“Hey!” I say, turning to her. “Where are you headed?”
“The city. There’s a flea market in Williamsburg that has the best deals for vintage clothing and handmade goods from artists. You’d really like it,” she says, then pauses. “Plus, there’s a really good food market there. Ever had a ramen burger?”
“A ramen burger?” I repeat.
“Don’t look so skeptical, they’re a-mazing.”
I laugh. “I mean, I like both of those things separately, so…maybe I’ll be into it? I’ll have to try that sometime.”
“Trust me. You won’t regret it. What about you? What’re you going into the city for?” she asks, as she eyes Andy buying his ticket. I don’t want to get into the paper hearts so I tell her the same white lie I told my mom.
“I got into a school in New York so I’m going to check it out.”
“Oh no way, what school? I’m going to Columbia next year.”
“You are?” I ask. “I might be too. I was thinking about deferring for a year, though….” I trail off. If I’m being honest with myself, I thought about college way too much when it didn’t matter and ironically now that it does, I haven’t at all. That’s the thing—sometimes it’s hard to think about the future when you’re stuck in the past.
“Well, if you don’t defer, we could start school together,” Sarah says hopefully, but she must see a look on my face because she adds on, “Just ignore me. I’m just so excited to get out of this town. I want college to start as soon as possible.”
“I get that,” I say. “I’ll let you know what I do….It would…it would actually be really nice to know someone.”
Sarah smiles as Andy comes up behind me. “Well, I’ll let you enjoy your college tour, then.” Thankfully, Andy doesn’t correct her.
“Do you want to sit with us?” I ask.
For a second, she looks happy, but then she shakes her head. “I’m sitting in the Quiet Car. Either reading the sixth Harry Potter book for the twentieth time or starting a new Game of Thrones.”
“Both better options than sitting with us,” Andy says. “I plan on distracting Ella the entire way.”
I turn to Sarah. “Maybe I should be sitting with you.”
The two of them laugh, but part of me was completely serious. If it weren’t for the paper hearts, I would love to be heading to the city with Sarah to shop and eat a ramen burger. That sounds way better than what I’d normally be doing by myself. I like that she’s not afraid to do things alone. Whenever I want to do something, I feel like I need to go with a group of friends or at least one other person, which is a shame, because there are things that sometimes I don’t get to do because people are busy. Sarah just seems so independent and sure of herself. Here she is, doing a day trip to Brooklyn on her own like it’s no big deal.
I wish I could be more like that, I think as Andy and I board the train.
* * *
Traveling to NYC sometimes feels like I’m journeying to some faraway land. Today it feels even more so. The tracks run parallel to the Hudson River, which is now partially frozen and covered in snow from last night. It would be extremely peaceful if Andy would stop talking.
Maybe I really should’ve sat in the Quiet Car.
“Do you think someone will try to sit with us?” he asks now, nodding toward the seat to his right. We’re in a three-seater.
“Maybe. The train gets crowded on weekends.”
He shakes his head. “I should’ve brought iced coffee.”
“It’s February. Why an iced coffee?
“First of all, I’m not a wimp, Ella. I can drink iced coffee any time of the year. People don’t start drinking warm water because we’re in the dead of winter. Second of all, the iced coffee is a ploy so nobody would want to sit with us. I have this trick that I’m debating telling you about on account of how you’ll finally know I’m an evil genius.”
I roll my eyes. “Do I even want to know, after your Hot Chocolate Theory?”
“Hmm. Well, you seem smart but not very evil. I don’t want to be a bad influence on you.”
I shake my head. “Just tell me.”
“Okay, so if I had an iced coffee, I could hold it right here,” he says, holding the pretend coffee in the imaginary line between this seat and the one over. “And I’d let the condensation from my iced coffee drip ever so slowly onto the next seat. Then as people walk by, they will think Oh, there’s an open seat! But they will come by to see there’s in fact water on that seat tainted by my drink and keep moving because who on earth wants to have a wet butt from some nerd’s iced coffee? I’ll tell you,” he says, pausing for dramatic effect. “No one.”
I stare at him in disbelief. “That is an evil genius move,” I finally say.
He grins, his dimple showing. “Now your turn.”
“Turn for what? I never said I was an evil genius.”
“Okay, well, you don’t have to tell me what makes you diabolical, but tell me what makes you a little less perfect than the good-girl image you’re still giving off to me now.”
“I do not have a good-girl image,” I argue.
He raises an eyebrow. “I can see for this trip you came prepared with celery sticks…and is that a PB&J cut into a heart?” he asks, peering inside my purse.
I zip it shut. “Don’t even think of asking for snacks later if you get hungry.”
“I won’t,” he says. “I’ll just ask you about your five-year plan.”
I look out the window.
“Oh my God, you do have a five-year plan. Now you have to tell me. I’m intrigued. Do you think about it while you cut your snacks into hearts?” he asks in a teasing voice.
“It’s perfectly normal to have a five-year plan,” I argue.
“I never said it wasn’t. But a lot of people our age don’t have one.”
“You don’t strike me as someone who does what everyone does,” I say.
“Touché,” he says. “Okay, but seriously. Can you tell me now? I’m really curious.”
I pause, examining his eyes. They are no longer teasing—he seems sincere.
“Well, in five years I hope to be graduating from college, or at least that’s the plan now,” I start to say. “And don’t laugh…but my dream is to combine my love of books with my love of planning and become a book publicist.”
“Why would I laugh at that?” he asks. “That sounds like an awesome dream.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, I can totally see you doing that. What made you think of being a publicist?”
“In the back of books, authors always thank their publicists in the acknowledgments. That’s where I first got the idea. Plus, I always thought it would be fun to plan big book launches in New York City for my favorite writers.”
Andy smiles at me in a way I haven’t seen him smile at me yet. “That’s great. You’re lucky to know what you’re passionate about already. I have no idea what I want to do. I never even know what I want to do when I get out of bed in the morning, let alone in five years.”
“Well, did you want to be anything when you grew up?”
“Yeah, when I was a kid I was convinced I’d be drafted into the NHL. I always loved hockey. It was heartbreaking, though. I tore my ACL and had to stop skating for a while.”
“Wait a second, that’s not true,” I say, crossing my arms. “When we went ice-skating you were shaking like a leaf.”
His cheeks turn red. “Okay, I was nervous but not why you think. That was the first time I’ve put skates back on since the accident.”
My jaw drops. “Really? Why didn’t you say something? You didn’t have to—”
“That’s exactly why I didn’t want to tell you. I wanted to skate with you. I’m glad I did it even though I was scared the whole time just remembering how it happened….”<
br />
Suddenly, my mind flashes back to how slow he was at the beginning. How he was petrified of running into that little girl and hurting her…
“I wasn’t like a star or anything,” he says. “To be clear, since you normally associate with Pete Yearling. But I was interested in playing in college somewhere. Probably D3. But after my injury all the interested coaches dropped me.”
“That’s awful,” I say.
“Tell me about it. My whole life was leading up to one thing, and then in one second, everything changed for me.”
“Wow,” I say.
What he is saying reminds me of myself in a lot of ways—I’m still afraid to get back behind the wheel. Maybe we have more in common than I thought.
“Yeah, but don’t feel sorry for me. I had surgery, and I’m pretty much all healed now.”
“So how come you don’t play hockey again?”
He shrugs. “I’ve thought about it. I might try to walk onto a team next year, wherever I end up going, on my own. Until then, I’m just trying to take care of myself. But it’s weird…I’ve spent my whole life doing this one thing, and now I have the chance to do so much other stuff.”
“Like what?” I pry.
“Well, work, for one. I can read more, for another, and not just for school. And going on spur-of the-moment adventures is definitely a plus. Aren’t you glad I don’t have practice today?”
I laugh. “Touché.” But in that moment, I really am glad he’s here.
“In all seriousness,” he starts, looking out the window, “I kind of like that life is like a train ride. You have to make some stops along the way to your destination.”
“Did you just come up with that?” I laugh.
“I did.” He smiles, and his dimple comes out. “Did it sound good?”
“Definitely less cheesy than saying you’re the conductor of your own journey.”
“Oh come on. I hope you like cheese. You can call me Gouda.”
I roll my eyes at him but he laughs. “So, what about you? Have there been any stops on your journey?”
I nod.
“You’re not going to tell me that, though, are you?” he asks.
“Nope.”
But later when I get hungry for my snacks, I offer Andy a celery stick.
* * *
After we arrive in NYC, we stream out of the train into Grand Central Terminal and find our way to the subway.
It’s only when we get outside that I let out a large breath in the cold air. A little puff that looks like a miniature cloud escapes my lips.
We head to Central Park, which is exactly where it sounds like it’ll be: in the center of the city. On the way there Andy tells me that the rocks and boulders in the park are left over from the Ice Age, and when Manhattan was being built, everything was constructed around them. His eyes light up as he tells me, like they always do when he shares one of his fun facts. I decide that might be my favorite thing about him as we walk together now.
NYC really is magical this time of year. The streets seem quieter. Maybe because of the snow. The sidewalk has been cleared, but mounds of snow line the streets and white powder dusts the trees and traffic signs.
The paths in the park have also been shoveled. Once we enter, we follow one toward the castle at the top of a hill. Below it, there’s a small pond, completely frozen. On the way up the hill, I tell Andy that Belvedere means beautiful view in Italian. He raises his eyebrows at me as if to say he’s impressed. I’m glad I finally get to tell him a fun fact he didn’t know.
As I near the castle, I am blown away by the view. It makes me think that this is a place I would’ve wanted to go to with someone special. Suddenly, I’m kicking myself for not asking Pete more questions—I should’ve asked him about the Polaroid.
I pull out my phone to text him and see that he already sent a text this morning.
I had a great time last night.
I respond.
Me too!
After I press send, I start typing my next text.
Random question…did we ever go to Belvedere Castle together?
I stare at the text for a couple seconds. Knowing this simple answer could finally give the closure I need, but it would ruin everything with the paper hearts. Why can’t I just be patient? I only have five to go. I’m sure I’ll find out the reason for everything at the end of this.
I delete the text and put my phone back in my pocket.
When I look up, Andy’s shaking his head at me.
“Was wondering when you were going to put that away. We’re practically there, you know,” he says, with his cocky smirk.
“I know,” I say.
The stone castle towers in front of us. Its intricate arches are covered in snow and look like they’re from another century. Streetlamps in front must light up the castle at night for everyone to see. I let out a deep sigh, thinking about the Polaroid picture.
“What’re you thinking?” Andy asks.
“Oh, nothing,” I say, but then think of something. “What’s the number on the paper heart, again?”
“Six.”
I nod, looking from Andy back to the castle. What on earth could six have to do with anything? I look up to start counting the windows and see people on top of the castle, peering over the stone wall.
“Do we go up?” I ask.
Andy nods. “Maybe we have to look to six o’clock or something?”
“That’s not a bad idea.”
“Wow,” Andy says.
“What?” I ask, starting for the entrance.
“Nothing. I just like to bask in my compliments from you.”
I laugh. “I said it’s not a bad idea. I take back the compliment if you’re wrong.”
“That’s not how compliments work.”
“Sure it is,” I argue.
We make our way through the entrance and then up the steep winding staircase. At the top, we are let out onto a terrace with a clear view of Central Park and the Manhattan skyline.
“Which way is six o’clock?” I ask, making my way to the edge.
Beyond the icy pond are snow-covered trees, and people the size of my thumb roaming the park. I’m about to say we need to think of something else when Andy comes up next to me.
“Whoa, this is incredible,” he says. “When you said Belvedere means ‘beautiful view,’ I assumed it was referring to the castle itself. But this view is incredible.”
I look out again at the six o’clock angle. I run my hand along the rail, searching for a paper heart. I even bend down to see if there are any hidden cracks where my admirer could’ve stuffed the next heart.
My shoulders slump as I stand back up. I really hoped Andy was right, but he doesn’t seem to care.
“That’s the Delacorte Theater,” he says, pointing to a snow-covered amphitheater. “In the summer there are free Shakespeare performances there. And that over there looks like a baseball field,” he says, now moving his hand to an area off in the distance surrounded by gates.
“Remember how I said I could take your compliment away?” I ask.
He frowns. “We’re already up here. We might as well take it all in.”
“I know you’re going to tell me that Sherlock Holmes doesn’t look for clues, he just looks,” I say, sighing. “But please don’t. All I want is to find this paper heart.”
It’s pathetic, I know. Here I am in this beautiful castle in the middle of New York City with one of the most incredible views I’ve ever seen and I’m focused on finding a flimsy piece of paper.
Andy looks to me. “We’ll find it,” he assures me. “Just relax for a second.”
The funny thing about having someone tell you to relax is that it always has the opposite effect. I want to say I am relaxed, but arguing will mak
e me look tense. Suddenly, I feel all wound up, like the castle’s winding staircase. Andy’s eyes are calm, though, as he looks off the balcony.
“Whenever I see people from far away, or from up above like we are now, the small people remind me of illustrations in a children’s book,” Andy starts to say. “I like to give them stories.”
For a second, I think he’s kidding in his typical Andy way, but he’s looking out onto the stretch of emptiness in front of us.
“There are little people everywhere going about their lives, like we are,” Andy continues. “Like that family over there—do you see them?”
I follow his pointing finger to a family of four playing in the snow. One little kid is running around and another is building something. Maybe a snowman, but it’s hard to tell from so far away.
“What’s their story?” he asks me.
“Uh…they’re a family playing in the snow?”
“Oh, come on. I know you have more of an imagination than that.”
I roll my eyes at him.
“Don’t roll your eyes at me. You’re not even trying!”
“Fine,” I say, looking back at the family. “The mom has lost something important. A necklace, maybe…or actually, her wedding ring.”
“Which one?” Andy asks. “They create very different stories.”
“Wedding ring,” I decide. “That’s why the boy is digging in the snow. He’s searching for it. The other boy is running around because he’s panicking.” I stop my story, looking to him for approval. He steps closer to me to see what I’m looking at before turning to me.
“Why are Mom and Dad still next to each other?” he asks.
“The dad is comforting her,” I suggest.
“Why would he comfort her if it’s her fault?” Andy asks.
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