Some short story I composed in my head and propbably won't have a proper ending

What parents don't think about before they get divorced is the enviroment.
I mean, think about it. Most people when they get divorced, move and put a bit between them. This means the poor hapless child (me) is forced to be driven to and fro, thus ruining the enviroment. That's bad enough, but when your parents live in different countries, all those plane journies have got to heat up the ozone. And, even worse is that my mom is a fashion designer, and thus jetsets off all around the world. And I get dragged along. I don't think we've ever lived in a house, just stayed in hotels in Hong Kong, New York, Paris and London. I think that's propably the reason they divorced. Dad stayed home all the time, while mom and me...just stayed in hotels all the time. They might as well have been divorced, for all the difference it made.
Also, I've been homeschooled. If you think school sucks, try doing maths while your mother screams down a phone that she needs indigo denim, not acid wash.
Does acid wash even use acid? Why would anybody wear jeans that were dipped in acid? Ew.

I don't even know where I was born. When I was born, mom didn't do any typical stuff like feed me and coo over me.
No, instead she realised what the world needed was a fashion line that had jeans for babies.
Really.
I have a feeling that I was probably used as a model for fittings a lot. If you're rich, and have a baby brother or sister coming along, no doubt you'll have heard of it. It's called Grow Up Shopping.
Seriously. I mean, I love clothes, but for your mother to want you to grow up shopping? Scary.

I stare out the window. Why are plane windows always so small? Even though I'm thirteen, and should be past wanting to stare out the plane window, there's just something about staring out a window. I have a thing about watching clouds. If I have get a glimpse of the sky, I'll be staring at the clouds for the next fifteen minutes. It drives my mother crazy. Dad? I don't think he really cares. Mostly he's trying to figure out if those shoes go with that suit. No, he's not gay, he just writes a fashion column for guys. It has stupid stuff like "If you want to make an impression on a pretty lady, go for a great tie in geometri print."
Maybe that's why they divorced.

The girl in front of me is scribbling madly in a notebook. I can't help it, I'm seriously bored, and so I peek over at what she's writing.
And so, in conclusion, I think that the myth of King Arthur is complete and utter nonsense. Why do we even study this? Shouldn't we study I don't know, history, instead of you going on and on about your love life, and how we should all learn from King Arthur's mistakes? What mistakes, anyway? Falling in love with that Geniviere girl?
I can't help myself, before you know it, I'm speaking. "You'll so get a bad grade if you turn that in."
She looks around hurridly. When she sees me with my head stuck between the bit between each seat, she looks confused, then annoyed, then bored. "Doubt it. I don't think the teacher even read them, she just grades essays according to what paper is used."
I laugh. "Hmm, if my mother ever graded my papers, she'd probably do that."
She wrinkles up her nose, pushing a strand of thick flyaway blonde hair behind her pointy ears. "Why would your mom grade them?"
I sigh. "Homeschooling. It sucks."
The plane starts to dip, and the air hostess starts going around telling us to put on our seatbelts.
As if we couldn't tell that from the flashing PUT YOUR SEATBELTS ON NOW sign.
I start gathering up my various magazines and books, putting on my jacket (a black wool vintage jacket) and getting up. I look in my compact and realise my curly red hair has not reacted well to the plane. Maybe I should audition for the bride of Frankenstein. I mean, I've got the hair.

Everybody is standing up, holding their hand luggage. We wait...and wait. The pilot tells us we;re ten minutes early.
Oh joy.
Five minutes later, we're squirming, wishing they'd bring up the stairs already. I look at the girl. And sigh. "How come this always happens to me? Everytime I get on a plane, there's a delay."
She smiles. "Me too. Last time we were waiting an hour while they tried to figure out how to open the luggage compartment." I snigger. "Last time I was visiting my dad, some popstars' plane landed, and our stairs were promptly brought out to her. Then they seemed to forget about us, because we were there for an hour."
"That sure tops any plane horror story I've ever heard."
I look at my watch, wondering how the face is so scratched. "Why are you here? Holiday?"
"Nah. Visiting my mum and her new boyfriend," she says in an American accent. I've travelled so much that whenever I meet someone, they stare at me for hours, and then start guessing games. Are you from New York? Tokyo? Paris? London? Ireland? Dubai?
"What are you doing?"
"Visiting my dad and his new girlfriend."
"Freaky. Maybe my mum is your dad's girl?"
"Yeah, that would be cool," I say. None of us really believe it, we're just passing time.
"Ah, there appears to be a delay...Um, they put the stairs on the wrong side of the plane. We'll have to wait about ten minutes before we can get off."
There is a collective sigh. "So, do you want to do anything here?" the girl says. "Oh, yeah, my name is Chelsey."
"Katie. And, there's not much I haven't done in Paris. I'll propably just go shopping."
"Funny, that's what I was planning! There's supposed to be some great flea markets."
Suddenly, I wish Chelsey was my dad's girlfriends' daughter. I've never really had friends, and it would be so fun to have someone to go shopping with.

Finally, we get off the plane, and head over to the luggage reclaim. I finally spot my case (a silver metalic one that I've scribbled all over), and she spots hers and jumps up and down as she waits. Hers is a pretty fashionable black one with white polka dots, with a huge sticker that says FIRST TIME ABROAD, NO STICKERS TO SHOW.

I spot my dad, with a pretty woman in plum trenchcoat. I rush towards him. "Dad!" And then I hear Chelsey beside me, rushing to hug the woman. Then we look at each other.
Looks like we'll be hitting those flea markets after all.