The Book of Unfinished Works

**This story was written for an ONC contest in 2020. I didn't finish it and dropped out of the contest! :) But here it is:*

Chapter 1

I CHECK THE departure screen that hangs on the wall.

Next to Charleston, South Carolina, in all caps, read GATE CLOSING.

Crap. If I miss my flight, my mom is going to kill me.

I make a mad dash for Gate 9. By now I'm sweating like crazy, and completely out of breath.

Nobody is at the gate, which means they've probably already boarded.

"I'm so sorry I'm late," I mutter, presenting my ticket to the female flight attendant, who shoots me a look, waving me on.

I collapse into my assigned aisle seat. A mother and her toddler son occupy the seats beside me.

"I WANT TO SIT NEAR THE WINDOW!" The toddler screeches.

"Theo," his mother hushes him, "what did I tell you before we boarded the plane?"

I blare Alec Benjamin through my headphones, in an attempt to block out the noise, and close my eyes.

I didn't realize I was sleeping for the entire flight until the pilot voice blares through the cabin, announcing that we'll be landing in Charleston in 10 minutes. My legs are cramped from sitting in the same position for a long time.

I stuff my things into my backpack as the plane descends to the ground.

The Charleston International Airport is massive. Hundreds of people crowd near baggage claim looking to meet their relatives, and Grandma is among them.

Then I spot her blond-grey hair cropped into a pixie cut, a complete contrast to the short curls she had her hair in the last time I saw her.

"Grandma!" I squeal, sprinting over to meet her.

"Candace," she smiles, her skin crinkling at the edges. "It's so good to see you again!" She leans over and kisses my temple. "Do you need help with your bags?"

I shake my head. "No, I'm good. I only brought one suitcase with me."

"Alright, then."

I follow her outside towards her grey Toyota Camry. The temperature is hot, making my baby hairs stick to my forehead.

"It'll take us a while to get back to Milford," Grandma informs me as she shoves my suitcase into the backseat. "An hour or so."

As Grandma pulls away from the parking lot, I grab my phone and text Mom, notifying her that I'm on my way to Milford. She replies nearly two minutes later.

Alright. Miss u already!

"So," Grandma begins, striking up a conversation with a smirk, "are you seeing any handsome guys yet?"

"No," I groan. "I hate boys."

"Hate is a strong word, don't you think?" she frowns.

I don't respond. I know she won't understand why I thought so.

Last year, I had confessed my feelings for my crush, Lochlan McDowell. He claimed he felt the same way, but on our first date, he never showed up. Later, he posted on social media that he would never date a loser like me. I felt completely humiliated.

That's when I learned that all they did was break hearts and play with feelings. And then my hate for boys started to grow. Since then, I've promised myself that I'd never fall for a boy, no matter how cute or charming they seemed.