The sky stretches out for kilometers below the tiny plane, the land seeming so far away. Inside the jet, a seventeen year old boy with reddish-brown hair and striking green eyes is sipping a can of pop. He sits in a plush, leather seat that is far comfier than a seat on any commercial flight, staring at space. He isn't just staring, though, he's thinking.
He is on his way to meet his friend, Dylan, in person. They've never done anymore than email and chat over Gmail, and he's eager to see his friend for the first time. Having met on a Flying Lorises fanpage, he thought it had been appropriate to invite him to their concert. And it was in Germany, so they would meet halfway.
"Are you hungry, Aleksandar?" Mr. Volger's voice breaks him out of his reverie. "I could have Mr. Klopp bring you some hors d'œuvres?"
"No, no, that's fine. I'm just thinking." The can clinks as Alek sets it back down.
Mr. Volger is a grim man, who doesn't waste time on pleasantries and small talk. Alek has always known him to be blunt, cutting straight to the point. He is also one of the two people Alek talks to. Having a presidential status is sometimes so very lonely.
Dylan is his internet friend, and his only real friend, which Alek supposes is kind of pathetic. Still, he can't wait to see what he is like in real life. Vastly different, he's guessing.
"Where are we to meet this Dylan?" asks Mr. Volger. He says his friend's name with suspicion and a tinge of distaste, which Alek chooses to ignore.
"Frankfurt Hauptbahnhof Train Station. Ticket booth."
"Perhaps," says Mr. Volger cautiously, "it is not wise to meet some you have never met."
Alek looks up sharply. He has no qualms about his friend's identity, he couldn't be a murderer or a stalker or a forty year old man. He isn't.
"Mr. Volger, I have no doubt that Dylan Sharp is exactly who he says he is."