Again, But Better(73)
“Are you going to come?” I prompt.
He still doesn’t lift his head. “I don’t think so.”
“But this was our flat bonding night.”
“No, thanks, Shane. I think you should go.”
“I just don’t feel right about—”
“Please leave.” There’s force behind the words, and it hits me right in the gut. I halt midsentence and take a step back into the hall.
“Fine.” I grab the knob and slam the door in place. I take a deep breath, run into my room, grab my iPod, and head for the kitchen.
3. I Thought Time Was an Hourglass Glued to the Table
Going to sleep after finding yourself six years in the past and waking up in the same predicament is a fucking trip. When I open my eyes, I’m still here, sharing a room with twenty-year-old Babe and Sahra.
Getting ready as past Shane is unsettling. My hair’s at least eight inches longer than it was when I woke up yesterday in New York. My makeup bag is severely lacking—past Shane doesn’t even own foundation—and all these old clothes in my London closet feel bland and out-of-date.
Babe and I chitchat endlessly about Disney World and movies on the way to Greenwich. I already know half the things she’s going to say before she says them. It’s disconcerting. She’s one of my closest friends in 2017, but this Babe doesn’t know me yet. I’m dying to discuss all the time-travel weirdness, but unfortunately the one person who’d understand is actively keeping his distance.
Pilot remains quiet and withdrawn all morning. He positions himself next to Atticus and Sahra in our group huddle as we float down the Thames. He stands on the opposite end of our group pictures. He physically walks to get to the opposite side of our lineup when I ask a stranger to take a group picture of us in front of the Maritime museum. Whenever I get close, he starts talking about nothing to Atticus.
I re-experience the day in a constant state of déjà vu. Things are slightly different because of Pilot’s mood, but for all intents and purposes, Flat Three has the same Greenwich adventure. After exploring the Royal Observatory, it’s time to head down to the pub where we had burgers and decided to go to Rome.
The five of us settle in at the same wooden table. Because Pilot’s been lagging behind, he’s forced to take the last remaining seat: the one across from me. My lips flip up into a snarky grin as he plops into the chair.
The waitress comes around, distributing waters and taking our orders. I so vividly remember living this moment: how tempted I was to take out my camera and ogle at all the pictures we took today, how Atticus laughed when he became the fifth person in a row to order the same burger for dinner, the way my heart stuttered when Pilot asked us if we wanted to travel while we’re here. That question sparked my first taste of wanderlust and opened me up to possibilities I never even considered to be possibilities.
Pilot’s currently staring past me at nothing. I try to catch his eyes so I can roll mine at him. Babe’s watching and shoots a confused glance between the two of us before taking a sip of her water.
“So!” she starts cheerily, tossing her dark hair over her shoulder.
I straighten in my seat. “So,” I echo, smiling at her and shifting to look at everyone. “Do you guys want to travel while you’re here?”
“Oh my gosh, yes!” Babe exclaims.
“Definitely,” Sahra asserts.
“Yeah, I hope I can find time to squeeze in some travel, but the theater track is really intense,” Atticus explains.
The four of us turn to Pilot for his response. He’s leaning against the table, head propped up on his arm. He treats me to a mildly irritated look before facing the rest of the group.
“Yeah,” he answers tiredly.
“Great. Well, we should go to Rome for the weekend!” I say cheerily.
“Yes!” Babe agrees.
“I’m in,” Sahra adds.
Atticus explains that he can’t join us because of his internship.
“Pilot, are you coming?” Babe asks him carefully.
He scratches his head before responding blandly, “Yeah.”
“Yay!” she cheers before raising her glass of water. “To Rome for the weekend!”
Sahra, Atticus, and I raise our glasses.
“To Rome for the weekend!” I repeat. I never carried around water bottles during this era, but nowadays I have one on me at all times. How did I live? Apparently in a constant state of dehydration. I end up chugging half my glass before I set it down. Across the table, Pilot’s watching me carefully. His mouth twitches.
I blink at him. “What?” I ask.
“Nothing. I was just noticing how soft the landing was there,” he says.
My eyes dart from the water to him. A smile tugs at my lips. “Yeah, I guess some dude yelled at me about the way I put down my drinks six years ago, and I’ve since gained a new respect for glassware.”
“I don’t think he yelled at you.”
“Some guy yelled at you about the way you put down your drink?” Babe jumps in, appalled.
I drop my gaze to stifle a laugh. When I look back up, Pilot’s smiling. He’s looking at the table, but he’s smiling.
I shoot Babe a grin. “It was nothing, I was exaggerating.”