Junebug, lost in thought, pushed open the door of the compact SUV and slid out. She slung her backpack over her shoulder and stood looking at the entrance with a mixture of awe and exhilaration. She started forward with a small group of enthusiastic travelers, following them as they entered the building.
Even in the pre-dawn hours, the airport hummed with activity. She scanned the lines forming in front of the agents before bypassing them and heading for security. She fished out her passport, the ID she was using, and her global security pass.
Eager and weary travelers alike glanced at her as she passed them. Quite a few men stood a little straighter, hoping she would notice them. Quite a few women sighed, glared, or elbowed their partners. Junebug was oblivious to the disruption she was causing.
"Tyler, watch where you're going!" a woman hissed.
The crash of a suitcase into the metal sign caused it to fall over. The woman's curses combined with the man's defensive muttering. Several people chuckled.
"I didn't see it," Tyler was protesting.
"That's because you were watching her!" the woman snapped.
Junebug continued to the security gate. She had memorized the sections of the airport that led to the area she was going, and she glided through the early morning travelers with an ease that belied the butterflies fluttering in her stomach. This was the first time that she had ever been in an airport in her life! She presented her documents to the TSA officer and gave him a brilliant smile that left many people around her feeling dazzled, then collected her backpack and computer, and continued on toward her gate.
Junebug stepped onto the moving sidewalk. Her delighted expression made an older couple chuckle. She ignored them as she leaned forward to study the way the metal pieces fitted together to create the walkway.
"Where are you going?" the old woman asked.
Junebug straightened and blinked. "A long way from here. Why do you want to know?" she asked.
The woman looked startled. "I… because it seems strange that you are traveling alone," the woman replied.
Junebug stared at the couple before she shrugged, turned, and walked away.
"Well," the woman softly exclaimed with surprise and indignation.
"When you look like that, who needs manners?" her husband teased.
Junebug thought about what the couple said. They thought she was rude? And how would someone's appearance affect their manners? Midnight had warned her about talking to strangers. It was none of their business where she was going... or why she was alone. So, who was the rude one in this situation? Bugs didn't actually know, but she quickly forgot about it as she got closer to her gate. The first leg of her flight would take her to London. She would plan her next leg after that.
All of this had come about a bit unexpectedly. It was the result of a conversation with her sister, Midnight, and the encrypted message she had received. She bit her lip as she processed her decision. Midnight was the one who physically handled dangerous missions and saved people in trouble, but this time the danger was personal.
Neither of us should stay home right now... but it won't be forever. It can't be.
Junebug paused in front of a departure message board and stared up at the changing flights, destinations, and times. Her flight would be boarding in fifteen minutes. She had booked First Class so that she could board first and wouldn't have to talk to people. The idea of saying a complete sentence to anyone but Midnight was enough to send her into a panic attack—well, almost. She was doing ok so far. Maybe this wouldn't be as bad as she thought.
Still, chatting with faceless people online who didn't use their real names was much preferable. She could handle that. It was the in-person stuff that was difficult. Having to look at them, make small talk about things she didn't know or couldn't care less about, that was what scared her. She liked the cryptic language of computers.
"You can do this, Junebug. You've got this," she muttered to herself.
"Do you need help finding your gate?"
Junebug stiffened and partially turned toward the deep, friendly voice. A swift glance gave her all the information she needed: male, approximately 26 years of age, brown hair, brown eyes, Hawaiian shirt, board shorts, crocs… with socks, and a worn carry-on. Threat level on a scale of one to ten: two.
The only reason Hawaiian Shirt made it to a two was because of the appreciative way he was looking at her. He seemed to be hoping he would get lucky if they were on the same flight. No chance ofthat.
"No," she replied, turning and walking away.
"Hey, it's okay," he said as he followed her. "I just wanted to make sure you're not lost, but it seems like you're not. I'm heading to—"
She stopped and turned on him. Hawaiian Shirt almost ran into her. She looked up at him. He was a good foot taller than her curvy, five-foot-three frame.
"I said no. I don't need help. I don't want to walk with you. I am in love with someone and I am going to find him," she stated.
There, she thought. She could provide details to people who didn't deserve them. She was getting less rude by the second.Takethat, old lady,she thought victoriously.
Hawaiian Shirt frowned. "Did you lose him?"
