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A Short Story : A Story?

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I see the boy sitting behind me reading over my shoulder, so I snap my laptop shut. I hate writing in public, but I wanted to get some in during this long, boring flight. I’m having a bit of trouble getting across the setting of my story without it sounding like an information dump, so I wanted to figure out that on my long trip. But, I think with a sigh, I suppose that isn’t going to happen. The afternoon sun has painted the layer of clouds below me brilliant gold, so I lean my head against the window to look at the view. I dash my way through the airport to baggage claim, tripping over my own feet as I run along. After I actually do fall, I glare around, daring people to laugh. After my death-stare thoroughly subdues a middle-aged woman, I continue on my way. I have to do a bit of shoving to get through the crowd; I’m actually pretty short and seem to go unnoticed. I have to get to the parking lot quickly because I wouldn’t put it past my somewhat immature sister Zoe to just drive off if I’m not there at five-thirty when she said she’d pick me up. People grumble and shout, but I race on, keeping my eyes on the blue carpet that looks like it hasn’t been replaced since the 90’s. The noisy crowd is making me a bit nervous, so I speed up. I arrive and, thank goodness, my suitcase is just on its way around the conveyor belt! It seems I’ve avoided my usual bad luck. I blow out a sigh, grab the worn handle of my bag, and lift it off. A wall of frigid air slams me in the face
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