Airplanes

Two grounded teens exchange paper planes and fall in love, without ever seeing each other.

Riley


         I'm in prison.
         Well, not actual prison. I'm grounded. In my room. But it's basically the same thing.
         I don't really mind. I like keeping to myself.
         Except I'm not allowed to read.
         I love to read.
         Especially romance. My guilty pleasure is reading those trashy romance novels. Not the smut, but the cheesy ones. The kind where everyone falls in love in the rain and nobody dies. They're heartwarming.
         In the absence of reading, I've been drawing. A lot. I draw my favorite anime characters, my own versions of people from books I've read, or just whatever random thing pops into my head. My iPad got confiscated, so now I've got paper everywhere--little sketches and half-finished doodles carpeting my floor like dust.
         I'm drawing at my desk when I glance out the window and see a paper airplane basking in the sun on the freshly cut grass. My curiosity gets the better of me, which by the way didn't kill me. I'm also not a cat so I guess that doesn't mean much.
         I slip on a hoodie and tug the hood low over my face before heading out. I push my door so the suction doesn't create a sound and slowly pull it open. Making sure the coast is clear I peek my head out and glance around. I have the creaky floorboards memorized and avoid them like a spy. (Maybe I am a cat?)
         Creeping down the stairs I listen for any noise. My mom is home, I just currently have no idea where she is at the moment.
         I open the front door as silently as possible and think about ninja rolling but decide against it.
         Walking over to the paper airplane I gingerly pick it up like it's on the verge of exploding. Slipping it into the pocket I retrace my steps shutting my door, relieved I didn't get caught.
         I place it on my desk, unfold it and smooth it out before reading the neat pink print.




Hi!
My dad said your mom told him that you're grounded.
I am too hahahahaha.
If you don't want to write back you don't have to.
No pressure!
This is me saying hello.
So, hi!
-Jamie


         I smile to myself a bit. That was sweet of her, so I decide I should be polite and write back. I grab my favorite black marker and write back to Jamie.




Hey!
I'm Riley. That's kinda crazy we're both grounded at the same time!
How did my mom talk to your dad?
I've never heard of you. No offense!
What I'd love to hear more about you!
         Riley          :)


         I finish the note and read it a few times to check for spelling mistakes. (English isn't my best subject.) It looks good--mostly--and just as I'm folding it into a paper airplane, a thought hits me:
         I have absolutely no idea where Jamie lives.
         Maybe I can throw it in the yard and hope for the best.
         Yeah. That sounds like a terrible idea.
         I do it anyway.
         I open my window, lift the screen and toss the plane.
         It drifts down like a feather and lands right in the middle of my front lawn.
         Not bad.
         I watch for a while, like she's going to swoop in and grab it midair like Superman.
         Or... Superwoman? Is that a thing?
         Note to self: Google that when I'm free again.
         I turn back to my sketch of Mob from Mob Psycho 100. Not my favorite it's too weird, but something about Mob's blank stare feels relatable.
         While I'm drawing my stomach growls and I go downstairs to make myself a sandwich. I walk down, don't creep this time and enter the stainless steel kitchen where my mom stands cooking. I turn away slightly and open the fridge, I can hear her turn around.
         "Oh hey, Riley! How's being grounded?"
         I grit my teeth and ignore her antagonizing comment. "Fine."
         "Well it's your fault. I wanted you to enjoy your summer, driver's training, get a job, maybe a life, but you'll be on punishment all summer."
         I ignore her and grab my favorite sandwich fixings.
         Hard salami, my #1.
         Unless there's bacon--which is rare.
         I would marry bacon if it were legal. Just saying.
         My thoughts drift to this Jamie.
         I bet she's beautiful.
         And I bet if she saw me, she'd never want anything to do with me.
         Maybe she feels the same way.
         


Jamie
         
         I stare at the paper airplane sitting on my bed.
         It's folded kind of sloppily, the edges uneven, but I don't care. It's mine now. And it came from him.
         I don't even know him yet. Not really.
         But something about the way he wrote back--kind of awkward, kind of funny--made my chest feel too tight.
         I've never had a boyfriend before.
         When I read that smiley face my heart fluttered.
         Is that weird?
         I think I'm being weird.
         I stare at the note for far longer than I need to. Between thinking about what to say and already imagining scenarios of us, I'm grinning like a lunatic.
         I plop down on my bed that's shoved into the corner of my room to make room for all of my clutter and grab a textbook to write on.


         Hey Riley!
         Thanks for replying to my letter!
         I hope this airplane finds you well. (As well as you can be I guess)
         My dad was going to work and your mom struck up a conversation.
         I don't know how it came up.
         I like watching anime, but I can't really do that though.
         Outside of that I play soccer sometimes. My dad lets me play even though I'm grounded. He thinks I'm gonna get a scholarship for it, it'd be cool but it's not likely.
         I collect shoes, I have a pretty sizeable sizable collection. Fun Fact: We're called Sneakerheads.
         I collect comics too. I have a bunch of Marvel and DC.
         I promise I'm more entertaining, I'm just blanking right now.


         Jamie


         I read over my letter a dozen times, making sure I sounded as normal as possible. I fold it into a paper airplane and toss it out my window, watching it glide gracefully into his yard.
         I stare at his lawn like he's going to swoop in and grab it--like Superman rescuing Lois Lane.          
         Rifling through my closet I toss dirty clothes over my shoulder and grab my soccer ball to distract myself and bounce it from foot to foot for a while before getting bored.
         I plop down on my bed like a starfish staring at my not-glowing plastic stars on the ceiling.
         What if he doesn't write back?
         Well he has to, he did it once.
         What if it gets taken before he gets it and he thinks I ignored him?
         I shove my face into my pillow and groan because I can't scream.
         Shut up brain.
         I glance at the window at his lawn.
         The airplane's gone.
         I jolt upright and launch myself toward the glass.
         It's definitely gone.
         I lock my door, slide open the window as quietly as I can, and slip out onto the roof. The shingles are hot under my palms. I scoot down, dangle for a second, then drop into the grass with a soft thud.
         I sprint across the street like my life depends on it, into his yard.
         There it is.
         I snatch up the airplane, shove it into my pocket, and race back the way I came.
         Up onto my AC unit, scrambling back onto the roof, then through my window and into my room.
         I shut the window.
         Unlock the door.
         Collapse onto the floor, completely out of breath.
         I lie there for a bit, staring at the ceiling.
         Then I sit up.
         I dig the paper out from my pocket and unwrinkle it.


Riley


         I watch the airplane float into her yard.
         I sit there for a minute and stare before turning back to my drawing.
         I've made upwards of 200 drawings already.
         I'm so lost in my doodles I don't even hear my mom calling until she starts pounding on my door. I jump out of my chair and smash my toe into my desk. Ignoring the throbbing pain I limp over to the door and open it warily.
         "Riley, are you deaf?" My mom says, scolding me.
         I resist the temptation to bite back, "Sorry mom, what's up?"
         She shifts her Michael Kors purse from one hand to the other. Her face is unreadable behind those oversized sunglasses, juxtaposed against her bleached blonde hair.
         "What's 'up' is you're going to the store with me. I want to hang out with my son. Not like you've got anything better to do."
         "Can't we do something inside? You know I hate going out in public." I point at my scar--a gash running from my eyebrow all the way down to my jaw. It's basically a neon sign people stare at like I've got a Playboy magazine taped to my face.
         "Riley. It's not a choice. And get dressed." She says sternly before strutting away like a fashionista.
         I look down at my clothes, I'm wearing a large t-shirt because it's a bajillion degrees. I throw on some shorts and call it a day.
         I grab my hairbrush and go to war against the kingdom of Hair. Hair is winning. My black mop that sits on top of my head never wants to do what I want. It's kind of a rebellious teen in its own way. Maybe I can try grounding it.
         I decide to leave it as it is and join my mom in the garage. Her SUV is chugging along quietly. I slip on some sandals, open the car door, and slide into the back seat. She doesn't even wait for me to buckle in before she takes off the fastest I've ever seen anyone pull out of a garage before.
         As Mom peels out so fast I'm sure she's leaving tire marks in the driveway, I see a paper airplane fly into my yard. I look up and catch a glimpse of somebody in the window before the curtains get pulled shut. I wonder if that was Jamie.
         My mom's voice snaps me back to reality, "Earth to Riley." Your dad was talking about wanting to see you again. I squeeze my eyes shut and internally roll my eyes. I want nothing to do with that man and she knows it.
         "Oh, c'mon Riley, he loves you and just wants to see you." She pleads.
         I hold my tongue and just make a non-committal noise, but my mom presses. "He hasn't seen you in 4 years. He misses you, especially because you never visited or wrote."
         I swallow my irritation and say, "You know exactly why I never did."
         She nods. Not in an understanding way, but a nod you give someone when you act like you're listening but you're thinking about My Hero Academia.
         "Just give him another chance. And besides, I already told him you'd stay at his place for the weekend."
         I jolt up in my seat and absolutely lose it, "You what? How dare you force me to see that man after you know the hell he put me through? You know full well I don't want to see him ever again."
         She pulls the car to the side of the road and turns around. Uh oh.
         "Riley James Madison!" I hate my middle name. It's his first. "You do not speak to me that way, are we clear?"
         I just nod.
         "I said, are we clear?"
         "Yes."
         "Think of it as an opportunity to get away for the weekend."
         The car simmers in the blazing summer heat.
         "Is your boyfriend coming over?"
         Her brow creases, "Come again?"
         "Is your boyfriend coming over when I'm going to my dads?"
         "Yes, but-"
         "That's what this is about? You want the house to yourself so you ship me off to his house?" I refuse to call that man my father.
         She goes beet red and puts the car back in drive. "You're seeing your father and that's final!"
         That about kills the conversation.


Jamie


         My relationship with my father isn't the greatest. Don't get me wrong I love him to death, but he's just unavailable. He used to be an amazing father and incredibly active in my life.
         Not anymore.
         Now he just watches sports and drinks beer. He was forced to become involved when I showed up to the door in handcuffs, he was lucky he was out of beer that day or I might be in a home until he got sober.
         I have to do my own laundry, he gives me his debit card to go shopping and cook dinner. I actually enjoy cooking so that last one isn't bad, and I get to shop for all the ingredients I want to use so it kinda works out in its own twisted way. Doesn't it?
         Speaking of doing my own laundry, I forgot to do it and now I'm wearing my only clean shirt which is my soccer jersey.
         I grab his wallet and keys and slip it into the back pocket of my shorts. "Dad, I'm going to the store, do you want anything?"
         I wait for him to answer. He grunts. You know how parents can tell what kind of baby's cry is which? It's like that for my dad. That was a 'no, now quit bothering me' grunt.
         I have to make room on the seat due to all the detritus of cans and paper bags in his car.
         The acrid stench of cigarettes cling to the interior leather of the car, and the stale booze wafts in the air like a subtle note in a bad cologne.
         I shove the keys in the ignition and pull out to go to the store.


Riley


          My hoodie and sunglasses are like armor. Just way lamer. But maybe just as blazing. It's like a million degrees, way too hot to be wearing this. The cool air of the store helps a bit, but not enough. The store is packed with parents and their kids who are out for the summer.
         I close my eyes and take a deep breath, unable to shake the feeling they're all staring at me.
         "Can I stand in the freezer aisle and like live there?" I ask, basically begging.
         She ignores me and keeps weaving between aisles.
         I keep my head down and follow her.
         I walk down the drinks aisle and she grabs a few 'health drinks'--the kind with so much yeast they'd probably kill me before curing anything
         One of my favorite pop songs, 'Fruitcup,' is playing softly over the store radio. I hum along, quiet as I can.
         She moves with brutal efficiency having shopped here for over a decade and a half.
         Her cart slowly starts to fill up.
         We walk by a boy with blond hair in a soccer jersey. He examines a melon very closely.
         Wait, didn't Jamie say she plays soccer?
         Maybe he knows her. I should ask. I wish I could. Wishing I could work up the nerve to ask, I just shuffle past him before I lose track of my mom.




Jamie


         I enter the store and a cool rush of air meets me. There's a mob of parents with their kids. I walk around and pick up chicken. Like 4 packages, I eat a lot of chicken. I grab some eggs too, which in this economy, is less than what I would like.
         The song is playing some Billboard topping pop song that gets played everywhere now. I grab some fruits that will probably sit in the fridge until they go bad but who knows? I pick up a melon and tap it like I know what I'm doing. I don't. While I'm pretending to examine it, someone brushes up behind me--bare skin against mine, just for a second. It sends a chill straight up my spine. I take a glance behind me and see somebody in a hoodie humming to the music. It's 93 degrees, why are they wearing a hoodie? I almost say something stupid like 'Hot enough for ya?' but decided to let Hoodie Person live.
         I head to the self-checkout, scan everything in record time, and bag my stuff like a pro. I toss it all in the back of my dad's car, return the cart--because I'm not a total menace to society--and hop into the driver's seat. Groceries secured. Mission complete. I crank up the A/C and start the drive home.


Riley


         I hate these organic stores. Most of the people who shop here are just rich brats pretending to be enlightened because they buy gluten-free almond flour. A middle-aged mom with bleached-blonde hair and visible brown roots is yelling at some poor teenage employee like he personally ruined her kale.
         I shoot him a sympathetic look while my mom gets rung up at one of the only registers. It's a smaller store--no self-checkout, just a few overworked cashiers. We finish paying and load the groceries into the trunk.
         As usual, my mom makes me return the cart. I do it, then slide into the passenger seat without a word.
         The air in the car is filled with an unspoken tension as the car quietly rumbles down the road. I stare outside and watch as the sights blur by and meld together.
         "When am I going?" I ask out of the blue.
         I can see my mom glance at me in the rearview mirror through her dark sunglasses.
         "Next weekend."
         I let her words hang in silence remembering the old adage, 'If you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all.' I take this to heart today even though she absolutely deserves a piece of my mind.
         It's not for quite a bit of time, but I'm already dreading this meeting. What am I supposed to say to him? What if he hasn't changed?