Again, But Better

by Christine Riccio

  “So, you know that friend Chad that I was talking about the other day?” Babe starts as we peruse the menu.

  I glance up at her with a knowing look. “Yeah, the one from upstairs who you hung out with that first day?”

  “Okay, so, I do kind of really like him.”

  I nod and raise my eyebrows slightly to show I’m listening. I expect her to get giggly about it, but she’s all business.

  “Well.” She puts down her menu. “This Sunday is his birthday, and I, um, I usually plan things we do for his birthday.”

  “You—plan his birthday?”

  “We’ve been friends for, like, three years now, and I planned it last year and the year before, and he likes when I plan it,” she explains carefully.

  “Okay…” The waiter arrives, and we both order specialty burgers and shakes. We’re quiet as he takes our menus and walks away.

  She starts again, “Okay, so, I had class with Chad earlier, and he was talking about going to Paris this weekend maybe, to celebrate. And did you know we don’t have class this Friday? It’s Thursday instead. So, I think we’re gonna go! Do you want to come? Maybe Pilot will come too? It’ll be really fun…” She trails off.

  I feel my forehead scrunch up. Is she suggesting a double … date … situation? I’m afraid to voice the question aloud. She knows as well as I do that Pilot has a girlfriend. But I want to go to Paris.

  “Yeah, I’d love to come!” I spout.

  “Really?” She relaxes back into her seat. “Oh my gosh, thank you! I didn’t want it to be just me and Chad, but I kind of want it, you know, to be just me and Chad, sometimes—you know?”

  I study her carefully. “So, what’s the deal with you two, then? Have you guys had moments and stuff? Are you, like, almost a thing?”

  “Well, I mean, like last year I tried to tell him once that I had feelings for him, but before I could get it out, he started talking about how he likes tiny short girls.”

  “What?” I drop my milkshake back to the table, instantly annoyed with Chad. Babe’s tall and curvy. She must register the look on my face because she hurries to defend him.

  “No, but he’s really nice, and we both love Disney. He’s great, you’ll see! I don’t know what was up that night. I think he was acting out and nervous about losing our friendship. I don’t know, but he’s great. I promise!”

  “Okay,” I say quietly. We’ll see about this Chad.

  * * *

  Back at the flat, Babe and I retire to the kitchen to work on our laptops. When I pull up Safari, it opens to Facebook where I have twenty-three new notifications—probably people liking my Rome pictures.

  I smile, opening them, but my insides shrivel when I see who the majority are from: Leo, Alfie, Anthony, Angelo. Not just likes, comments. I race down to the first one and open it in a new window. It’s the picture of Pilot and me in the Pantheon. They all liked it.

  Leo Primaveri Who’s this?

  Alfie Primaveri Breaking News: Shane’s with a dude.

  Anthony Primaveri No. Fucking. Way.

  Leo Primaveri Do you actually speak to each other?

  Alfie Primaveri Can’t wait for the wedding.

  I’m gonna throw up.

  Babe’s voice. “Shane? Are you okay?”

  Pilot’s tagged in this photo. I’m gonna die. My mouse scrambles up: Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete. Delete. I speed back to the notifications and open another. There’s a post on my wall from Leo and Alfie’s mom, my aunt Marie.

  Marie Primaveri

  Miss you, sweetie! It looks like you’re having a great time. Leo tells me you have a boyfriend out there. I hope it’s the cutie in the pictures!

  The computer’s pulled away from my face. “Shane, seriously, you’ve been muttering no repeatedly for, like, a solid sixty seconds.”

  I pull it back. “Sorry, family thing,” I mumble. I pick it up and run out of the kitchen. I hear my chair fall, but there’s no time to stop. This is dire.

  I slam into a seat at our bedroom table and delete the post. Another new notification pops up from Leo. He’s online. He posted on my wall.

  Leo Primaveri

  You deleted our comments about your new boyfriend? I’m hurt.

  Delete.

  Another new notification on my wall.

  Leo Primaveri

  You keep deleting my posts about your boyfriend. What’s his name—Pilot?

  Delete. Angry tears sting my eyes. Why is Leo leading this parade? I sit back up, opening a private thread in Facebook Chat.

  Shane

  WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

  Leo

  Relax, cuz, just having fun.

  “Ahhh!” I scream at the screen. It’s one thing to do this when we’re at a family party—I swallow at the lump in my throat and type.

  Shane

  GET THE HELL OFF MY PROFILE, ASSHOLE.

  Leo

  Whoa, calm down, you don’t curse.

  Shane

  I THINK I JUST DID.

  Shane

  ONE MORE COMMENT AND I’LL BLOCK YOU.

  A new notification pops up. Another post on my wall for the world to see.

  Leo Primaveri

  BITCH.

  A tear sears down my cheek. Delete. I storm through Facebook. Leo: Block. Alfie: Block. Angelo: Block. Anthony: Block.

  I return to the kitchen ten minutes later. Babe’s still here. She looks up from her laptop as I settle back into the chair across from her. She must have picked it up for me.

  “Is everything okay?” she asks, pushing a dark curl behind her ears. She’s wearing adorable gold Mickey-shaped studs.

  “Yeah, it’s fine. I took care of it,” I breathe. Babe rises from her seat, comes behind my chair, and wraps me in an awkward hug.

  “I don’t think he saw,” she says quietly.

  She saw. My face burns.

  Babe sits back down and tells me that her older brother is constantly making fun of her obsession with Disney. She tries to make me feel better. “Pilot’s been in class. We don’t have smartphones here; he probably didn’t see.”

  She’s right. She’s probably right.

  I throw myself into proofreading the “That Time I Lost My Passport” blog post about Rome. Babe lingers with me. I’m pretty sure she’s just waiting for Pilot to get back, so she can ask him about Paris. Now, there’s the added bonus of finding out if he saw the stuff on Facebook. He finally strides in at 4:00 p.m., a few minutes after I publish the Rome piece.

  12. Has He Heard?

  “Hey!” Pilot greets us. Normal inflection. Good sign.

  We hey back casually. At least I try to. I think my eyes are a little too wide to really pull it off. He’s carrying a store-bought frozen dinner that he pops out of its cardboard box and throws into the microwave before dropping into the seat at the head of the table. Babe and I are seated on either side of him.

  “So how’s it going?” Babe asks tentatively.

  “Good, good! I got my internship confirmed this morning so that was good,” he answers normally.

  “Me too!” I interject.

  “Nice!” he adds with a grin/head-bob combo. He’s wearing a red-and-black plaid shirt with a black T-shirt layered underneath. I nod, relaxing slightly.

  Babe smiles at me like see, we’re fine before turning back to him. “I’m trying to plan a trip to Paris for this weekend! You want to come?”

  Pilot glances at me and then back at Babe. “Uh, yeah, I’m down. Who else is going?”

  “Shane and me and my friend Chad—so far!” The room’s slowly filling with the delicious smell of Italian food as the microwave defrosts Pilot’s meal.

  Pies makes a Soprano-esque frown-approval face and nods his head. “Sign me up. Sounds like a party. We can take the Eurostar train, right?”

  I turn my attention back to my computer screen, a tiny relieved smile crawling up my face.

  “Yes!” Babe beams. “Yes, we can. Great. I’m going to look up the things we can
do and get everything planned, and it’s going to be so much fun. I’m so excited! It’s gonna be epic!” She gathers her things and whooshes out of the kitchen.

  The microwave beeps. Pilot gets up to grab his lasagna and slides back into his chair. “So, we’re going to Paris,” he says casually, digging into his food.

  I look up for a second to make eye contact. “Apparently.”

  He nods, his lips quirked up to one side. I turn back to my computer. When Pilot finishes eating and leaves the kitchen, I blast Ke$ha and give in to a brief celebratory he-didn’t-see-the-posts-and-we’re-going-to-Paris dance party.

  13. Here Goes Nothing

  1/19/11 11:05 p.m.

  Tomorrow after class we go to Paris. What is my life now? I’m glad I’ve been hoarding my savings for years because I’m going to run out of summer work money faster than expected if I keep up this avid traveler thing.

  Earlier today I Skyped with Mom. She mentioned that she and Dad are thinking about coming out to visit. I did my best to discourage her without arousing suspicion or sounding mean.

  I downloaded this game everyone’s talking about called Angry Birds on my iPod this morning. Super-frustrating, but addictive as hell. I wasted an hour where I could have been reading or writing, throwing birds at green pigs.

  Tonight was Flat Three’s first official Shwednesday! I went out for the shawarma. It was even better the second time around. Afterward, we all played a game of Rummy 500. Atticus gave me a run for my money.

  * * *

  Past Eurostar security, I find myself in an area that feels very much like an airport terminal: lots of tired people sitting around in chairs, a Café Nero, and a little restaurant. Babe and Chad already left on a 4:00 p.m. train because they get out of class earlier than me and Pilot. The two of us are set to catch a 6:30 p.m. train, and we’re all going to meet at the hostel Babe booked for us.

  I spot Pilot chilling in a seating area off to the right with a backpack at his feet. He’s dressed in an unbuttoned red-and-blue plaid button-up with a gray T-shirt underneath and jeans. His green jacket is tucked under one of his arms, and white headphones trail from his ears down to an iPod in his hand.

  Nerves prickle my skin. I wonder if he feels weird about this. Not only are we going to Paris in a foursome, but we’ve broken off into twosomes to actually get there. Why couldn’t Babe wait these two hours and go with us? I roll my stuff toward the seating area.

  “Hey,” I say brightly when I’m about two feet away.

  Pilot hadn’t seen me, and he startles, yanking out his headphones.

  I chuckle and take the seat next to him. “What were you listening to?”

  “Secret snobby hipster music,” he says without pause as he wraps his headphones and stuffs them away in a backpack. “You wouldn’t know it.”

  “Are you embarrassed to tell me? Was it super-mainstream? Was it the Backstreet Boys?”

  Pilot’s mouth falls open. “How’d you know?”

  I blink in surprise. “Wait, really?”

  “No.” He laughs.

  I scrunch up my face and extend my arms in a pushing motion, without actually pushing him. “This is me mentally pushing you over.”

  The seats on the train are divided into sections of two. It’s going to be a two-and-half-hour ride, and we’re going to spend a lot of it under the English Channel.

  Pilot takes the window seat, and I plop down next to him after storing my roller bag above us. I fish my iPod Touch out of my book bag before stuffing it down by my feet. Right on time, the train pulls forward, and we’re on our way.

  “Have you played that game everyone’s talking about, Angry Birds?” I ask as my iPod powers up.

  “No, I’ve heard of it, though,” he says. Pilot shifts a bit so we can look at each other more easily when we talk.

  “I just got it on my iPod and tried it the other day. It’s pretty fun. Do you want to play?”

  “Sure.”

  “Okay, we can switch off. I’ll go first so you can watch my technique,” I say.

  He grins, leaning in to see the tiny screen in my hand. I’m only on level three. I don’t have much technique, but I play my round leaning slightly to the right so Pilot can watch. Our heads get close as we hunch over the little iPod. My heart gets excited. My hands get sweaty. When I lose, I pass him the iPod so he can give it a go.

  Soon, we’re completely lost, having an excellent time strategizing together about how best to take out our targets with the allotted amount of birds. Some levels go quickly, but others stump us for rounds and rounds of going back and forth between the two of us, and all the while, we’re sitting so close.

  All the alarms go off in my brain when I realize his shoulder’s leaning against mine. We’re touching shoulders! Shoulders are touching. This is something! THIS IS ROMANCE. Must stay still. Can’t. Lose. Shoulder contact.

  “Awww,” he croons sympathetically as my last bird dies. “You were so close. I got this.” He gently takes the iPod from my hands. Yeah, sorry I missed that last pig, I’m a little busy trying to be a statue over here.

  We’re on level twenty-seven now. I don’t know how long we’ve been doing this, but I can finally see out the window again. When Pilot loses the level, he takes notice of the change and suddenly sits up straight, breaking shoulder contact.

  “Oh, man, we must be getting close!” He hands me back the iPod. My chest deflates a smidgen as his body heat leaves my arm.

  “Yeah, that was fast,” I say, trying to sound casual and not at all distracted by romantic shoulder-contact nostalgia as I turn off my iPod and repack it in my bag.

  * * *

  A Parisian taxi drops us off outside a building that looks kind of like a run-down diner. It’s decorated with faded signs proclaiming it to be our hostel, so we head through the door. The inside looks like a diner too. To the left is a cafeteria-looking area, and ahead of us is a young girl in a red tank top standing behind a tall hostess-like desk, texting. To her left, Babe and a pale boy with dark hair are waiting for us on a bench.

  “Hi!” Babe jumps up. “We’ve been down here for thirty minutes now. I figured you’d be arriving within the hour window, and since our phones are shoddy, I wanted to make sure we were here to meet you. We’ve just been hanging out, so you haven’t missed anything. I got the keys for our room and your room.”

  I bring my roller bag to a stop behind me. “We have two rooms?” I ask, confused.

  “Well, they didn’t have four beds available in one room, so we’re in one room, and you guys have two beds in the other room. I figured this way we both have guys in the room with us, so we’d feel safer about the random strangers,” she says coolly.

  I swallow hard. Pilot and I don’t comment. This is weird. I wonder if there really isn’t a room available with four beds, or if this is a ploy to give Babe and Chad time by themselves. She hands me and Pilot keys.

  “Come on, let’s go drop your things off and get some food—oh!” She turns, remembering Chad, who’s still sitting quietly behind her on the bench. “This is Chad. Chad, this is Shane and Pilot.”

  Chad gets up. He’s a little shorter than Pilot—about five-nine with spiked-up dark hair, brown eyes, and a long straight nose. He stretches out his hand, so I shake it. “Yo, yo, nice to meet you,” he says.

  I nod and smile.

  “Nice to meet you, man,” Pilot says, taking Chad’s hand. I keep sneaking glances at Pilot to see how he’s gauging all this. He doesn’t look caught off guard or uncomfortable. He looks chill. I relax a little bit. If he’s not uncomfortable, I shouldn’t be uncomfortable. He’s the one with a girlfriend.

  “You guys are on the sixth floor,” Babe explains as we follow her down a bland, gray corridor. We pass a shelf full of brochures and tourist maps. Pilot snatches a couple as we go by. The corridor leads to an elevator. We load in and press six. I stare at the other buttons; they’re different from the usual elevator. The ground floor is labeled zero and then there’s
a negative one floor … and a negative two floor.

  “Guys, look, floor negative two!” I laugh stupidly.

  Babe snorts. “Oh my gosh, I didn’t even see that.”

  “Must be where they store the dead bodies,” Chad adds. Babe laughs enthusiastically at his non-joke.

  I exchange a look with Pilot, and his eyes go round with amusement. There’s a ding, and we file out into another dimly lit corridor, stopping outside a door labeled 62. It swings open to reveal a large room with six beds: all singles, with white sheets, spaced about a foot apart. It looks like an old-fashioned infirmary. Everything glows a greenish-yellow under the outdated overhead lights—the same kind we used to have in my elementary school classrooms. To the right of the door are a half a dozen blue lockers. It looks like gym class.

  “Wow, cozy.” Pilot grins. He throws himself onto the bed nearest to the door, opens a map, and starts studying.

  Babe and Chad linger near the door as I inspect the lockers.

  “This is a little scary,” I start hesitantly. It doesn’t appear that anyone else is currently staying in the room, but I see that two of the lockers have locks on them.

  “You guys have more beds in here than us,” Chad says. “We only have four.”