Again, But Better(78)

“Shane,” she says with concern.

“Babe.” I shoot her another look.

“Okay. I guess we’ll meet you at the Colosseum.” Babe backs out of the room, wearing an extremely mom-like expression. The door closes very slowly behind her.

I turn back to Pilot. He’s already on the floor, rummaging under his bed.

“Pies, don’t we want to eat before we go tearing the room apart?” I put my hands on my hips. He’s prying around near Babe and Sahra’s bed now.

“Shane, this is important. Come on, let’s find this thing.” His voice is muffled by the blankets he’s tearing through. I’m too hungry to argue, so I search the room halfheartedly.

Ten silent minutes later—no button. Added bonus: Now it looks like the room was ransacked by thieves. Pilot straightens near the door, studying the mess with crossed arms and a flustered expression. I pull the sheets back up onto my bed and walk over to stand next to him.

I break the silence. “Well, that was fun.”

“It’s not here.”

“It would seem that way.”

Pilot sighs. “This is going to be difficult.”

“Agreed.” We stare at the room a beat longer. “Food?”

“Food.”



* * *



We meet Sahra and Babe down the street, outside the Colosseum, and head to the little trattoria I remember from Rome: Take One. I keep my purse on all through dinner, just to be safe. We all share a pitcher of Italian wine. I get my usual: ravioli. The four of us cackle and chat about YU—how we’re so lucky to be here in Rome for the weekend, while all the other poor schmucks are still in New York. College-era nostalgia settles over me. I feel it like a tangible thing on my skin. The memories are sticky. I try to shake them off with laughter and wine, but they cling to my face, arms, legs, until I’m just one big collage of random moments, decisions, and regrets.

The four of us grow quiet as we mosey our way back to the room. It’s late, but I’m not the slightest bit tired. Instead, I’m jittery and anxious like I’ve had too much caffeine. When Babe hauls open the giant castle door with the appropriately ancient key, I stay rooted at the foot of the shallow stairs. Babe slips inside, followed closely by Sahra. Pilot puts his foot in the door and turns back to hold it open for me.

“Coming?”

“I don’t really want to.”

Pilot disappears into the inn. He reappears a few seconds later, letting the door shut behind him. He skips down the steps, hands jammed in his pockets.

“What’s up?” he says with a tilt of the head.

I scuff my boot along the ground. “I don’t know. I mean, we’re in Rome. We’re in Rome again … and we may be leaving.” My voice wavers. I clear my throat. “We could be leaving at any moment, and I just want to make the most of being here. I don’t want to go to sleep if there’s a chance we might be gone tomorrow morning.”

Pilot takes a few steps down the street and looks back at me. “Then let’s stay out and explore.”





7. There’s a Glow Off the Pavement



We wander quietly through narrow, cobblestoned alleys, full of old buildings and crammed with tiny parked cars.

“So, how much have you thought about time travel since we got here?” Pilot quips.

“Let me think. I thought about it a few days ago, and again today, so … just about every other minute since we got here.” I smile sweetly.

He snorts.

I shake my head. “Breaking Bad hasn’t ended here, and Game of Thrones hasn’t even started! I saw a sign for it on a bus when I was walking to class the other day. It’s mind-boggling!” I vent. “Have you seen Hot Tub Time Machine?”

He narrows one eye. “Yes?”

“You know how they release all these hit songs before they were actually released?” I grin. “How funny would it be to do a cover of ‘Wrecking Ball’ and put it on YouTube and just see what happens? We could do that!”

Pilot huffs. “While we’re at it, why don’t we film our own pirated version of Deathly Hallows Part 2 and release it in May?”

“Pies, they’ve already released a trailer. Everyone would know it wasn’t real.”

A real smile spreads across his face.

We walk on: down more tiny streets, past closed shops, occasionally bumping shoulders.

I scuff the cobblestones with my foot. “So, why did you stop doing music?”

Pilot takes a moment to ponder this. “I mean, I worked on it a lot the summer after London. Did some little gigs in New York.”

“I thought you were going to invite us to those so we could come watch you play? We never heard from you. Even when we sent messages…”

He sighs. “It was complicated.”

“The album you released in September that year was great. Babe and I had a little listening party in our living room when you uploaded it. I know we tweeted you, but we never got to talk about it in person.”

“Damn, a musical endorsement from a doctor. This is big,” he says through a small smile.

I push him sideways. “Shut up.”

He laughs, but then in a more serious voice, he says, “Really though, thanks. That was my last one.”