Lost On The Way Up

Margo has had it. Parents screaming at each other every chance they get. With her count down to her 18th birthday coming close, she's planning her getaway. What happens when at a connecting airport, she runs into her idols? She wants to get to know them even more, and a couple of them seem to want the same thing.


4. A Great Start

     "Attention all passengers. We are ascending into LAX and everyone must fasten their seat belts and put their trays into an upright position. We should be landed in about 10 minutes. Thank you."


Oh. My. God. This wasn't just a dream and I wasn't 17 anymore. I was 18, on a plane approaching Los Angeles, starting a new life, and also being drooled on by the guy next to me. I tap him on the shoulder:

    "Excuse me, sir." He stirred, but didn't wake up. "Sir!" I said just a little louder while I nudged him.

         "Hmmm..?" the man said while slowly opening his eyes. 

    "Well... I just wanted to let you know, you have to buckle now because we're landing in 10 minutes."

         "Oh! Well thanks, doll." He responded while buckling his seat belt. "I'm sorry if I was any trouble during the flight. I know I'm a heavy sleeper." 

      "Uh.. no, you were fine. I was asleep the whole time too."

           "Oh, good!" he said, relieved. "So what brings you to L.A.?"

      "Just looking for a new beginning, I guess."

Now that I said it out loud, I realized I didn't know where to even start. I don't know where I was going to live, work, or anything. I was on my own and had no idea what I was in for.

            "Then L.A. is the place to do it." He patted my hand on the arm rest and smiled. "What's your name?"

         "I'm Margo."

           "Well listen, Margo, I know we just met and you don't even know who I am, but if you need anything while you're here..." he fumbled around in his jacket and after a few seconds, pulled out a business card. "Give me a call, okay?"

I looked down at his card. Fro My Gosh. Archie Wilson, CEO.

     "Fro My Gosh?" I said as I giggled. "That's the best name of a fro-yo place I've ever heard. But, thank you Mr. Wilson."

          "Please, call me Archie. I'm only 35. And that's what my 9 year old niece says too. Hey, how old are you anyways?"

     "18. Today's actually my birthday."

          "Well happy birthday! Here's to freedom from the folks and a fresh start. Am I right?"

 I turned and looked out the window. The building were getting bigger and the ground was getting closer. 

   "Very right."

                                                                                 .  .  .

Archie walked with me to baggage claim. I found my suitcase first and shortly after, he found his. As we walked out the front doors of LAX, I saw a man with a sign that said "Wilson." I said good-bye to Archie and he told me not to lose his card. I put it safely in my wallet behind the picture of my family. He got into his car and drove off. I was alone.


I decided to go grab a coffee and call my parents. I just remembered I promised to call them when I landed.


The phone rang only twice and my mother picked up. 

        "Margo!? Where are you?!? Are you okay?!? Why did you do this to us?!?"

    "Mom, I am fine. I told you wasn't going to tell you where I am. I know you'll just try to come and get me."

       "Damn right we will! Margo, you can't just run away like this...you're just a teenager."

    "Well actually, I'm 18. So legally, yes I can."

       "No you're not. You're only sevente-. Oh, Margo. I'm so sorry. Happy birthday."

    "Right, thanks. But I'm sorry, mom. I'm not coming home. I'm miserable there."

       "Please, Margo. Where are you?"

     "I can't tell you that. I have to go. I love you. Tell dad I love him, too. Bye."

        "Margo, wai-"

I hung up. Tears filled my eyes. I do love them. I just wish I didn't have to hide where I was.

Realizing I was crying in public, I got up to go to the bathroom. As I stood up and turned around, I accidentally ran into someone.


    "Oh my God, I'm so sorry" I said keeping my head down and wiped my tears with the sleeve of my shirt.

A deep, slow, and British voice responded.

      "It's not a problem, love." 

I looked up. Holy. Shit.

It was Harry Styles.



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