The Trouble with Flying

by Rachel Morgan

  “The options here? The options HERE? In South Africa?” Does that mean what I think it means?

  “Yeah, well, not everyone wants to leave this country. Some of us think it has a lot going for it. Like the warm climate and the friendly people and—” he raises his hands to gently cup my face “—this one particular amazing girl.”

  I open my mouth, but no words come out.

  “I’m going to kiss you now,” he says. “Any objections?”

  I shake my head and pull his face closer to mine. Our lips meet, and then I’m shooting beyond the clouds and into the galaxies. I don’t think my feet will ever touch the ground again. His hands are in my hair and I’m pressing him against the wall and I can’t get enough of his lips and his mouth and OH, MAN, this kiss should NOT be happening in public. His lips move across my cheek and down to my neck.

  “There are people here,” I remind him breathlessly.

  “Oh, yeah.” He pauses, then kisses my nose. “Including your parents.”

  “WHAT?” I jump away from him, looking around. Did my parents just see me lip-locking with Aiden? SO embarrassing. I don’t care how old I am, I do not need my parents seeing stuff like that.

  “Relax.” Aiden pulls me closer once more. “They said they’d hang out by the snacks and give me a chance to talk to you.”

  “You told them about tonight?”

  He nods. “I hope you’re not mad at me. I figured that if I were them, I’d hate to miss this. They hid in the back row with me. We didn’t want to freak you out before you went up.”

  I take his hands and wrap them around my waist. I stand on tiptoe to kiss his nose. “I’m not mad at you.”

  “Do you want to go talk to them?”

  I shake my head. “I want you to myself for just a little bit longer. If you’re okay with that.”

  “I’m more than okay with that.” He presses his lips against mine for a moment, then says, “We can start working on our happily ever after, which, if I’ve understood all the fairy tales correctly, is supposed to begin the moment after our first kiss.”

  “In that case,” I say, “our happily ever after started after you kissed me at the airport.”

  “True.” A thoughtful expression crosses his face. “So what does our happily ever after look like then?”

  I loop my arms around his neck. “It looks like … secret letters in the backs of books, and hikes in the rain, and challenging each other to face our fears.”

  “And texting late at night and first thing in the morning.”

  “And misunderstandings and arguments and make-up kisses.”

  “And dancing.” He twirls me around and pulls me back.

  “Especially crazy happy dancing,” I add with a giggle.

  “And the way you smell like the ocean.” He kisses my neck.

  “And your accent that makes me want to swoon.”

  “And stories and zoo biscuits and biltong.”

  “And feeling safe.” I rest my head against his shoulder as he wraps his arms around me. “The right kind of safe.”

  “The right kind of safe,” he murmurs. “Even when you have no idea where life will take you next.”

  “Even then.”

  “This is a happily ever after I can do.”

  I smile against his T-shirt and whisper, “Me too.”

  From: Felicity, the Hippy Writer

  Sent: Sat 1 Feb, 8:42 am

  To: Sarah Henley

  Subject: ‘Write it or Bite It’ January Competition

  Dear Sarah

  Congratulations! Your story took first place in the January ‘Write It or Bite It’ competition! You’ve won a spot on our Hall of Fame page along with an interview feature on the main page of The Hippy Writer’s Guide to the Galaxy (see attached questions). Many voters commented on how they wished they could read beyond the first three pages of your entry. We urge you to continue with this story and hope to one day see it as a completed work on bookstore shelves.

  Thank you for entering ‘Write it or Bite it’!

  Kind regards,

  Felicity, the Hippy Writer

  _____________________________

  THE END

  Turn the page for bonus content!

  South Africanisms

  Those who’ve never spent any time in South Africa may be wondering what the following words mean:

  boot (of a car) – known as a trunk in the US.

  lus (pronounced LIS) – an Afrikaans word meaning to have a craving for something.

  matric – Grade 12, the last year of high school.

  sisi – a Zulu word meaning sister.

  slip-slops – the equivalent of flip-flops (you probably figured this one out already!)

  ‘Visit’ The Places Mentioned In This Book

  The Drakensberg

  Zimbali Coastal Resort

  uShaka Marine World

  artSPACE Durban

  What Were They Really Saying?

  If you want to know exactly what Elize and Simone were saying about Aiden, here’s the translation from Afrikaans into English.

  With Afrikaans

  They look up, greet me, and then Elize straightens and points to someone. “O, daar is hy!” she says to Simone. “Die hot ou wat ek jou van vertel het. Hy’s net myne.” I pull my chair closer to the table and follow Elize’s line of sight.

  Aiden. Of course. Who else would she be pointing at?

  “Is ons nie familie van hom nie?” Simone says.

  “Nee.” Elize giggles. “Ek sou definitief geweet het as ons familie was van daai ou.”

  Simone scrunches her nose up in confusion. “Ek dog ons is familie van almal hier.”

  I roll my eyes. “His name is Aiden. I’m pretty sure he’s your cousin.”

  Elize’s mouth drops open. “That’s Aiden? Tannie Hannah’s son?” She tilts her head to the side as she examines him. “But I thought everyone from England was pale with bad teeth.” She slumps across the table and groans, then lifts her head and turns back to the cell phone. “Ag toemaar,” she says to Simone. “Ek kan hom in elk geval nie hê nie.”

  “Ek het jou mos gesê,” Simone mutters.

  With English Translations

  They look up, greet me, and then Elize straightens and points to someone. “Ooh, there he is!” she says to Simone. “The hot one I was telling you about. He’s all mine.” I pull my chair closer to the table and follow Elize’s line of sight.

  Aiden. Of course. Who else would she be pointing at?

  “Aren’t we related to him?” Simone says.

  “No.” Elize giggles. “I would totally know if we were related to someone that hot.”

  Simone scrunches her nose up in confusion. “I thought we were related to everyone here.”

  I roll my eyes. “His name is Aiden. I’m pretty sure he’s your cousin.”

  Elize’s mouth drops open. “That’s Aiden? Auntie Hannah’s son?” She tilts her head to the side as she examines him. “But I thought everyone from England was pale with bad teeth.” She slumps across the table and groans, then lifts her head and turns back to the cell phone. “Never mind,” she says to Simone. “I can’t have him after all.”

  “Told you so,” Simone mutters.

  Sarah’s Photo Journal

  View Sarah’s photo journal online.

  Dear Reader

  Thank you for reading The Trouble with Flying! Whether you liked it, didn’t like it, or just want to tell me where you stand on coincidences and happily ever afters, I’d love to know your thoughts. Please leave a review somewhere online! Reviews don’t have to be lengthy or intellectual or fancy—they’re simply what you thought and felt about the story. Reviews help readers to find new books, and authors appreciate every single one.

  Thank you!

  Turn the page to read the first chapter of

  THE TROUBLE WITH FLIRTING

  Labeled a nerd for most of high school, Livi
sees her first year of university as a chance to redefine herself. She can finally enter the popular crowd and maybe even land herself a super hot boyfriend. But Livi’s about to discover that the in-crowd isn’t what she’s always believed it to be, and that maybe what—and who—she wants most has always been right in front of her.

  I had everything perfectly planned for my first year of university: I would be accepted to study my degree of choice; I would get into one of the best residences; I would secure myself an intelligent and attractive boyfriend; and, most importantly, I would finally ditch my high school nerd status. So eager was I to carry out my perfect plan, that—despite living on the other side of the world playing constant entertainer and care-giver to two German brats for the year leading up to Perfect Freshman Year—I had all my forms filled out and submitted long before any deadlines.

  That, apparently, was a mistake.

  Perhaps my forms landed at the bottom of the pile. Perhaps they were so early they ended up lost and someone only found them after the deadline had passed. Whatever the case, some grumpy admin lady took a look at my meticulously filled out residence application and came up with one word: rejected. My parents told me I should at least be grateful I was accepted to study my first choice of degree—a Bachelor of Business Science—at my number one university—UCT—but neither of them stayed in res when they were studying, so they have no idea what I’m missing out on.

  Nevertheless, I moved onto Plan B. Digs. A room in a flat or a house. Surely I could find a group of people who needed a new digsmate this year. After contacting everyone I had even the vaguest sort of friendship with at school, I found the light at the end of my darkened tunnel with Nicky, a fellow violinist from orchestra. “My dad owns a flat in Rondebosch,” she told me, “and there’s a second bedroom. I’ve been using it as a study, but I think Dad would appreciate the rent.”

  Great. Sorted. I was back on track for Almost Perfect Freshman Year. That is, until three minutes ago when Nicky sent me a message that completely annihilated Plan B.

  I’m SO sorry to do this to you a week before registration, but I can’t offer you a place at the flat anymore. With the divorce and everything, my dad decided he has to sell it, so I’m going to stay with my aunt in Kenilworth. I’m so, so sorry. But I’m sure you’ll find something.

  Panics tightens my chest as I stare at the message. She’s sorry? She’s sure I’ll find something? One freaking week before registration? THIS IS NOT HAPPENING! And I can’t even get mad at her because her parents’ divorce has been super messy, so I’ll come across as mean and uncaring if I express my intense frustration.

  My phone starts playing Dario Marianelli’s Mrs Darcy from Pride and Prejudice. Sarah. I flop back onto my oversized bed and answer the phone.

  “Congratulations!” Sarah shouts before I can say anything.

  “What?” For a moment I have no idea why she’s congratulating me. Then I remember that this day hasn’t been completely terrible. “Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

  “What do you mean, ‘What?’?” she demands. “You pass your driver’s first time and an hour later you’ve forgotten about it?”

  “I happen to be having a housing crisis that is currently shadowing the euphoria of becoming a licensed driver.”

  “A housing crisis? In that gigantic mansion you call home?”

  “Not this house, silly. You know I’m supposed to be moving into a flat in Cape Town with Nicky next week?”

  “Oh dear.”

  “Yeah. Her father’s selling the flat.”

  “What?” Sarah sounds suitably horrified. “Where are you supposed to live then?”

  “Well, at this point, I’ll be camping in Adam’s lounge.”

  Sarah laughs. “Does Adam know this?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You should tell him. Not just to find out if his couch is available, but because he might know somewhere else you can stay.”

  “I doubt it.” I pull a blanket over my legs, then reach for the aircon’s remote control on my bedside table and increase the temperature a few degrees. “I’m pretty sure everyone’s made a plan already for this year.”

  “Well, I guess that leaves Adam’s couch then,” Sarah says with a sigh. “It shouldn’t be too bad. Waking up every morning with three guys walking through your living quarters, one of whom is Adam’s Gross Cousin.”

  “Ew, okay, you’re right. I should definitely ask him if he knows somewhere else I can stay.”

  “Or, you know, your parents could just buy a flat for you to live in. Or five flats. Then you can move around when you get bored.”

  “Ha ha,” I say, expressing as much sarcasm into my words as I can. “You know how monumentally stingy my parents are when it comes to their one and only child. I have to learn how to provide for myself, blah, blah, blah.”

  “Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before. It’s a miracle they’re paying for your tuition and rent and not forcing you to use your au pair money for that.”

  I wind a strand of unruly red hair around my finger. “Don’t worry, I’ll be using that for all my other expenses.”

  “Well, let’s hope it—oh, hang on.” I twist another piece of hair around my finger and listen to the muffled noises coming from Sarah’s side of the phone. “I’m sorry,” she says a moment later. “I’ve gotta go. Aiden just arrived.”

  “Ooh.” I make some kissing noises while Sarah tells me to shut up. We both end up giggling, and then I let her go so she can make out with the newfound love of her life.

  I slide my phone into my shorts pocket, then roll off the bed and cross the room. I open the French sliding doors that lead onto my balcony and step outside to warm up in the baking sun. In a few minutes I’ll be wilting, at which point it’ll be time to go back into my air-conditioned room. I lean on the railing and look out across the golf course. Beyond it, the sea is like flat, blue glass. A perfect day to be on the beach.

  I wonder if I’ll miss this place. The perfectly maintained fairways, the infinity pools, the golf cars zipping around.

  Probably not. I’m ready to say goodbye. I’m ready for my next adventure.

  I remove my phone from my pocket and search for Adam’s number. He was the first person I called after Plan A fell through. Like me, he took a gap year and then decided to head to UCT this year, so he was also looking for accommodation in Cape Town for the first time. I got to him too late, though—he’d already made a plan with Gross Cousin Luke. Luke spent last year in a house with two other guys, one of whom decided to move back home at the end of last year, leaving a room free for Adam. Adam’s Plan A worked out perfectly.

  I’ve just found Adam’s name under my recent contacts when the main theme from Pirates of the Caribbean starts playing, and Adam’s face appears on the screen. I’m tempted to leave it ringing for a while because I love the music so much, but my housing dilemma is more important.

  I answer with, “Sarah told you, didn’t she.” I’m surprised she removed her lips from her boyfriend’s long enough to make contact with anyone else.

  “She just sent me a message,” Adam says, his voice distorted against a noisy background.

  “Where are you?” I ask.

  “Home. Sorry, just—” I hear a shout, then a loud bang like the slamming of a door, and then the noise disappears. “Sorry, my brother’s got this new habit of blasting his music as loud as possible the moment he gets home from school.”

  “Annoying.”

  “Yip. Anyway, I phoned to give you some awesome news.”

  “Oh yeah?” I head back inside and slide the French doors closed. “What’s that?”

  “Mike’s transferring from UCT to Wits,” Adam says, as excited as if he just presented me with a brand new car. Which, incidentally, I could use now that I’m a licensed driver.

  “Who’s Mike, and why is that good news?”

  “It’s good news for you, because Mike is one of the guys I was going to be sharing a house with this year.”

&
nbsp; I freeze in the middle of my bedroom. “What? Seriously?”

  “Seriously.”

  “There’s a room up for grabs?”

  “There is.”

  “Ohmygosh, ADAM! You are a LIFESAVER!” I jump onto my bed and hug the nearest cushion while squealing with delight. “Oh. Wait. You’re a guy.”

  “I am.”

  “And so is your cousin.”

  “Well, that’s debatable.”

  “Ugh, my parents wanted me to stay with girls.” I punch the cushion. “They were pretty insistent on that, remember? That’s why I was so happy when I discovered Nicky had a spare room. Quiet, hardworking, female student. My parents thought it was perfect.”

  “Well, your parents have to realise that you don’t have many options at this point. And they know me, which will probably help.”

  “Maybe.”

  “Play up the whole safety aspect. It’s safer to stay with guys because they can beat up any criminals who break in.”

  “Yeah, I’m not sure mentioning criminals is going to help.”

  “Well, remind them how amazing I am, and then say it’s either this or they buy a flat for you.”

  I consider that for a moment. “That could actually work.”

  “It will work.”

  “Okay, I’ll let you know tonight.”

  “You’d better.” I hear the squeak of Adam’s desk chair as he spins around on it. “Luke’s been telling everyone he knows that we have a free room now, so it’s bound to go quickly.”

  “Eeek! Okay, chat later.”

  I put the phone down and start praying. “Please, please, please …”

  ***

  From: Alivia Howard