Living in Fantasies
Chapter 1: Aeroplanes and Swanky Hotels
"Oooooh I can't believe this is happening….I can't believe this is actually happening…"
I was too excited to be embarrassed at myself. Walking onto the plane that was bringing me to the one most amazing event in my life was just overwhelming, never mind that I happened to be traveling with a cute boy who was also pretty much a stranger.
My website had gotten the special attention of J.K. Rowling herself, and I was invited to London for the release of the sixth installment of the Harry Potter series, "Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince". Mark, the boy I was traveling with, was also invited to this once-in-a-lifetime thing. He had a website, as well; one that I frequented often.
Anyways, we had both been contacted to come to the huge release party with Ms. Rowling, and once we both finished reading, we were allowed to interview her together!
We entered the coach cabin where our seats where. Mark, ducking very low so that his tall head avoided the ceiling, offered me to choose window or aisle seat. I shrugged at him. It didn't matter to me, so I slid in first, taking the window spot.
"You're legs are longer than mine," I said, "so the aisle will give you better leg room."
He adjusted himself, stowing his very thin laptop in the pouch in front of his seat. "You're probably almost as tall as me," he said, not looking at me. "If you want to switch at all during the flight just let me know."
"Thanks," I said. I decided the second I laid eyes on Mark that I was not going to mention anything about our height, but if I was honest with myself, I would have to say how incredibly delighted I was that he was tall. At five-foot-eleven, I was not used to guys being taller than me. Not cute guys, anyway.
We didn't get a chance to talk much through the hustle and bustle of everyone finding their seats. I was eager to talk to him, and it had nothing to do with his attractiveness or height.
Not to seem too eager, I decided to wait until after take off to start any kind of conversation. We were going to be holding an interview together, after all.
I never got the chance, because right when we were allowed to take off our seat belts he started with, "So you're from Florida?"
I nodded. "And you are from…Illinois?"
"Yeah."
"I have to say I don't know much else about you."
To my surprise he gave a sort of incredulous little chuckle. "Really? I just…a lot of people who go to Mugglenet find out who I am and stalk me on Myspace."
He didn't seem to understand why people would do such a thing, but I knew instantly. "Oh, it's because you guys put pictures up of yourselves on the site."
"What do you mean…?" he asked, confused. Then realization hit him. I couldn't believe it, but he was blushing like an innocent Dorian Gray. He cleared his throat.
I spoke quickly. "So tell me about yourself, Mark. Tell me about your site." To be perfectly honest, I had seen Mark's picture on Mugglenet I imagined him to be completely full of himself. To see him embarrassed instead was a bit weird.
He recovered almost seamlessly. "Well, I was home-schooled as a kid, and so I had a lot of free time on my hands. I got into web design when I was really young, and I guess I just taught myself how it all worked. So one day (when I was really bored), I decided to make a site for Harry Potter, because I really wanted to share with other people these great books."
I was again surprised by his speech. He spoke about his admiration for the Harry Potter books with no qualms. I was not used to this.
"Yeah," I replied. "My friend actually started the Leaky Cauldron, but after only a few months of running it he got tired and let me take over. I have to say I enjoy doing it."
We had to stop talking when the flight attendant offered us beverages and snacks. I just wanted a water, and Mark didn't want anything, but it seemed like the woman would not leave us alone. She kept going on and on about the movies and games and headphones and remote controls all attached to the seats in front of us, explaining each thing in detail. We had enough to talk about that we wouldn't be bothering with any of it.
"So where do you go to school?" he asked.
We talked about ourselves for the next hour. I found out that he was enrolled in his third year at Penn State, even though he was only nineteen, and in turn I told him I was at my first year at University of Florida, even though I was only eighteen. It was very easy to talk to him, and we even had each other laughing a bit, which was such a relief.
He told me all about his different involvements in sports and acting, and I talked about my singing and writing exploits for a while. But as I predicted it would happen, we came to the subject of Harry Potter sometime later, and stayed on that for a good third of the flight.
Without saying it straight out, it was made pretty clear that both of us held the Harry Potter series in our lives as something uniquely special to us. We spent a solid hour talking about the characters alone.
"Now Remus Lupin. That is a character of the ages," he said.
"Oh, I know," I replied, "I wrote an essay one time about how no one seems to notice how bad he's got it. I mean, being a werewolf in itself would make anyone depressed, and then he's lost every single one of his best friends after they all thought he was the one to betray them."
"D'you know, I thought I was the only person to think about it that way!" he said.
I thought about how the majority of my friends would have changed the subject abruptly if I were to start talking like this.
"The Marauders in themselves are so…exciting," I said, and he nodded.
"And Snape," he said, "as much as I hate him, his character is so intriguing."
We really went on and on. Finally, as our voices started to grow hoarse from talking, we agreed it would be a good idea to try and rest up a little bit. Once we landed in London we would only have time to bring our stuff to the hotel and grab a bite to eat before going to the release party.
And there would be no sleeping once we had our hands on those books. That was a no-brainer.
I curled up in my seat, trying not to grin absurdly. I was on my way to meet J.K. Rowling, I was going to London for the first time, I was going to be one of the first people to read the sixth Harry Potter book, and Mark was a really, really great guy.
Waking up to get off the plane did not decrease my excitement, but it did make my excitement change forms. Instead of muttering animatedly under my breath like before, I was now walking around completely silent, my eyes opened as wide as I could get them. Mark just kept saying "Wow," very quietly.
I had been to a few parts of Europe in my life, but I never had the chance to see any part of England, which was the one place I truly wanted to see. I just sighed heavily and rested my head against the back seat of the picturesque little taxi, overwhelmed at the magnificent things I was seeing through the windows. Mark was now saying "Oh my gosh," over and over again.
We pulled up to what looked like a very chic hotel and unloaded our belongings with the help of the driver, who was speaking in what I thought was the most adorable Cockney accent. I was trying so hard not to laugh.
After checking in and taking the elevator to our rooms on the fourteenth floor, an awkward realization was made.
"We have the same room?" Mark asked, staring at the door as if it would answer.
"Let's just see," I said, "there's bound to be some reason for this."
It was even more puzzling that the door required a slide card to enter, and each of us only had regular metal keys. Already I had quite a story for my friends at home; imagine if I got to share a room with this guy on top of everything else.
"Wait a sec," he said, dropping his duffel bag and shuffling through the paperwork in his hands. I plopped on the floor, still a little tired but grinning to myself.
He dropped various articles on the floor in his quest; a television guide, the hotel brochure, a restaurant listing, all of which I picked up. Finally when he made a noise of triumph (or something like it), I stood up, and he slid a card through the strange contraption on the door. As most slide cards work, he was only successful after both of us tried it no less than seven times.
The door finally opened to reveal a really luxurious sitting room with a kitchenette off to one side. An enormous television was waiting silently to be turned on, a sleek desktop computer sat on the desk, and there was even a little fridge full of wine coolers.
"Ah," I said, "Drinking age in England is eighteen!"
Mark had gone to the little hallway at the back of the room. Three doors were there: the one directly at the end of the hall was a gigantic bathroom that was too good for words, and facing each other were doors that led to bedrooms.
I was going to say something along the lines of, "Darn, so we do have separate bedrooms," but I thought better of it.
Instead, Mark said, "Did you know they were going to give us this nice of a suite?"
"I had no idea," I replied truthfully, and plopped onto my humongous queen-sized bed. "I guess we're VIP's tonight!"
We explored our individual bedrooms in silence for a few minutes until, "Do you mind if I put on some music?"
I set my laptop down and went over to his room, which was exactly like mine except everything was backwards. "That's cool."
He asked me what I wanted to listen to, and I told him "something exciting", and left to go get ready in my room.
Suddenly, one of my old favorite songs started playing loudly from his room, and I started jumping around, flinging my clothes everywhere. It was that famous song by Ok Go, called "Here it Goes Again".
He saw me jumping and I heard him laugh. "I love this song!" I said.
"This is a mix of all my favorites," he said, and I was beyond excited to hear a Harry and the Potters song come up next.
I wanted to hear the rest of his music, but I really needed a shower. So, attempting to be as quick as possible, I slid into the bathroom in my towel. I'm sure I just looked awkward, but whatever.
When I finished a few minutes later, the sound of The Shins met my ears, and I was elated. Other songs we heard included stuff from The White Stripes, Dave Matthews Band, and Queen. It was an eclectic taste, but it was strikingly similar to everything I listened to.
I hadn't chosen what I was going to wear, but I really wanted to keep my door open to hear the rest of his music so I threw on some shorts and a sweater. As I put down the kickstand, I got a glimpse of something that made me forget to breathe.
Mark was just leaving his room to take a shower, and like me, was only wearing a towel to do so. Like I said, I only got a glimpse, but it was enough. He was very fit and tanned, and well…amazing. I looked up again and saw his wonderfully carved shoulder blades and back disappearing through the door frame.
The bathroom door closed and I practically crumpled on the floor. I just sat there, staring at the wall, when a Death Cab for Cutie song came on from his room. The song is called "Marching Bands of Manhattan", and I happen to think it's one of the most beautiful songs ever written.
I sat there on the floor, listening to the most beautiful song in the world and thinking about the most beautiful boy in the world.
With a jolt, I heard the water turn off. I hurriedly threw some more clothes around and decided to go with something a little dressier than I had originally intended.
I closed my door for two reasons: one, to avoid seeing him again (because I would no doubt faint), and two, to finally get dressed properly.
In the solitude of my room (though I could still hear the Foo Fighters from next door), I cleared my head. It was stupid to be taken by Mark…we had only known each other for about twenty hours, and we would never see each other again in two days' time. With a final sigh, I figured it was foolish to let myself get to this point. Yet even though I was mentally convincing myself to forget about it, I still took an exceptionally long time with my hair and make-up.
Sometimes being a girl just makes me angry.
He was waiting for me in the sitting area, and when he stood up in his dress pants and shirt, he looked quite thrilled. I smiled, and in a very friendly way only told him he looked nice. He said the same to me, and we headed out together.
We had been given the suggestion to go to the little English restaurant that was about two blocks west of our hotel. I was glad to see that it was very fancy, so we were in no way overdressed.
We laughed over some unfamiliar items on the menu, and I was starting to relax. Mark could become a good friend with how easy it was to talk to him; maybe it wouldn't be so bad to just keep in touch over the internet when this was all over.
When the tiny waitress came for our drink order, I did as Mark had dared me and ordered a glass of the cheapest red wine, all while maintaining a straight face. The waitress didn't think twice, and Mark looked impressed.
"Ah, what the heck," he said. "I'll take the same."
As we were sipping our delicious adult beverages, it hit me that it would probably look very much like Mark and I were on a date. Though I tried to push the thought out of my head, it was hard to deny what onlookers probably thought. A young man and woman, late teens, dressed up all fancy, ordering red wine and laughing together surely looked like a date.
I giggled as our entrees came. This whole situation was starting to look hilarious to me. One day, I'm an unsocial girl who barely leaves her dorm, and the next day I'm in London with the cutest guy I've ever seen, looking like I'm on a date but actually about to experience something even better, which is meeting my hero and reading her next book.
Mark was looking at me over his fish plate or whatever it was. I had the giggles, that was for sure.
"Wine make you a little tipsy?" he asked, grinning.
"No, it's just…I was just thinking. About some things."
He looked at me perplexed, but still grinning.
"It's just, look at us." I leaned forward a little and lowered my voice. "Doesn't it look like we're on a date?"
He laughed, too. Maybe the wine was making me a little buzzed.
"Don't worry, though," I continued, "you don't have to pay for my dinner."
The waitress came up to check on us. Mark asked me very quickly if I liked coffee. When I said yes, he ordered us each a coffee.
I looked at him and the waitress went away. "You think I'm getting drunk!" I said, still giggly, but not really that drunk.
"Well, you are being kind of silly," he said. "And I figure we should be on our toes at the party."
"Do you know, I don't need the help of the wine to be silly," I said, pointing to my half-full glass.
"Maybe so," he said, smiling, and took another swig.
The release party was amazing. There were a bunch of famous people there, most of them English, but it was still really neat. Mark and I were VIPs. We were introduced to some beautiful people by our own assistant for the night, and we constantly had glasses of champagne thrust into our hands. We took each others advice and decided not to drink it. We wanted to be in top reading condition immediately when we got those books.
Mark and I decided to go to the Trivia Table, where we were surrounded by a bunch of know-it-all middle school kids in polyester robes. The two of us answered every single question correctly, and at the speed of light. I was awarded a Quidditch broom, and Mark got a Time Turner. We passed off our plastic gifts to the kids in third and fourth place, who were no longer angry with us for taking their glory.
There was still about an hour to go, but already people were lining up for their books. Our little assistant, whose name was Frank but I couldn't help but think of him as "Jeeves", found us in the crowd and asked us to follow him to the end of the banquet hall where the party was being held.
"Mrs. Rowling would like to meet with you right now, if you do not oppose," said Jeeves.
Mark and I just looked at each other. He asked the question I was burning to know: "Will we still get our books at midnight?"
Our Jeeves smiled and bowed his head. "Right through this door," he said. I giggled.
Through the door was a private little sitting room, with ornate dressings and a crackling fire in the corner. I jumped, willing myself not to scream, when I saw who was sitting next to the fire.
J.K. Rowling herself stood and came towards Mark and me. At that moment I don't think I could have described my elation. She shook our hands with the warmest smile on her face, saying, "It's wonderful to meet the two of you. If you don't mind, would you please come in and have a seat with me?"
We did as she asked, and both of us sat very straight-backed on the couch next to her.
"I have a little surprise for you," she said, her eyes bright. "I would like to give you your copies of the sixth book a little earlier than the rest."