Again, But Better(14)

“Really? That’s awesome,” he says enthusiastically. “I read some of your stuff last night.” I go still, shock zipping through me as he takes another bite of sandwich.

That was so fast. What does he think of my stuff? I can’t believe he sat down and read stuff that I wrote. What does he mean, he read my stuff? He read my stuff! He read my stuff!

“Really?” I squeak. Is it chill to ask which story he read?

He swallows. “Yeah! Don’t sound so surprised.” There’s laughter in his voice. “How could I possibly resist hitting up FrenchWatermelonNineteen.com? Your stuff was funny. I really enjoyed it.”

I feel like running in circles.

“Really?” I say again. Shane, you just said really.

“The post about your first day here, pointing out all the random differences like the walk–don’t walk signs, that was great! And then I read that one about the hermit people from that random island going to McDonald’s for the first time. That was hilarious.” He grins.

I’m biting my lip while he’s talking, like a young adult book cliché, but it’s the only way to keep my smile level under control. Chill. I’m chill. He read my “The First 8 Hours” post and a short story I wrote over the holiday break. I really liked both of those!

“Thanks!” I spurt.

“We still all going to a pub later for dinner and drinks?” he asks.

“Um, yeah, I think everyone’s still down.”

“Nice! Looks like Flat Three is hitting the town tonight, then.”

I bob my head up and down, “Yup!”

I want to ask him about a card night. A few moments pass while Pilot eats his sandwich, and I open my computer, trying to gather the courage to ask him if he likes to play cards. Why am I afraid to ask him?

“Do you like to play cards?” I ask quickly.

Pilot’s eyes light up. “Do I like to play cards?” he says, smiling. “Does a bear shit in the woods?”

I grin and pull my eyebrows together. “Why do people say that when they can just say yes, which is so much faster and less confusing?”

“You play cards?” He smirks.

“Yeah, they’re only my favorite—I was thinking about going out and finding a deck so we could have a cards night, maybe tomorrow with everyone?”

“I’m in. You want help finding that deck?” he asks.

I blink. “Do you … want to go find one?”



* * *



I stride down the sidewalk with Pilot. This is our second walk in three days. Is this a second date? I think this boy likes me. I think he’s feeling what I’m feeling, and I can barely contain the urge to skip down the road.

It’s still light out as we make our way down fancy-white-sophisticated-buildings lane. I like how the sidewalk on this street is never too crowded like in New York. And when I say never, I of course mean, in the last three days, it hasn’t been too crowded.

“Okay, so possible suspects in this card case. I’m thinking either Tesco, Waitrose, or Sainsbury, that other grocery store I haven’t seen, but people have talked about. I don’t know where they’ll be if they’re not in a grocery store, so hopefully they’re in a grocery store. Maybe some sort of convenient store?” I’m babbling. I look at Pilot. He’s smiling to himself. “Sorry, I’m really excited about cards…”

“We’re going to find cards,” he replies confidently. “Let’s go to a different area, though, so we get to explore more of the city.”

“Okay.” I shrug and tuck my hair behind my ears.

“How about we go through Hyde Park? It’s right down the street.” He points down the road toward a large gated area.

I raise my eyebrows. “Whoa, off the beaten track. We might get lost.” That was meant to sound daunting and sarcastic, but it sounded happy. This excessive smiling has my vocal inflections all over the place.

“Don’t worry, I’ll Magellan us back if we get lost.”

I smile at him. “Don’t worry, I’m not worried.”

“Good.” He smiles back.

We walk in content silence as we make our way down the block and cross the street to Hyde Park. I don’t almost die this time, so things are already going smoother than they did on our last walk. There’s a large opening in the tall black gates that surround the park where we enter. It’s a nice day, so oodles of dog owners are out and about. Some people are reading on blankets and under trees. We start down a paved trail in the grass.

I glance over at Pilot. “So, now you’ve read some of my stuff,” I start.

“Yeah?” He grins. His hands are stuffed in the pockets of his jacket. I’ve got one hand in the pocket of the white zip-up I threw on and another clings to the leather of my cross-body purse.

“When do I get to hear your music?” I ask.

He snorts, but his eyes get bright like eyes do when you talk about something you’re passionate about.

“Oh, man.” He looks at the sky. “Well, my first album is on iTunes.”

“What?” I smack his arm in disbelief with my purse hand. He shoots me a dramatic look.

“Oh crap, sorry!” My voice gets pitchy as I try not to laugh. I heave a steadying breath. “Sorry, what I meant to say was: Is your album actually on iTunes? And why didn’t you mention this before?”