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MJ woke up when the plane lurched. She turned, nuzzling comfortably into her father's shoulder.

Her father?

Whoa.

She lifted her head, noting with horror that she'd left a huge pool of drool on Heath Spencer's shoulder.

OMFG.

She grabbed the napkins she'd stowed in the magazine pouch in the seat back in front of her and tried to gently dab at his shoulder, but of course this did nothing to absorb her spit, which the cotton of his hoodie held onto with grim efficiency; it did, however, wake him up immediately.

Great.

"MJ, what the bloody hell are you doing?" he murmured, in a sexy, gravelly, just-woke-up voice. He blinked narrowed eyes at her as he swatted her napkin wielding hands away.

MJ wondered if she could somehow climb over him and just crawl away down the aisle. Maybe he would just fall back asleep?

Probably not.

"I--uh--drooled on your shoulder a little while I was sleeping," she said, lowering her hands to her lap, not meeting his gaze. "I'm really sorry," she continued. "I can pay to get it cleaned when we get to Sydney, I have to take a bunch of Meredith's stuff anyway, so--"

"What are you on about?" Heath interrupted, yawning after, making a half-hearted attempt to cover his mouth.

MJ gestured at his shoulder.

Heath saw, and smiled. "Did you dribble? My little sister Poppy used to do that on nearly every car trip." He laughed at the memory.

He looked over at MJ. "I didn't return the favor, did I? No? I'm usually the worst.

"Oh look, we've arrived," he continued, gesturing toward the window.

MJ took a secret sigh of relief. He obviously didn't care about his drool-covered hoodie. And she could tell by the pressure in her ears that they were indeed descending into Sydney.

Twenty terrifying minutes later they had landed, and MJ was secretly very relieved that she hadn't thrown up all over Heath Spencer, international mega star.

"It's been nice traveling with you," Heath said as the plane taxied to the gate.

MJ looked at him in surprise. "Yeah, me too, thanks."

Her phone was going crazy with ping notifications from Meredith.

"I guess you're being summoned," Heath said with a laugh.

"I guess I am," MJ agreed.

"Can I get your number?" Heath asked. "I'd love to talk music some more, find out how Calliope's Lament turns out, maybe give you a chance to dribble on my shoulder again?" He grinned at MJ, making her tummy flutter a little.

"Sure, uh, give me your number, I guess, and I'll send you mine?" she suggested, her mind reeling a little bit. She handed him her phone, and he punched his number in. She sent him a quick text.

"Brilliant," he exclaimed with another beautiful smile.

"Where's your P.A.?" she thought to ask, just as they were getting off the plane.

"Haven't got one," he responded with a wink. "Don't believe in them."

"Oh." And before she could say anything else, he was gone, down the walk way, pulling his case behind him.

MJ found Meredith and followed her to the baggage carousel, where they waited for what seemed like forever for their bags.

Meredith pointed out her bags to MJ so she could grab them, which MJ did with no trouble, and they were soon headed to the hotel.

Meredith kept her eyes closed for the drive, presumably having seen it all before, but MJ was too excited, and stared out the window the whole time for her first view of Australia. She wished she had someone to talk to about it, to point things out to. Her father would've been so excited to see everything, she knew.

MJ lowered her window a few inches to let the cold air in. It was the other side of the world here in Sydney, the opposite side of the equator, and therefore winter. MJ always tended to feel the heat, and had really looked forward to the cold weather, to experiencing winter in June. She had sweatshirts and long sleeved sweaters in her luggage in preparation for the cold temperatures, and she reveled in the brisk air that hit her face.

Apparently, Meredith didn't feel the same way.

"Oh my fucking god, please roll up the fucking window," she heard Meredith say. "It's fucking cold here, isn't it? God dammit, I sent my sweaters and all that shit ahead to Singapore, I think."

But Singapore was near the equator, wasn't it? Which meant it was pretty warm all the time. Why would Meredith send all her cold weather clothes there?

MJ turned to ask, but stopped when she saw Meredith's face.

"MJ, I'm going to need you to go out and buy me some sweaters and hoodies, I guess, after we get to the hotel, okay?" She continued without waiting for a response.

"And please, no crap." She raised her eyebrows as she made eye contact with MJ for the first time since getting in the car. "Even this backwater should have some decent stores."

"This is Sydney," MJ interrupted. "It has a population of over four million people, it's hardly a 'backwater,' right?" She smiled.

"Right, it's the capital of Australia and all that," Meredith rolled her hand and nodded. "Sorry, whatever."

"No," MJ interrupted again, shaking her head and smiling. "It's the capital of New South Wales. Canberra is the capital of Australia."

"Jesus, if I wanted a geography lesson, I'd have stayed in school, MJ." Meredith spoke with closed eyes. "Please, just buy me the clothes."

Geography? Wasn't the study of populations called demography, demographics, something like that? MJ considered. She made eye contact with the driver, who shook his head slightly at her. She gave him a little smile. She knew she shouldn't say anything, no worries.

They travelled the rest of the way to the hotel in silence. They went right past beautiful Sydney harbor, and the iconic Sydney Opera House, and MJ was dying to share it with someone, but she settled for taking pictures and sending them to her dad.

She was glad to see that the hotel connected to a shopping center. They got settled into their rooms (hers was a room, Meredith had a suite, of course), and she went straight downstairs to do her shopping duties.

It was actually a glittering, high-end chain of shops and boutiques, so MJ put her new credit card to good use. She bought a bunch of designer hoodies and sweaters in Meredith's size and took them to her employer's suite. Meredith hadn't said anything about pants, so she assumed those were covered.

"Nice job, MJ," Meredith praised when she saw the purchases. "You have good taste."

"I tried to get stuff you'd like," MJ replied.

"Didn't you get yourself anything?" Meredith asked, looking in the bags.

"No? You didn't say to, and I didn't need anything," MJ answered.

"How cute you are," Meredith laughed. "In the future, you can always get yourself something, okay? If you can find anything in your size, that is," she added.

"I don't think I'll need you until tomorrow," she said, making a waving motion with her hand. "Just stay in your room in case I do, though, okay?"

MJ nodded, keeping her face carefully neutral as she left. Did this mean she was off until tomorrow, or not? The first show was tomorrow, so she knew it would be a busy day, and it wasn't like she had anything else planned, anyway.

She settled into her room, realizing that it was the farthest away she'd ever been from Los Angeles, and her dad. And her life, if she really thought about it. Everything she'd ever done, everything she cared about, had happened within fifty miles of her house in Santa Monica.

MJ lay on her hotel bed and sighed.

Her father, she knew, would've been happy if she'd never left. Especially after her mother died, he never wanted her to go anywhere, or do anything. He never worried that she didn't have friends, that she never got invited anywhere, that she had no social life. He'd kept her close, always, with a little play area in the diner for her to draw, and later, to write her music. He'd been her playmate and confidante, and she didn't realize that this wasn't how little girls lived until she was much older.

He was overjoyed that she never had any boyfriends, and he'd actually gone to the local Greek Orthodox Church and prayed for her to get accepted to UCLA, even though he hadn't been a regular churchgoer in years.

As far as boyfriends, this was a ridiculous notion, MJ knew. She'd towered over most of the boys she knew for all of her life. Who wanted to date an Amazon, a giantess?

MJ rolled over on the bed, trying not to remember the first time she'd heard herself referred to as "the big girl," in second grade. She was already different, she was already the only child without a mother, and the tallest one, the one that got called on to turn the lights on and off because she was the only one who could reach; then, the day Jose Lopez came to class as a transfer, and someone was telling him where to sit, trying to be kind: "Go over there, see? Next to the big girl." MJ had wanted to die. It wasn't the last time she'd be called that, for sure, but it was the first.

Hefty Heifer. Dump Truck. Elephant.

MJ resolutely pulled her notebook toward her and began to write, letting the music soothe her, letting the notes and melodies carry her away, letting the lyrics wash over her.