Again, But Better

by Christine Riccio

  Relief floods through me when I spot the back of Pilot’s plaid shirt among the damp crowd of dancers. I bump into him lightly as I step up on his right.

  “Hey,” I greet him gratefully.

  “Hey! Welcome back.” He grins. To my surprise, he pulls me in next to him again. His arm resettles around my waist. And, as expected, I turn back to stone. My whole body hums. He looks so calm and content, but my mind won’t stop whirring. Maybe I didn’t mess everything up when I turned the other way? Where is Babe? Chad is an asshat. I do not like that guy. I didn’t like him before, but I definitely do not like him now.

  The music stops at some point. Pilot leads me toward to back of the room with his hand still at my back. My eyes find Chad and Babe. They’re near the bar, clutching half-empty drinks, and Babe is yelling. I can tell from here.

  “Are they fighting?” I ask Pilot nervously.

  “Looks like it.” We power walk over. Before I can make out anything they’re saying, Pilot speaks over them, “Hey, you guys ready to head out? I think the band’s done.”

  Babe jerks her attention to us, eyes red and puffy. Oh no.

  “Oh yeah, we should get going so we can catch the Metro,” Babe agrees, her voice cracking on the words get and Metro. She places her drink on the bar, grabs Chad’s drink out of his hand, and slams it down next to hers. The remnants of his vodka cranberry fly around the clear plastic cup as she pivots and storms past us toward the stairs.

  “Happy birthday, man,” Pilot says, giving Chad a manly clap on the back with the hand that’s not on me. I watch Chad’s eyes drift to Pilot’s hand.

  “Yeah, happy birthday,” I sputter nervously like nothing happened.

  Chad throws a slick grin at me before looking at Pilot. “Thanks, man.”

  “Let’s go,” Babe yells up ahead. I should try to talk to Babe.

  “Wait, Babe!” I yell, “I think we should pee before we go!”

  She turns to glare at me, but after a moment she nods, and we head toward the restroom. There’s a line snaking out the door now. She adds herself to it, and I step up behind her.

  “Babe, are you okay?” My voice comes out small and hesitant.

  She turns to face me, glaring again for a good five seconds before exploding, her voice pained and low. “I don’t know, Shane! I finally try to make a move on the guy I like, he jumps away yelling, and I quote ‘Dammit, Babe, I don’t like you like that,’ and then he makes a beeline right for you.” Her eyes shine.

  “Babe, I’m so sorry. He’s an assbucket!”

  “What, is Pilot not enough? You need every guy’s attention on you?”

  “What?” Tears strangle my voice as I squeeze out the next two sentences. “What are you talking about? He came over to me, and I ran away from him!”

  “I don’t want to talk to you right now.” She turns away pointedly as we make it into the actual bathroom. Babe strides into the next open stall. I turn and leave.

  I wait outside next to Pilot, who’s chatting with Chad about bears. When Babe emerges, we follow her to the stairs and join the slow trickle of bodies headed to pick up their jackets. We shuffle along the coat check line. Babe’s a few people ahead of Pilot and me. Chad stands behind us, looking off into space.

  Pilot ducks his mouth close to my ear as we take a step closer to the coat check window. “What do you think their best song was?” His voice tickles my face.

  “Um, I think my favorite was that cover from that band I like.” My stomach rotates like a washing machine.

  He smiles. “That weird hipster band? Same.” He holds my eyes.

  “Next!” the woman behind the counter calls us forward. We break eye contact and step up hastily, handing over our tickets and paying the Euro for our jackets.

  “Come on, Chad,” Babe demands with attitude as we all file back out onto the street. She spins on her foot and heads down the road toward the Metro. Chad starts after her.

  Pilot and I hang back, walking slowly. “That looks dramatic,” he starts.

  I take a deep breath, trying to quell my anxious stomach. “She went to kiss him, he said some nasty things, and then he tried to make a move on me in front of her when I was on my way back from the bathroom, and I ran away from him.”

  “What?” His eyebrows pinch together.

  “Yeah.” I exhale a gust of air. “It was weird. I don’t really want to dwell on it.”

  Pilot studies me for a moment, his eyebrows low, before nodding and pressing his lips together. He looks down, watching the ground go by under our feet. I drop my gaze.

  “So where should we go next?” he asks.

  My head snaps back up. I stutter, “Um—like tonight or in life?”

  He huffs a breathy laugh. “Where should we go for our next epic weekend trip? What else do we need to climb?”

  “I’m down to go anywhere really, maybe Scotland?”

  “Scotland! Let’s hit that up. Braveheart!” he yells enthusiastically.

  “Scotland it is, then! That’s where Hogwarts is.”

  “Oh, did you go there?” he asks in a serious voice.

  “Class of ’08.” I force down a smile.

  “Me too.”

  I put on my best Scottish accent, “So, you’re a wizard, Pilot?” It’s terrible. Pilot snorts.

  Up ahead, Chad and Babe descend into the Metro station. We start down the steps a moment later and make our way to the platform. The station is packed. Everyone’s trying to catch the last train. We linger on the grungy platform for twenty minutes before an announcement is made to tell us the last train has already left the station.

  Wearily, the four of us join a mass exodus back up to the street. On the left side of the staircase, there’s still a steady flow of people going down into the station despite its lack of trains. On the right side, we’re all packed together streamlining our way up. The four of us are slightly separated, a human or two between us. I’m in the middle of the pack.

  We’re nearing ground level again. I can see the sky up ahead, but as I take my next step, there’s a tug on my cross-body purse and the strap yanks down on my right shoulder. The pull intensifies, and the strap slides up against my neck. I stumble back and turn my head in alarm. There’s a man, heading down the stairs, his hand is in my now-unzipped bag. My chest seizes. What do I do? He’s being pulled away with the downstream current of humans, and I’m being yanked backward.

  “Ahhh!” a yell bursts from my lungs as I lunge upward and to my right, hopping over three steps, ripping my bag away from him.

  “Shane?” I hear Pilot shout back.

  “What’s going on?” Babe asks.

  “I think she just tripped,” Chad’s voice hits my ears.

  I flail over my feet, fumbling upward, pushing off the ground with my hands to regain my balance like a child running up the stairs. I grasp at my purse, pulling it up to my chest, and run up the remaining steps, pushing my way past everyone, not stopping till I’ve broken away from the mob and I’m back on the sidewalk outside.

  I’m shaking as my hands pry the sides of my purse open, taking stock. I unzip the second pocket where my wallet is and exhale a relieved breath. It’s here.

  It’s okay. A hand falls on my shoulder, and I look up to see Pilot’s olive eyes. I breathe breathe breathe breathe, pumping the fear out of my system.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  Babe appears in front of me with Chad next to her.

  “What happened?” Babe cries.

  “A guy.” Breathe. “Had his hand in my purse.” I look frantically from Pilot to Babe.

  “What the fuck?” Pilot’s concern morphs to outrage. He takes a step back, runs a hand through his hair. Chad looks at me blankly, and Babe’s hand whips up to cover her mouth.

  “He had his hand in it and he was pulling me back down, and I lunged away and his hand fell away ’cause he was going down the stairs. And I—it’s okay, he didn’t get anything,” I babble softly.

  “Oh Myl
anta,” Babe whispers. “We have to get a cab. Let’s get back. Come on.” She shoots me a sympathetic look, turning toward a cab stand in the distance. Chad follows, and I fall into step robotically. I focus on trying to quell the panic circuiting through my veins. Pilot’s hand is on my back again.

  16. A Million Little Shining Stars

  I sit in the middle of the taxi bench. Pilot’s on my left, Babe is on my right, and Chad’s in the front seat. I want to lean into Pilot’s shoulder. I don’t have much shoulder-leaning experience, but I think I could handle it. I don’t do it.

  In the silence, my brain replays the night on a loop, my stomach going up and down, like on one of those milder roller coasters with lots of little unexpected drops. I focus on the good parts. Something is happening with Pilot. It makes my heart balloon up in my chest.

  After an eternity, we spill out onto the gray concrete outside the hostel.

  Babe and Chad get out at their floor, and as the elevator doors close behind them, I blow out a breath. Babe and Chad’s anger made for a quiet, tense cab ride. I want to lighten the mood again. Pilot’s leaning against the railing along the back wall of the lift, staring at the doors.

  “Finally,” I say, breaking the extended silence. He turns to me expectantly, and I freeze up.

  Finally? Finally what? Jesus Christ. I curve my lips up into a small smile. Smiling is always good. He smiles back, but doesn’t say anything, and then abruptly stuffs his hands in his pockets and looks at the floor.

  The elevator dings. Nerves snap around inside me as we walk toward the room. I feel like one of those crackling orbs of electricity you see at science museums. When we reach the door, I dig around in my purse for the key. Another eternity passes before I yank it out and plug it into the lock.

  “Shane,” he says.

  I turn around. He was right behind me, right in front of me now. He’s leaning toward me again, and the world slows. I still don’t know what to do. Where will my arms go! I’m having a hot flash. My hand grapples at the key behind me. I rip it out of the lock and drop it to the floor, jumping slightly as it clashes against the white tile. Pilot jerks his head back. I whip around, swoop to collect the key, plug it back into the lock, twist the door open, drop my purse, collect my suitcase, and speed to the bathroom to get ready for bed.

  When I emerge fifteen minutes later, Pilot’s seemingly passed out on his single. I slip quietly into my bed. My heart’s in overdrive. I can’t get it to calm down. I snuggle up in the covers and pull my legs into the fetal position. Almost immediately, tears spring into my eyes.

  No. Why am I crying? No crying! I twist onto my back, letting the saltwater slide down my cheeks. I gasp in a shallow breath, staring at the ceiling. Seriously, what’s wrong with me? I flash to Pilot at the club, Chad’s face on mine, Babe’s glare, the man’s face on the steps of the Metro, Pilot again outside the door. My study abroad goal list would be ashamed. I wasn’t brave tonight; I was pathetic. And I almost lost my purse. Again. I suck more oxygen. Close my eyes. Stop. Crying.

  There’s light tap on my shoulder. My eyes snap open. Pilot’s standing next to my bed. I frantically wipe at any still dripping tears and jolt up to my elbows.

  “Hey,” he says, quietly hovering above me. I just look at him. What is he doing? He nods his head in a move-over gesture.

  Hesitantly, I scoot to the left side of the twin bed. He sits and lowers himself down next to me, on his back, facing the ceiling. Holy shit. I flatten onto my back again. I suck in one last steadying breath, damming up the waterworks through sheer force of will.

  He’s still wearing his jeans and a white T-shirt.

  “Are you okay?” he says softly.

  I talk to the ceiling. “Yeah … I’m sorry, this is stupid.” Another breath. “I’m just feeling overwhelmed or something.”

  “Someone almost mugged you; it’s not stupid to feel overwhelmed.”

  I blink up at the ceiling.

  “Can I ask you something?” Pilot continues.

  “Yeah.”

  He turns onto his left side, propping his head up with his arm. I rotate to my right to match—insides in full freak-out mode.

  Pilot purses his lips. “Do you think Chad is Santa?”

  A laugh bursts out of me. “Dear god, I hope not,” I say shakily.

  Pilot grins. “Do you have any siblings?” he asks.

  Master of distraction. My eyes drift down to his mouth and quickly back up to his eyes. “No, I’ve got a load of cousins, though. You?”

  “Two younger sisters,” he says.

  Two younger sisters. Is that why he’s so nice? I smile to myself.

  “What?” he asks, lips turning up.

  “Nothing,” I say quickly. I rotate onto my back again, falling under the pressure of prolonged eye contact and opting to stare at the ceiling. I feel Pilot shift next to me until we’re side by side again. Sharing a pillow.

  I swallow. “What’s the scariest thing you’ve ever done?”

  He purses his lips for a moment. “I— What do you mean by scary?”

  “I mean, not scary commercially, but scary to you, you know?”

  There’s a beat of silence before he answers. “I’m not sure … I kind of left my … I mean”—he blows out a breath—“I guess change has always been scary for me.”

  I’m quiet for a moment, nodding in agreement and working up the courage to speak.

  “This is the scariest thing I’ve ever done,” I whisper.

  “What—”

  “I mean, not this-this—I mean, coming out here for study abroad. I’m not very good at trying new things, and I’ve never been this far from my family. Um, but more than that, I’m, I’m always the good child, you know. I get great grades, and I don’t talk back. I do what they tell me to do. It’s only me, and I want to make them happy, and I’ve never lied to them. So, when I lied to them about this, they believed me.”

  “They don’t know you’re out here?” he asks quietly.

  I huff a sad chuckle. “I’m premed, so I told them I’m out here doing a premed program. I, like, made a fake brochure and everything. I took care of all the paperwork and stuff. But there is no premed track out here … and they’re gonna be pissed when they find out.”

  “I thought you were an English major.”

  “They wouldn’t pay for college if I didn’t major in something that lined me up for a lucrative future.” I blink at the ceiling. “My grandpa did the struggling-artist thing, wrote poetry and stuff, worked a bunch of temporary jobs. It made him a pretty shitty dad. He was never around, and when he was, he was distant and tired, had a short fuse with my dad and his siblings.

  “Now my dad’s obsessed with financial stability, in this macho Italian, I’m-a-real-man sort of way. I’m his only kid so … he … it’s a lot. Like, I know in his own way, he’s just trying to be a good dad—and writing, being creative, it’s not exactly known for being a pragmatic career path.

  “I’m good at math and science, and I like numbers. My mom was gonna be a doctor. But she had to drop out of med school when she got pregnant with me, so it just makes sense. She’s really excited.” I turn my head to get a read on Pilot. His face is right there, a breath away. There’s a sadness etched in his eyes.

  “I don’t hate being premed, I’m just not particularly, you know, it doesn’t have the same—and it’s so all-consuming. I don’t know, I want to make things. These past two weeks here, studying something I really care about, and writing, it’s been the best.

  “I hadn’t really found a place at YU, so I’d been going home like every other weekend. And everyone in our year was prepping to studying abroad, and I felt like maybe this would be a way to start over. Make new friends and have new experiences and not spend all my time in the dorm.

  “I started looking into programs, saw this writing internship track in London, and I knew it was my chance to try to do … what I would really love to do because there’s the internship—a writing internsh
ip … like a real job, and if I did well there, maybe they could help me get a real paid summer internship job somewhere in the US, and maybe then I could show my parents that, you know, I can do this.

  “I can do it. I’m good at it, and I can do it. I’m gonna do it.” I swallow hard. Pilot’s watching me attentively. I meet his eyes for a moment before shifting back to the ceiling tiles. “So, um, when I get jumpy, that’s me doing my best to deal with all the residual paranoia and fear swirling around. Like when I lost my purse, I thought, you know, it could ruin everything. They would find out and, I don’t … I don’t know … I haven’t told anybody any of this.”

  Pilot’s fingers weave through mine. He squeezes my hand. Warmth shoots up through my fingertips.

  It’s quiet for a minute before Pilot says, “Shane. That’s insanely badass.”

  Unexpected laughter rises in my chest. My shoulders shake as I try to contain it. I don’t know what to say. I gently squeeze back. We lie like that for another twenty minutes. I don’t know what to do with myself. I couldn’t possibly sleep. My heart is ping-ponging around like a Super Ball. After a while, he finally gets up. Carefully, he scoots back into his own bed. I pretend to be asleep.

  “Good night, Shane,” he mumbles from his bed.

  My words wobble nervously from my mouth. “Night, Pies.”

  17. Such a Breakable Thread

  1/23/11 8:30 a.m.

  THINGS I’M PRETTY SURE ABOUT:

  1) It’s time to leave for the train back to London. (100%)

  2) Pilot and I have almost kissed multiple times now. (91%)

  3) Pilot has a girlfriend. (73%)

  Does this thing that’s been happening mean he might break up with his girlfriend? Would he break up with his girlfriend? Has he already broken up with his girlfriend? Would he have told us? I can’t bring myself to ask. I never ever bring her up, and he hasn’t brought her up since, well… he’s never brought her up.