gaze drifted up and my worst fear suddenly changed to him looking down at me just as I realized I had been sleeping on him.

  He grinned as I blinked up at him. “Hullo,” he said softly.

  Horrified, I pushed back away from him. “Sorry,” I mumbled, still a bit stupid from sleep.

  “Quite all right,” he said.

  Then I realized my actual absolute worst fear ever had occurred, when my eyes drifted down to the small wet spot on his shirt. Which precisely aligned to where my mouth had been just a moment ago.

  Oh. My. God.

  I had totally drooled on a hot stranger that I was still stuck beside for several hours.

  Now what? Do I apologize? Pretend it doesn’t exist and hope he never notices? It was dark in the cabin, but if he looked in the right spot, he’d totally see it. My mind whirled in panic as I tried to figure out the best tactic to employ in this situation.

  “Something to drink?” the flight attendant whispered from the aisle just then, holding out packets of pretzels and nuts.

  I looked up at her, suddenly very thankful for the interruption. She was smiling at me expectantly as she leaned slightly over the sleeping woman sitting in the aisle seat. “Water, please,” I said as I took the snacks from her.

  “Same,” said Graeme.

  The flight attendant gave a nod and turned to her cart, giving me a moment to put down my tray as I thought about what to do next. Still, I came up blank as to what to do about the drool situation.

  As she reached out to pass me the squat glass of liquid, something in my brain short-circuited and I came up with what was probably (I realize now in hindsight) the stupidest idea I’d ever had. But still in panic mode, it seemed like the best plan of action in this worst case scenario. I took the cup from her and fumbled it, spilling some of the water down Graeme’s shoulder. Not enough to soak him, but enough to cover most of the saliva mark I’d left. Better to be seen as clumsy than drooly, like a St. Bernard, right?

  “Oh crap,” I blurted. “I’m so sorry!”

  Graeme’s gaze went from his shoulder up to meet mine, his eyebrows arched high. “Well. I guess that will wash out the saliva. Good enough.”

  It felt like every molecule of blood in my body rushed to my face at that and all I could do was sputter. “Oh my God...I...”

  He waved his hand. “Think nothing of it. I was happy to be your pillow. You smell lovely.”

  As my heart stuttered in my chest, I just stared at him for a long moment trying to figure out if he was serious. The expression on his face told me he had to be; he certainly didn’t look angry.

  Marry me, my brain said out of nowhere, making me have to look away from him. I swallowed, realizing my throat was very dry and that the water would have served me better going into me rather than on his shirt. I knocked back what was left in the cup and put it down on the tray as I watched Graeme drink his in my peripheral vision.

  “Ahhh. Flying’s thirsty work,” he said as he leaned over and slid his empty cup into mine. As he moved back, he glanced at the watch on his wrist and then yawned again. “Still a ways to go.”

  “Yeah,” I said, ever the brilliant conversationalist. I held out my snacks toward him. “Hungry?”

  He made a face and waved me off. “No, thanks. So what are you doing in New York?”

  For half a paranoid second, I wondered if I should tell him the truth. But there was no way he could know who I really was. “School,” I said. Which was the truth and it’s not like I was drawing him a map to where I was going. A driver was going to meet me at the airport and take me to a hotel near the school almost three hours away, so there wasn’t much fear this guy was going to tail me. “What about you?” I asked, wanting to hear more about him anyway.

  “Business,” he said, smiling.

  “What kind of business?” I asked, wondering what this cute guy did that had him flying halfway across the world.

  He frowned.

  “Sorry,” I said quickly. “I didn’t mean to get personal.” Though he had asked me, so...

  He shook his head. “It’s not that. It’s just that I have a big important meeting and a lot rests on it. I’m embarrassed to admit it, but I’m a bit superstitious about it.”

  “Like if you talk about it, you’ll jinx it?”

  He smirked and nodded. “Stupid, I know.”

  “I understand,” I said, hiding my disappointment because I really did want to know more about him. Though imagining him in a sharp business suit almost made up for it.

  “So tell me about your school,” he said.

  I shrugged. “Not much to tell. It’s my first year there and I don’t know anyone. I’ll be the new girl”

  “Brilliant,” he said.

  I did a double-take but it didn’t look like he was being sarcastic. “How is that brilliant?” I asked.

  “No one knows you. You can be anyone you want to be.”

  I opened my mouth and then closed it again.

  “Not that being you isn’t perfect,” he said with a wink.

  Marry me. No really, popped into my head. “Hardly,” I said, dropping my eyes.

  “Oh come now,” he said softly and it suddenly felt like too much. Sitting next to this guy was heady stuff and I was starting to feel myself getting sucked into his words. He was casting some sort of spell on me and it felt really, really dangerous.

  “Excuse me,” I said, pushing myself up and maneuvering past him (most definitely not giving him a mile-high lap dance) and the lady on the aisle so I could go decompress in the bathroom for a few minutes.

  Thankfully it was unoccupied, so I quickly locked myself inside. While I was there, I used the facilities and then looked at myself in the microscopic mirror as I willed my heart to stop pounding.

  It’s nothing, I told myself. He’s just a nice guy. Do not get sucked into this. You will never see him after today.

  I washed my hands and left the bathroom, taking a deep breath before I returned to row forty-nine. Graeme was standing in the aisle, giving me easy access back to my seat. He didn’t follow me in but disappeared down the aisle toward the lavatory, giving me a few more minutes to prepare myself for his return. As I waited, I looked out the window, but it was dark and there was nothing to see anyway, so I pulled down the shade.

  Most people around us spoke in hushed tones, watched their televisions with their headphones on or simply slept. The white noise of the canned air system drowned out most of them, making it feel like we were strangely insulated in our little row. Before I had time to do much other than put my seatbelt back on and get myself comfortable, Graeme was back.

  Once he was seated, he stilled and the silence felt deafening between us. I couldn’t think of anything to say, so I just smiled at him and thought about putting the eye mask back on for something to do, even though the last thing I wanted was to not have the opportunity to watch him, even out of the corner of my eye.

  But as I fidgeted, he cocked his head a
t me. “What’s wrong?”

  How was I supposed to answer that question? Uh, I’m feeling awkward around you, but I have no idea what to do, but I do want to keep talking to you, so yeah, can you carry the weight of the conversation?

  Not.

  I shrugged and then pushed the first words I could think of out my mouth. “I’m nervous, I guess. I’m going to this brand new school on my own and really have no idea what to expect. Maybe nervous isn’t the right word. More like terrified.” As I said it, I realized it was true. And then, to my horror, my eyes started to fill with tears.

  Do not cry, I told myself as I looked down, away from his knowing gaze. Ugh. Way to make an impression.

  “Right, then,” he said and then, without another word, pulled up the armrest between us so it disappeared between the seats. As I watched, having no idea what he was about, he stretched out his arm over my head and waggled his fingers. “Come on.”

  I glanced up at his arm and then back at his face, mine heating up at what I thought he was proposing, making me thankful for the dim lights in the cabin.

  He shrugged and nodded at me. “I’m already wet, may as well carry on.”

  “You don’t even know me,” I whispered.

  “Well, yes, I know I’m a stranger, but we’re on an airplane and it’s quiet and the middle of the night and you look like you need a little comforting. Also, you smell nice.” He suddenly frowned. “But now that I’ve said it, it sounds creepy...about the smelling nice bit, so I’ll understand if you want to change seats for the rest of the flight.”

  I smiled at that; maybe on paper it sounded creepy, but right here, right now, it sounded like exactly what I needed. My heart felt as if it would burst from beating so fast and hard, but it’s not like I would refuse him. It’s not like I could refuse him—something in my brain made it impossible. Actually, I think that’s what they call hormones.

  This kind of stuff never happens to me, was all I could think. Never. Ever. Maybe it was a sign of things to come. Maybe I really was starting over and things would be different this year. As I thought this, I realized he was sitting there watching me and waiting, his arm still in the air.