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Bedtime was incredibly early that night. Dad was enforcing us to sleep, even threatening to make us all take sleeping pills (in the funniest way possible). To be exact, we all were made to go to bed at 9:30, way too early. And you know what happens when you go to bed early thinking about something exciting. You do not go to sleep. At least not for a few long hours (without any music, because you are too scared of using up all the battery. Even though the charger is at the top of your carry-on case).

I closed my eyes slowly.

Then they were snapped open, like a twig, only with eyes (okay, that DOES NOT make any sense!), to the sound of Dad trying to hug me in a wake up type of way. Which of course does not work as he may have intended.
I considered growling, but let’s not consider being feral for the time being okay? My eyes gained focus in the artificially lit room only to see the sleep assassin, clothed in flanelette jimjam’s leavig the room on tiptoes. I could not find a way to be angry at my child-minded caregiver. He had been my father since I was born really. He raised me. Now I would not be seeing him for six months. I’m still not used to it at all. Seeing as this is only being written on a diary inside an aeroplane, full of kids who are too nervous to ask if the other kid over there has superpowers.
In pencil may I add.
I pulled on all my clothes and checked the time. 4:30 a.m. So that gives me how long. 15 minutes to get ready and get some grub. Fucking great!
My hair was still straightened from the night before (we weren’t even allowed a shower, note to self I will have one at the L.A stopover. Hopefully). I put on a little eyeliner, and a little eyeshadow, a little mascara. Trixi was trying to introduce me to foundation and stuff but I didn’t really think it was good. And when you use it too often, you get real bad pimples because it blocks up your pores. I guess the same would go for eye make-up, in a completely different way.
Breakfast was just cornflakes (and milk) but they were so darn good. What if they serve us super gross food in Japan? Like hard-boiled iguana foot or something!?
We had just enough time to all crowd into the two bathrooms we have to brush our teeth and then we were out of there. Into the car and it was snowing outside. Luckily I was using the scarf Patrick got me for Christmas (nice choice bro). Liz told us we were going to go get Joe and his mom on the way. Hoorah.
In 10 minutes we were on the highway with Patrick, Andy and Joe talking about Shane Dawson and how epically awesome he is. You know the completely hilarious guy on YouTube? We overtook Brendon and Ryan’s car and it was just bright enough to play Sweet or Sour out the back window

Sweet or Sour: A Guide to Those Who Don’t Know What The Game Is. Those People Who Don’t Know, You’re Thinking About Citric Foods, Right?
The game Sweet Or Sour is a game immature young children play when they are bored or simply stupidly excited for something (meanwhile looking like they are high).
It can be a very low energy if you choose. All you have to do is wave to the person in the car behind yours (or next to yours). It depends on whether or not they can see you or not. Then you wave, with all your might, or with the salute you would expect a mouse who stands on two legs to give (puny.). A quick round of the Waiting Game is played and hopefully you get a reaction.
GO PLAY!
P.S If you get super good at this game (we are the pro’s, BTW, FTW), you may happen to catch somebody picking their nose. We’ve spotted it numerous times. Really. I am serious.

An airplane flew over the spaghetti junction we were going under and the boys were all trying to get to the window to see what airline it was. How childish.
Okay, so I joined in. So what?

Then the terminal signs started turning up. I suddenly had an urge to go and graffiti another name over the top of them. Why are they called terminals? It sounds like you are going to die. Oh my God, is that why terrorists bomb airports?!
REVELATION MUCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!?

The parking lot at the airport was huge. Obviously.
Joe’s mom REALLY wanted pictures for some reason so I had to get out my camera so we could take a ton of cheesy photos once we were inside the terminal. Very embarassing photos in fact, but she made me keep them.
Oh God, I was just “reviewing” the pictures and it looks like I have a lazy eye (I DO NOT HAVE A FUCKING LAZY EYE!)

I really hated saying goodbye to Dad. And it also felt weird because Mom wasn’t there to say farewell. It was just weird and Dad and Patrick could feel it too, I’m sure. I mean, no matter what the woman has done, she is still my mother. So a few tears slipped out. I was saying goodbye to a guy who was not technically m y father and a very nice lady who would be perfect for him. It was like just staring at a happy couple, waving, with them both going diamond eyed, afraid to blink in case one of the liquid diamonds escaped.

I turned around one last time but I just caught a sight of Dad’s head, bobbing away.

Patrick put a strong grip on my arm and walked Little Miss Shaky up to the check-in counter.

“Hey there honey, how can I help you?” the lady at the counter asked, dazzling me slightly with her over-whitened teeth. I had just heard her say the exact same thing to Patrick
I could barely make a sound, just mumbles as I handed over the important documents.
She took my bags and guitar case, weighed them and then handed me back the things I would need.
“Have a nice day honey.” She said, looking down at me from her high booth with a slightly worried fake smile.
“I will.” I mumbled as loudly as I could.
A spin on my flat heel and I crashed into the chest of some incredibly tall man. I looked up as best as I could. It wasn’t a man, it was a boy. I may have let out a little squeak and he looked as shocked as I must have felt.
“Sorry man.” I said in a small voice, instantly worried that I should have bought a megaphone before apologizing.
“It’s okay, I should be the one saying sorry, it was my fault.” He said, moving to the booth desk, with a slightly bemused and confused expression on his face.
“OH FUCKING GREAT!” I thought viciously at myself, “YOU’VE ALREADY HIT SOMEBODY AND MADE A COMPLETE FOOL OF YOURSELF! GREAT JOB!”
I walked over to where Patrick and Andy were sitting with blank expressions, trying to hold in their emothions, because that is what idiot boys do. Joe was going to look at the souvenirs for some reason. That’s what I got from a tight lipped Hurleyian, with his arms crossed tightly over his chest. Patrick just looked like somebody zipped up his entire face and put him on mute.
I heard a scream which was muffled in a second. Only one person could be that outrageously loud (other than Andy, when playing Lips). Trixi. Was screaming and in hysterical tears. Patrick got up in a robotic sort of way and ran to her. I turned around to see the tall boy, who was putting another guitar case on the carousel. He turned around and stared blankly at me, like he was trying to see through me. He kept staring at me in the same way for 10 seconds and then I ripped my eyes away from him and tried to walk casually to Trixi’s side. Even though my legs were still jelly. So, one step to the right almost had me falling over.
Pete was biting his lip in the anxious way I had grown up with. I’d also seen him cry and I recognised this face as a sort of close-to-boiling-point-face. He pulled the cords on his hoodie so that only his nose was peaking out. Kenny representin’ whatttt?!
Their parents turned around and left, with Pete the First’s arm around their mom. Trixi almost collapsed to her knees on the cold tiled ground, simultaneously omitting a long wail
(like a whale. Hahahaha)
Patrick pulled her up from the ground, extending a hand. Some security guy behind them made gagging noises and winked at me as Patrick and Trixi just stood there embracing each other for … a while.
I turned around and smacked into the chest of a guy.
“Sorry!” he said. I recognised his face from the check-in counter.
“I wasn’t looking!”
Without warning the boy just shot out his hand, “Hi.” He said in an awkward tone (is that even possible?)
“Hello?” I said, smiling. Was I supposed to remember him from somewhere?!
“Were you one of the people commenting on my blog?” I asked anxiously
“No. I’m William by the way. I know where you guys are heading.”
“Oh.”
silence
“Are you stalking us?!”
“No. I swear. I read your mind, you, or, you guys are going to some strange school in a country you thought you would never have the opportunity ever visit.”
“Oh… well my name is-,”
“Crystal Stump. You live with a man who isn’t actually your father, you think your mom is a total psycho and you have never really gotten to meet your real father. I know.” He smiled, raising an eyebrow. This William fellow obviously was some sort of a mind reader.
Wait for it.
NO KIDDING?
“So… you read minds?” I asked
WINNER OF DUMB COMPETITION GOES TO CRYSTAL!
“Yep. Hey, I was wondering if I could, y’know, go on this trip with you?”
“Yeah sure. Why not? I mean, we’re supposed to be meeting these other dudes we’ve never met in Jersey, why not you? Haha.”
“Hi.” Pete said, putting his hand on my shoulder
“Hello Peter Wentz Lewis Kingston Wentz III.” William said smiling
“How does he know my name?” Pete asked, whispering into my ear nervously, keeping an eye on the ravishing-to-the-eye young man in front.
“He can read minds.” I answered. We made eye contact and his, “WTF?!” face came on.
..
“Cool! Um. Hi.”
“William is coming with us.” I whispered.
“Oh well. Hi!” he said, waving upwards.
WHY ARE YOU SO TALL, WILLIAM!??????
“If you don’t mind, I prefer Bill. Oh and my last name is Beckett. You can make up a name if you want, I don’t mind.”
“BILLY WILLY!”
HOW DID GABE KNOW BILLVY ( ya, that’s his name!)
“GABEY BABY!”
They embraced each others tallness. I was guessing that if you stuck Billvy directly on top of “Gabey”, you’d get snow on Billvy’s hair.
“How do you guys know each other?” Pete asked. I was almost thinking that he was going to pull some binoculars out.
“Pre-school!” they said simultaneously.
They continued talking about random crap so Pete and I just walked away to go and see everybody else.
“Who’s that guy?” Andy asked
“"William Beckett" Pete answered blankly.
“Ohhh.”
Well jeez Pete, is everyone supposed to know who he is?
Now came the waiting game until we got to the next place in the airport.
“I gotta pee.” Brendon said loudly.
O_o
EWW.
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