If America Wasn't Selected: A Selection Fanfic

Chapter Sixteen: Maxon

America's smooth hand gripped mine as the plane took off soaring into the night sky.

"Relax," I assured her, "You'll be okay."

"Thanks." America loosened up once the plane had fully accelerated into the air. "I hate planes."

"I know. Hey, do you hate planes?" I said, laughing. America looked over and glared at me, but we both knew she was joking. I laughed even more.

"Shh!" One of the passengers behind us said. "Some of us are trying to sleep here." I turned back to see a fat old lady with ruby red hair, dyed of course, and wrinkles all over her face.

"I deeply apologize. We are just having a conversation," America sarcastically said.

I stifled a laugh. "Yeah, sorry."

"You should be, you filthy children. Quiet down or else," the lady groaned, her auburn colored lipstick smudged on her fat lips.

"You shouldn't talk to him that way. What if he were the prince or something?" America asked, mentally winking at me.

The lady snorted. "Prince Maxon? I'd be respectful to him, but to you? Hah, in your dreams." The lady shoved earplugs in her ears and held a finger to her lips. "Now be quiet."

America and I giggled as we turned back around. "Wow, you're hilarious. I love your sense of humor," I said. My eyes locked with America's cold blue eyes, and a chill of iciness tingled through me.

"Thanks," said America. "You've got the looks, though," she giggled, pointing to my woolly black wig and my piercing blue eyes.

I laughed. "So do you."

Then I regretted what I had said.

"Wait, are you joking?" America said.

I began to stutter. "No, um, I'm not. Joking. Heh, I'm not joking. I mean, I meant it. You, um, you do have pretty looks. Like, you're pretty. Um -"

"Thank you," America said, gazing into my eyes. "Thanks."

I scratched the back of my head awkwardly. "So, you hate planes?"

America jokingly punched me.

A tall and thin lady, probably in her late-twenties, came up to America and I. "Good evening, can I get you something to drink or eat?"

I smiled. "Um, I'll have a root beer, please."

America pushed her hair out of her face and rubbed her stomach. "Nothing to eat, but I'll have a ginger ale."

"Got it." The flight attendant looked into Maxon's eyes, his blue contacts. "Hey you, you look familiar."

"Um...?" I questioned.

"What's your name?"

America jumped in. "Frederick. Frederick Singer."

"Oh." The flight attendant said. "And you are?"

"America Singer," she said. "His, um..."

"Wife. She's my wife," I lied. It was the first thing that came to my mind and I lied.

"Oh." The attendant turned around. "Your drinks will be out in a few."

As the lady walked away, America turned to me. "Wife?" She laughed.

"Sorry, I didn't know what to say," I said. "I'm sorry."

America said, "You said that already. It's not a big deal." She smiled.

I smiled back, and watched her fiery, red hair shine in the light of the plane.

"So, what do you like about Celeste?" America asked, changing the subject.

Celeste? Celeste... Oh right. "She's just amazing. I think I love her, and, um, yeah."

America nodded. "Yeah, I understand."

As the dark clouds in the night sky overlaid the shining stars, America began to close her eyes and rest her head on my shoulder.

On my shoulder.

Her soft red hair veiled onto my arm, and somehow it remained untangled and perfect. America's eyelashes fluttered as she closed her eyes and drifted into a beautiful sleep.

The flight attendant returned to our seats with our sodas on her tray.

"Shh," I said, afraid that she might wake America up.

The attendant smiled and handed me our drinks. "You guys make a cute couple." Then, she left.

I smiled towards America, and thought, Yeah, we do, in a way.

{Sorry for the short chapter, I've been struggling with writer's block. Enjoy!}