A/N: I need reviews, please! It's not done, so check up every once and a while. I got this inspiration from a summer camp I went too, and many situations were taken from that time. Enjoy!


Lisa and I sat back to back on the dark blue carpet of the airport, leaning heavily against each other as we flipped half-heartedly through some unsettlingly empty magazines. Rain pelted the tremendous windows in great waves of water, blurring out the view of the landing strips heartlessly.

"I was hoping we'd at least get to see some airplanes take off..." I said longingly, trying to sound false but speaking truthfully, as I glanced sidelong at the warped figures of plane-like shapes outside. I tossed the glossy magazine down by my knee wearily, and crossed my goose-bumped arms across my chest. Hooray for the lack of heating in the airport. Lisa turned her head also, and I know she had a similar expression on her face. She had wanted it for me too.

"I know Cricket, I know." He voice was soft, and slightly more serious than I had expected it to be. I sighed at the sound of our childhood nicknames for each other. Cricket was mine, thanks to my slightly raspy voice. Lisa had been deemed 'Mo', short for 'Mother', as Lisa had an uncanny talent for making me feel better, whether it be after I hurt myself somehow, whether it is physically or mentally. I watched sadly as one of the blurry objects began to move away from the window, most likely getting ready to take off.

The truth was, I've never really had an appropriate ride in an airplane that I can remember. People sometime look at my quizzically when I explain my mother's anti-plane philosophy; my father died in a plane crash shortly after my tenth birthday. They usually can't tell if I'm making a 'joke' at first, but then their face takes on a very sorry expression, and I can tell they saw the hurt in my eyes. When I was little, I simply couldn't understand why it was so hard for them to get it. I didn't know that plane crashes weren't as common as car crashes. But I suppose it was for the better, as the missing knowledge probably prevented me for feeling so damn unlucky.

"You didn't eat anything this morning. Eat this," she handed me half of a sandwich over her shoulder, and I took it obediently. I wasn't very hungry, but I know that if Lisa actually tells me to do something, she means it.

We first became friends when I was 14, and she was 15. We met at a local camp as CITs, and pretty much hit it off all summer. She had just come from England, enchanting accent and all, with her parents and her grandpa. I had pretty much been her fist friend in the states. When we realized that we both went to the same school, it sealed the deal. It was hard for us to stay friends, she instantly became popular, with her dark ringlets and violet-blue eyes, smart and mature, the type who was into Art, and was spectacular at it too. People liked her because she was the artsy, sort of distant type of person; an impenetrable fortress of practicality and sophistication- until she was with me, that is. I was not extremely popular in my grade, and instantly of 'lower caliber' thanks to my age, younger than her, as some of the glitzy and popular girls have said. As for my old friends, they seemed to become jealous, and insisted I was just trying to be popular, and that was it. I have some friends that I still hang out with, rarely of course, but Lisa is my closest.

A few minutes after I finish the sandwich, Lisa finally shifts, nudging me with her elbow to stand. We leave our magazines on the floor, both thinking that we wouldn't dare pick up the magazines again anyway should we keep them, for fear of total brain-washed-ness. Why not leave the corrupting things for some other innocent minds? At least they wouldn't be paying money for the garbage.

"The cousin has landed," she whispers into my ear, joking slightly, as we stand side by side, both our eyes trailing over the travel-worn strangers that trudge out. Some are waving to other waiters, much like ourselves, some are too busy handling their kids, or luggage and other more lonely souls just move along slowly, trying not to brush anyone on their way out. Their eyes explain what is going through their head: This place has nothing for me, I'm a drifter. I can't help but feel pierced by their hopelessness. I place a hand over my belly to stop the growing tension.

There we are, feeling slightly awkward was we wait for Lisa's cousin to emerge, the whole reason for this journey. He came all the way from England, and we had to wake up at 6-bloody-AM to fetch him, but that's the extent of my knowledge concerning his journey. Supposedly he's coming for a 'lovely visit', but I can't help but feel that it might also have to do with the steadily declining health of their grandfather, who currently lives in a retirement home in the country. I can't help but feel it's to say final goodbyes. I don't ask Lisa about this, as she was close to her grandfather. I met him a couple of times, and from what I can tell, he's the jolly sort of old man that likes to take his grandkids to interesting places, and can't resist splurging on them every now and then. I really liked what I saw of him. But then again, I haven't seen him lately, most likely all hooked up with IVs and such. I shiver at the thought.

A boy Lisa's age comes through the open doors, a burlap messenger's bag slung around his strong shoulder and a black, tattered guitar case in hand. There is no mistaking this man for anybody other than Lisa's cousin; he shares the same almost black-brown curls, only his are choppier and boy-short, unruly hair feigning tidiness. His eyes are a piercing blue, with less brown in them than Lisa's, but stunning none the less. He wraps the arm unburdened with the guitar around Lisa's neck, as she hugs him back, chattering about something inaudible from where I stand. Finally he turns to regard me, me with my big, dark sunglasses to hide my yesterdays makeup, me with my straight, borderline-tangled red hair, which I'm glad I managed to run a brush through before I left the house.

"Jacqueline, this is Robbie, my dearest cousin. Robbie, this is Jaq, my dearest friend," she smiled at each of us in turn, before we turned to look at each other. He put out one big, strong hand, and I put out mine, and we shook. It was strange, as usually I don't great people so formally. After getting to touch him, though, anything else would have been disappointing.

"'Allo, Jaq." He smiled lightly, and I smiled back.