THINGS I DON'T OWN: TWILIGHT.
THINGS I DO: A NEW BOOK OF CHOPIN'S NOCTURNES, A BOX SET OF ALL SEVEN SERIES' OF THE WEST WING, AND A CELLIST BOYFRIEND.
I'd always hated airports. Even as a child, I would make my parents drive long distances instead of flying. It's not the planes and the height that worry me- it's the crowds and the smells, along with the people and the noise. People in airports are so much more inconsiderate at airports than they are anywhere else. I think they just believe that since they'll never see these people again, they can be as abrasive as they like. Ugh.
My hatred of airports, coupled with the anxiety of moving to a new place, on the other side of the world, made me give in to my pride and take a Xanax. I was nervous about my move- going to London from San Francisco was going to be a big change, but I was extremely excited to be taking up my place at the London Guildhall. My cousin Alice was currently living in Islington, so I wouldn't be completely alone. I was obviously going to miss my parents and my brother, Emmett, but hello? I was about to start my Masters in Music at the London Guildhall, second only to the Paris Conservatory, and I was excited.
I boarded the plane quickly and swung my duffel into the overhead locker, pausing only to root through it for my iPod. I sat down beside a pretty blonde girl with her earbuds in and her eyes closed. I tapped her gently on the shoulder. Her eyespopped open. "What?" She snapped.
"Whoa," I said, recoiling. "I just wanted to introduce myself, since it seems we're going to sitting together for the next sixteen hours. I'm Edward."
"Rosalie," the Ice Queen said frostily. "Now, if you'll excuse me..." She trailed off, putting her earphones back in. Christ, I thought. What a bitch.
Sixteen hours later, we touched down in London. Tired and bleary-eyed, I stumbled off the plane. I grabbed my bags and walked out into the arrivals lounge to be greeted by a tiny dark haired rocket hugging me around my waist.
"Edward!" She squealed. "I've missed you so much!"
"Hi, Ali," I smiled wearily. "I've missed you too."
"You look tired."
"No shit, sherlock," I sniped. "Can we get out of here?"
"You're staying at mine tonight, baby brother," she grinned. "Let's go!"
Alice drives like a fucking maniac. I held on to the 'oh shit' handle during the whole half hour drive in her stupid looking canary yellow Porsche 911 (who drives a Porsche in London?). When we screeched to a halt outside her townhouse, my head was spinning and my stomach was lurching.
"Oh my God, Ali, where the fuck did you learn to drive?"
"Grandad taught me," she laughed.
I groaned. "I should've known."
"Go to bed," she said. "Tomorrow you're meeting my best friend Bella. We're going for lunch."
"Alice, I always hate your friends!" I whined.
"Not this one," she said seriously. "I'm psychic."
So this chapter is short, I know. The rest will be longer, I promise. Now, I'm not studying at the Guildhall. Yet. Maybe next year though. However, I am a pianist, and I do know my stuff, but please, feel free to correct me if you notice any errors! I told myself when I started writing this that I wouldn't be one of those authors who begs for reviews. So this is my not so subtle hint. REVIEW. I'm also looking for a Beta reader, so please PM me if you're interested!
Liv.
