I would love to be here longer, but it’s not like I could afford more time at the cheap hotel I picked out. And getting there was hassle enough. I got lost at least seventeen times in the airport, and I just about managed to make it here to Flinders Street last night and then walk to the hotel. But I was so tired from the flight and dazed, now I can’t even remember which direction I came from – or how to get back there.
I know that I’m supposed to get on a particular train if I want to go out to all of the tourist attractions I picked out to visit. What I can’t figure out is where to take that train from, because there are so many different lines to take that it’s making my head hurt. I struggle badly enough when I’m in New York City, and I don’t even go there on my own – what made me think I could handle Melbourne?
I bite my lip, checking the train guide I picked up again, and look around. Is it that direction I’m supposed to go in? No, that doesn’t seem right – maybe it’s over here…
I gasp in surprise as someone walks right into me, colliding with me and nearly knocking me over. Even worse is the iced coffee he’s holding, which immediately spills down the front of my dress.
My white dress.
One of only six outfits I brought with me, which was supposed to at last me all day.
I gasp again as a piece of ice slides down my chest, disappearing under the fabric of my dress, where I realize in a panic I can’t fish out. Not without making a very public exhibition of myself, at least. It slides down freezing cold, making me shudder despite the heat of the day I just left behind.
“Watch where you’re going!” the man hisses at me, and I look up to realize that he’s staring at me not with embarrassment or apology – but with anger. “I’ve just bought this drink, and now you’ve gone and wasted it!”
“Me?” is all I can think to say. As if there’s anyone else standing here in the middle of the station, covered in iced coffee. I look down at myself and see a brown stain that seems to occupy the whole of the front of my dress. I feel my cheeks flaming up – I can’t walk around like this.
“You bloody tourists, always getting in the way,” the man carries on. He’s dressed in a suit, so I guess he must be on his way to work or some kind of meeting. “What have you got in your head there, air? You stepped out right in front of me. And look – it’s on my briefcase, too!”
I look at the object he’s shaking in his hand and see that yes, as a matter of fact, there is iced coffee dripping from the outside of his leather briefcase as well. It’s also all over the floor. The takeout cup in his hand is only half full now.
“I’m sorry,” I mumble, more out of habit and shock than anything else, because I’m not truly sure why he’s yelling at me. Aren’t I the one covered in coffee right now?
“Well, what are you going to do about it? Are you going to replace my coffee – and my briefcase?” he demands. I can only stare at him. I don’t have enough money with me to start doing things like that. I’m only here for a week.
I can feel my heart beating so fast in my chest. What am I supposed to do now? Is he going to cause a scene if I don’t give him some money? Could I get in trouble with the police?
“Excuse me, sir?” someone says – another male voice, but this time with a familiar American accent. “I’m going to need you to back off.”
Chapter Three
Sean
I can’t watch this happen.
I step forward when he begins yelling, clearing the distance between us – though it takes me longer than I would like, given that I have to sidestep all the people trying to cut across in front of me. When I finally do get close enough to say something, it’s in time to hear him make a ridiculous request.
He just ruined a beautiful girl’s dress, and he’s the one that’s angry about it all. Go figure.
“Excuse me, sir,” I say, drawing myself up to all of my six feet three inches. I’m gratified to see that I tower above him – not to mention that my shoulders are also noticeably wider. “I’m going to need you to back off.”
The guy opens his mouth to protest, looks at me, and seems to have second thoughts. And then, I guess because he’s an Aussie, he protests anyway.