Again, But Better(40)

“What?” he asks, lips turning up.

“Nothing,” I say quickly. I rotate onto my back again, falling under the pressure of prolonged eye contact and opting to stare at the ceiling. I feel Pilot shift next to me until we’re side by side again. Sharing a pillow.

I swallow. “What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever done?”

He purses his lips for a moment. “I— What do you mean by scary?”

“I mean, not scary commercially, but scary to you, you know?”

There’s a beat of silence before he answers. “I’m not sure … I kind of left my … I mean”—he blows out a breath—“I guess change has always been scary for me.”

I’m quiet for a moment, nodding in agreement and working up the courage to speak.

“This is the scariest thing I’ve ever done,” I whisper.

“What—”

“I mean, not this-this—I mean, coming out here for study abroad. I’m not very good at trying new things, and I’ve never been this far from my family. Um, but more than that, I’m, I’m always the good child, you know. I get great grades, and I don’t talk back. I do what they tell me to do. It’s only me, and I want to make them happy, and I’ve never lied to them. So, when I lied to them about this, they believed me.”

“They don’t know you’re out here?” he asks quietly.

I huff a sad chuckle. “I’m premed, so I told them I’m out here doing a premed program. I, like, made a fake brochure and everything. I took care of all the paperwork and stuff. But there is no premed track out here … and they’re gonna be pissed when they find out.”

“I thought you were an English major.”

“They wouldn’t pay for college if I didn’t major in something that lined me up for a lucrative future.” I blink at the ceiling. “My grandpa did the struggling-artist thing, wrote poetry and stuff, worked a bunch of temporary jobs. It made him a pretty shitty dad. He was never around, and when he was, he was distant and tired, had a short fuse with my dad and his siblings.

“Now my dad’s obsessed with financial stability, in this macho Italian, I’m-a-real-man sort of way. I’m his only kid so … he … it’s a lot. Like, I know in his own way, he’s just trying to be a good dad—and writing, being creative, it’s not exactly known for being a pragmatic career path.

“I’m good at math and science, and I like numbers. My mom was gonna be a doctor. But she had to drop out of med school when she got pregnant with me, so it just makes sense. She’s really excited.” I turn my head to get a read on Pilot. His face is right there, a breath away. There’s a sadness etched in his eyes.

“I don’t hate being premed, I’m just not particularly, you know, it doesn’t have the same—and it’s so all-consuming. I don’t know, I want to make things. These past two weeks here, studying something I really care about, and writing, it’s been the best.

“I hadn’t really found a place at YU, so I’d been going home like every other weekend. And everyone in our year was prepping to studying abroad, and I felt like maybe this would be a way to start over. Make new friends and have new experiences and not spend all my time in the dorm.

“I started looking into programs, saw this writing internship track in London, and I knew it was my chance to try to do … what I would really love to do because there’s the internship—a writing internship … like a real job, and if I did well there, maybe they could help me get a real paid summer internship job somewhere in the US, and maybe then I could show my parents that, you know, I can do this.

“I can do it. I’m good at it, and I can do it. I’m gonna do it.” I swallow hard. Pilot’s watching me attentively. I meet his eyes for a moment before shifting back to the ceiling tiles. “So, um, when I get jumpy, that’s me doing my best to deal with all the residual paranoia and fear swirling around. Like when I lost my purse, I thought, you know, it could ruin everything. They would find out and, I don’t … I don’t know … I haven’t told anybody any of this.”

Pilot’s fingers weave through mine. He squeezes my hand. Warmth shoots up through my fingertips.

It’s quiet for a minute before Pilot says, “Shane. That’s insanely badass.”

Unexpected laughter rises in my chest. My shoulders shake as I try to contain it. I don’t know what to say. I gently squeeze back. We lie like that for another twenty minutes. I don’t know what to do with myself. I couldn’t possibly sleep. My heart is ping-ponging around like a Super Ball. After a while, he finally gets up. Carefully, he scoots back into his own bed. I pretend to be asleep.

“Good night, Shane,” he mumbles from his bed.

My words wobble nervously from my mouth. “Night, Pies.”





17. Such a Breakable Thread




1/23/11 8:30 a.m.

THINGS I’M PRETTY SURE ABOUT:

1) It’s time to leave for the train back to London. (100%)

2) Pilot and I have almost kissed multiple times now. (91%)

3) Pilot has a girlfriend. (73%)

Does this thing that’s been happening mean he might break up with his girlfriend? Would he break up with his girlfriend? Has he already broken up with his girlfriend? Would he have told us? I can’t bring myself to ask. I never ever bring her up, and he hasn’t brought her up since, well… he’s never brought her up.