Again, But Better(20)

I roll my eyes. “Oh my god, Dad, I never thought you did.”

“You gotta stop sitting around with those books all the time!”

I close my eyes and suck in a cleansing breath.

Mom sighs. “Are the classes harder or easier than YU?”

I shrug and wave my hands. “Um, yeah, they’re different. My teachers have accents and stuff.”

“What does that mean? Do accents make things harder—”

“Oh my god. Wait! I haven’t told you about the grocery store. You guys…” I jump into my Tesco story, and it’s extremely satisfying to see them react just as drastically as I did when I tell them about the sauce selection. When the story concludes, I tell them I have to go.

Mom comes close to the camera again, “Okay, love you! Be very careful! Be smart!”

“Yeah, listen to your mother!”

I roll my eyes. “I always listen to my mother, and I’m always smart!”

“Do something about your nails!” Mom exclaims.

I hang up, sagging as a breath whooshes out of me.


1/12/11 11:45 p.m.

Bad news: Hardcore lying to my parents is already eating me up from the inside.

Good news: Card night was a giant hit!

I think I bonded with Sahra! Just when I thought she didn’t want to be friends, she offered to pick up dinner for card night. She was on the way out for her internship interview, and she turned around and said: “Hey, should I grab everyone shawarma for card night later?”

I had no idea what the heck shawarma was, but I obviously said yes. Babe, Pilot, and I were all shawarma noobs before tonight.

SHANE MEETS SHAWARMA: A RETELLING

Sahra carefully unloaded wrapped food items from a white paper bag and distributed them among us. Before I had even touched mine, Pilot had unwrapped his and taken a bite.

“It’s SO GOOD,” he told us through a mouthful. Babe agreed around her own mouthful with a vigorous head bob.

“I know.” Sahra plopped down at the table with us.

I dropped my gaze to the wrap before me. There were pickles in it. I’m not a pickle fan, but it smelled great, like really well-marinated chicken, so I kneaded away the paper at snail speed before hesitantly taking a bite. And then another. Because it was delicious and full of new taste combos I’ve never had together before. Pickles were made to be in shawarma.

“This is amazing!” I raised the wrap. “We should do this again next week.”

“Totally vote we make Flat Three shawarma a weekly thing!” Babe seconded.

Sahra laughed, looking pleased. “Shawarma Wednesdays?”

“Shwednesdays,” Pilot pronounced.

“I’m down.” Sahra smiled.

And so, tonight, Shwenesday was born.

We used my Beatles cards. I showed off a little and shuffled the cards fancy. Leo and I once spent a whole day teaching ourselves card tricks. His little brother Alfie was our official shuffle-off judge.

Babe was all impressed with me. “How did you do that?”

I told them I was a professional, and then proceeded to mess up my bridge, spewing cards across the table. Embarrassment hit me hard for half a second, but then I snorted, Pilot made fun of me, and we all broke into laughter.

I taught everyone Rummy 500. Sahra put up a good fight. It came down to one hand in the end, but I won. Pilot’s girlfriend came up once. Out of the blue, Babe asked if Amy (that’s her) liked to play cards. Pilot said it wasn’t her thing. The question was followed by an extended moment of awkward silence. I started sweating, stood to grab a glass of water, and my chair flipped backward, filling the void with the clash of metal on tile. I growled involuntarily, Babe and Pilot exploded into laughter again, and Atticus walked through the door just in time to join us for the next round. So, all in all, a good night.





9. Maybe We Can See the World Together



I’m twitchy with a fifty-fifty blend of anxiety and excitement as I head to the kitchen for breakfast. I have my book bag with me as usual, but today it’s stuffed to the breaking point with my clothes and toiletries for Rome. I’m leaving Sawyer here because there won’t be any internet at our inn. I’ll have my dinky block phone, and Horcrux Nine. As I’m climbing the stairs to leave for class, Pilot comes into view, heading toward the kitchen.

“Rome for the weekend, French Watermelon!” he yells without pausing to look back. I jog up the steps, beaming.



* * *



As promised, Professor Blackstairs’s class begins with another postcard.

January 14, 2011

Mom and Dad,

I haven’t told you this yet, but after class today, I’m interviewing for a job at a magazine! It’s only an internship, but an internship can lead to a paid job. I know you think my obsession with reading and stories is silly, but I don’t agree. I know you want me to let this go, but I can’t. I hope you give me the chance to prove you wrong. I think I can do this.

XO,

Shane




I slip the London Eye postcard into my bag next to the London Bridge from Wednesday. Class is wonderful again. We talk about writing suspense, and then we take the last hour to tackle a suspenseful short story of our own. I write about a nanny who’s attacked unsuspectedly by her employer.