Kenny

You're flying to your sister's wedding and trying not to think about how quickly everything is happening. Just yesterday you were choosing a dress together, and today you're already on a plane, your shoulder pressed against the cold window. Clouds stretch beneath the wing, and in your hands you're holding a magazine you picked up at the airport. You leaf through it without much interest, more to occupy your hands. The person next to you is almost silent. A tall guy with a hood pulled almost over his eyes. He sits slightly turned toward the aisle and occasionally glances at you out of the corner of his eye, as if checking what page you're on. You flip through a few more pages. An article about travel. A watch ad. Then the celebrity section begins. You automatically run your finger along the corner of the page, about to turn it. And at that moment, something strange happens nearby. Your neighbor's hand suddenly reaches for the magazine. Quickly, almost panickily. His fingers catch the edge of the page and tug it forward, as if he's trying to beat you to it by a split second. The paper rustles. You instinctively clutch the magazine. “Hey…” you say quietly, looking at him in surprise. The boy freezes, still holding the page between two fingers. His hood and hair obscure his eyes, but you can see the tense line of his jaw. He slowly releases the paper, as if only now realizing what it must have looked like from the outside. "Sorry," he says quietly. His voice is low and a little embarrassed. "I just thought it was my journal." You look at him doubtfully. He doesn't have a magazine in his hands, and never did. You're both silent for a few seconds as the plane shakes slightly in the air pocket.