At least I said something normal

Shaking the girl from my mind, I glance at my watch. My stomach drops at the time. Even though Terminal B isn’t far, I’m worried that boarding will start early. I start speed walking as fast as possible, avoiding the moving walkways as much as possible. I refuse to be stuck behind a roadblock of phone staring zombies.

Making my way into Terminal B, a girl in a bright blue polo and apron stops me. She’s standing outside one of those chain restaurants that sell limited menus for high prices inside of larger buildings. It’s some sort of smoothie place, but I’ve never seen this company before. The logo is an unfamiliar blue and orange spiral, and the company name isn’t on the sign. Upbeat, vaguely Jamaican music bops from the counter.

“Would you like a free sample of our Sweet Tropical Smoothie? Our perfect blend of banana, mango, pineapple, coconut, and agave will help cool you down in the summer heat. We’ve got a buy one get one free deal going on right now.”

The salesperson shoves a metal tray covered in tiny plastic cups in my face. Slightly melted smoothies slosh around in little yellow swirls.

“Sorry, not interested.”

I brush past the tray and jog further down the hall. Gate 37 rests at the far end of the terminal. I absolutely do not have time for this.

Thankfully boarding hasn’t started by the time I zoom into my gate. Unfortunately, every seat is full. Travelers are packed tighter than canned sardines. Several people sit criss cross on the floor around electrical outlets, charging their devices. The remaining floor space is taken up by mounds of luggage and squirming children. I don’t want to imagine what being stuck on a flight for several hours with all these people will look like.

An open spot at the neighboring gate catches my eye and I make a beeline for it. From here, I’ll still be able to hear any boarding announcements. I stumble my way over a miniature obstacle course of carry-ons. This flight doesn’t have any kids. It’s all adults and a couple teenagers. An eerie quiet lays over the waiting area, like everyone is holding their breath, waiting for something to happen. Careful not to disturb the calm, I gently shrug my bag off and lower myself into the chair. At the sight of the person next to me, I freeze.

It's her. The missing passport girl. From earlier.

I snap my gaze straight forward and clench my hands in my lap. This is awkward. Thankfully, I don’t think she’s noticed me.

Please just keep scrolling on your phone.

Begging the gods of social media to act in my favor, I sneak a glance from the corner of my eye. She’s staring straight at me. Those dark eyes stab deeply into my soul with jagged teeth. I can’t move a muscle. Suspended in a moment beyond the confines of time, I sit and stare back in a cold sweat. A rhythmic pounding fills my ears, like a drum. An eternity passes between us.

“Um.”

Her quiet voice, hardly a whisper, breaks the spell.

I still don’t have anything to say. My neck prickles but I resist the urge to scratch it. Was breathing always this loud?

Her puzzled face breaks out into a smile.

“I recognize your hair. You’re the person who found my passport, aren’t you!”

Stupid hair. There’s no way I can deny this.

“Yeah,” I admit.

She gently squeezes her hands together while she talks.

“I just wanted to thank you again. It scares me to think what could’ve happened if you hadn’t noticed it.”

“It’s no big deal.”

At least I said something normal.

“Aw, thanks.” She sends a dazzling grin, like the one from when I returned her passport. She extends her hand. “What are the odds that we’d meet again? I’m Adrienne by the way.”

I give it a soft shake. “Adrien? Correct?”

Surely, I misheard her. There’s no way she said “Adrien.” That wouldn’t make sense. It can’t be right because my name is Adrien.

She gives a definitive nod. “Yep. That’s me! So, what’s your name?”

“This might sound a little weird,” I begin. “But Adrien is actually my name too.”

“What?” Adrienne suddenly leans over the armrest at me. Her curious eyes probe me further. “Do we actually have the same name? How do you spell yours?”

“A-D-R-I-E-N,” I slowly enunciate. It’s been years since elementary school and spelling things out loud was never my strong suit.

“Mine’s the same! Just add an extra ‘N’ and ‘E’ to the end.” She’s awfully excited about this. Beaming impishly, she laughs, “You can call me AJ.”

“Nice to meet you AJ.”

I force out a pathetic laugh then stare at the crusty airport carpet. Fate really is screwing with me. I look back up, still she’s peering intensely at me.

“By the way,” she starts. “I like your shirt.”

“Sliced Melon? You know them?”

An ethereal floating feeling comes over me. It’s like I’m dreaming right now. Except, I know it’s not a dream because nothing ever aligns this perfectly, even in my wildest dreams. Like final puzzle pieces falling into place, things keep coming together inexplicably.

“I’ve become a huge Sliced Melon fan recently,” AJ replies. She gingerly takes off her hoodie, making sure to successfully extricate her long hair.

“I’m wearing the exact same shirt right now! See?”

It’s the same shirt alright. Just in a boxy crop top form. Not that it looks bad though. The initial shock I felt at this series of coincidences has vanished, replaced by a strange disbelieving apathy. My next words flow smoothly, scripted almost.

“How’d you find out about Sliced Melon?” I ask. “Most people I know haven’t heard of them before.”

“I know right!” she shouts.

The disapproving eyes of fellow passengers narrow in on us. Suddenly, I’m aware that we’re in a public space again.

She gives an embarrassed grin to no one in particular, then continues her thought in an excited hush.

“So, l was saying, none of my friends listen to Sliced Melon either. Whenever I try to tell them about it, they have no idea what I’m talking about.”

I chuckle along softly. “Exactly. My friends think I’m talking about the food.”

“Yeah, they’re all ‘what type of melon’” she pantomimes. “And I’m like, ‘that’s not what I mean.’ And when they finally understand it’s the name of a band, they don’t even care.”

“They just make fun of you for liking a band named after fruit,” I interject.

“You too?” she giggles. “I can’t even eat fruit around my friends anymore without them saying something. If we’re ever in a grocery store together, they grab a bunch of fruit and ask me what instruments each one plays.”

“Oh, I’ve had fruit thrown at me.”

“Really?” Her expression shifts to concerned. “Are you okay?”

“Of course,” I assure her. “Me and some friends were just messing around.”

Did I say something wrong? Why does she seem sort of worried now? Should I tell her that I was the one who first started hurling chunks of watermelon? If I do that, she might think I’m a jerk. There’s a moment of silence. People creak in their plastic seats. A woman coughs. The air conditioning gently hums against the sounds of children fighting back at Gate B37.

“So,” she says, sliding a stray piece of hair behind her ear. “Which one of their songs is your favorite?”

That’s a hard question. She might not like the same Sliced Melon songs as me. I study the ceiling. A security camera winks at me. There’s a spider web on it.

“Maybe ‘Kitchen Sink Mold’?” I hesitantly answer.

“That’s a good one,” she nods. “But I’d have to say that mine is- “

The crackle of the airline intercom cuts her off. Everyone snaps to attention as the flight attendant begins her spiel.

“Attention all passengers on the flight to Tokyo. Due to severe weather concerns, the flight will be delayed for some time. Currently, we are estimating a three-hour delay at minimum. Please check the departures board or the airlines app for further announcements.”

As the attendant repeats the message, travelers rise grumbling and gather their belongings.

AJ stands and shoves her hoodie into her backpack, zipping it up properly this time. She gives me a weird little sideways eye flick and squeezes her bag strap tightly.

“Well, now that we’ve got more time, I’m going to go to the smoothie place I saw on the way here. They’re having a sale. Want to come?”

No way.

“Sorry. I can’t,” I sigh. “This isn’t actually my flight.” I point over to my gate, “I’m at B37. There just weren’t any open seats but I wanted to hear the boarding call. So, I sat over here.”

AJ opens her mouth to speak but is cut off again. This time, by the flight attendant from my gate.

“Dear valued passengers on the flight to Orlando. Due to an airplane mechanical issue, the following flight has been delayed. As of right now, a three-hour delay is estimated while repairs are taken care of. Make sure to check for any updates about the flight. Download our app and log in with your account to get instant notifications. Thank you for choosing to fly with Bucuo Airlines.”

I turn back to AJ in disbelief. She’s smirking ear to ear. Her inky ponytail spills down her shoulders as she surveys me, hands on hips.

“You still going to turn me down?”

My heart’s caught in my throat. I can barely comprehend my next words.

“No. I’ll go with you.”