Again, But Better(75)
“Agreed, but I kind of had fun.” I shrug.
“I probably should have cut mine, but Sahra’s in the class so it felt”—he looks up, searching for the right word—“suspicious? Skipping.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, I have this uncontrollable need to be good in school, so I didn’t even think about cutting.” Maybe I would have considered it if someone had brought up the idea before I got there, but not anymore. I forgot how much I actually enjoyed going to this class.
He takes a bite of sandwich, focusing somewhere on the wall behind me. “You remember what we did today the first time around?”
I close my laptop and give him my full attention. “Of course. Do you?”
He meets my gaze. “The Beatles store.”
“Got those gorgeous playing cards.”
“They were a great find.”
“That they were.” I bob my head nostalgically. “Remember the Russian Beatles nesting dolls?”
He snorts. “Those were fantastic.”
“I love that they’re a thing.” I bite my lip a moment, hesitant to push this any further. “You want to go?”
Pilot sucks in a breath and leans his head forward. He runs his now interlocked hands up from the base of his neck over his hair and back down to the table in front of him before looking at me again.
“Uh … I don’t think so, you know … We should probably keep our distance for now, ride out these last few days, find the button, get out of here.”
I nod, absently. “Oh, yeah, okay, um, I’m gonna go find something for dinner.”
I carefully stand up out of my chair with one hand locked on the back so it can’t possibly fall over. I pull my book bag off the floor, snatch my laptop from the table, and head onto the streets of London to clear my head. Instead of taking my usual right toward Gloucester Road, I hang a left toward Hyde Park, hiking my way toward the main street near the Odeon and Orange cell phone place.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve picked up some new makeup that past Shane didn’t know she was missing, and I’m crossing the street to TK Maxx. I find myself a black backpack with three different compartments and padded straps. Book bags are for travel rookies. I’ll be backpacking it from now on.
Later, as a flat, we all go to the pub down the block. We play 21. Atticus brings up Pilot’s girlfriend. Babe is shocked. Pilot looks at the table and quickly changes the subject.
5. Reaching in the Dark
The hustle and bustle of Victoria Station streams around me as I make haste for the Gatwick Express. My backpack bounces lightly against me as I weave in and out of swarms of travelers. I giddily make eye contact with strangers as they stride by. Some smile back, a lot of them abruptly look down. I don’t care, I’m feeling wonderfully empowered right now—free.
I haven’t been able to stop grinning since I left the Packed! office. I just re-interviewed for my internship. I forgot how cool the office was. I forgot how much I liked Wendy. When she teased the idea of writing a piece about studying abroad in London, my heart flew around in my chest all over again. Now, I can’t stop picturing my name under an article in their magazine. I’ve written some stuff for scientific journals these past four years … but I don’t know. I don’t know why it feels so different for me with this travel magazine. But it does. The scientific journals felt like an obligation. An obstacle I had to hurdle for my impending medical career. This feels like a goal. A finish line I’d like to cross.
It’s not till our plane has taken off and we’re up there in the atmosphere that I remember the button. I’m not just going to Rome for the weekend. I’m headed on a wild goose chase for a mystical button.
We’ve been flying for about forty minutes. I’m currently treating myself to a free mini bottle of white wine. Beside me is the same drunk couple as last time. The two of them are chattering away, but all I can hear is the roar of the plane in my ears. The uncaged feeling from earlier saps with every passing mile. Pilot’s a few rows back in a middle seat across the way. I thoughtfully swig another mouthful of wine before turning to steal a glance at him. When I hitch myself up and twist around, I find him looking right at me.
Instinct is to drop back into the chair, but I fight it. I don’t have to hide. Instead, I raise my eyebrows. Pilot dips his chin hello before dropping eye contact. I slide back into my chair, finish off this mini wine, and unbuckle my seat belt.
I stand the best I can to catch the attention of the drunk couple. “I’m sorry. Could I get out, please?”
Once free, I take the few wobbly steps to Pilot’s row. He watches me curiously. The middle-aged woman sitting in the aisle seat next to him looks up at me. I put a hand to my heart.
“Hi!” I knit my brow. “Sorry to bother you. I just, that’s my brother, and he’s holding it together right now, but he has a crippling fear of flying. I can see he’s having a really hard time, and I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind switching seats with me so I can be next to him? I can calm him down when he’s hyperventilating and stuff.” I jut out my bottom lip.
She looks to her right, at Pilot. My eyes flit to him as well. He’s gaping like I just grew two new heads.
The woman turns back to me. “Oh my goodness, of course we can switch. What seat were you in?”