Riot Rules
Page 43
I laugh softly, holding up my hand. “I don’t know about that. He hurt me pretty bad, too.”
“Oh my god!” Carrie leans forward, squinting at the silvery scar that now graces my skin. “He stabbed you?”
“With a scalpel.”
“I’m going to kill him!”
“I wouldn’t worry about it.” I rub the notched knot of scar tissue in the back of my hand, rolling it beneath my thumb. “I’m used to it now. Feels like it’s always been there. And it helped…” I trail off, not wanting to admit this next part. It is kind of weird.
“Helped what?”
“Whenever I saw you at the academy, or I remembered the look on your face when you walked into the observatory—” God, why did I even bring that part up? I’m a fucking fool “—it reminded me that all of it was for a reason. That you were better off nowhere near me for a while. I just wanted you to be okay. Even if that meant that I didn’t get to have you. When I’m back in England, I guess it’ll remind me of you there, too.”
“Dash—”
“Really. You don’t need to fight it. It’s for the best. I was always gonna have to go at some point. Life would have pulled me back there eventually. At least this way, I’m going under my own steam. Because I want to.”
Carrie tangles her fingers together in her lap, not meeting my eyes. “And do you? Want to go back to England? Is that really what you want?”
“In a way. I guess,” I say. “A fresh start sounds pretty good. I’ll get used to the cold and the rain again. And London isn’t all bad. I’m sure living in a big city will be a pleasant change from being stuck up a mountain in the middle of nowhere.”
Carrie frowns. “Wait. London? I thought…”
“Oh. Yeah. I decided not to go to Oxford. Oxford was my old man’s thing, not mine. No, I applied for the Royal College of Music before Christmas. I decided that if I was going to commit to another three years studying anything, it’d be for me. Something that I’m passionate about. Dream big, y’know?”
She laughs quietly. “I’m glad, Dash. I’m really glad. You deserve that. You’re too talented to sit behind a desk for the rest of your life.”
“Nope. I’ll sit behind a piano instead,” I say, smiling ruefully. “Either way. A lot of sitting.”
Her smile matches mine. “Something good is coming out of this, then. You realized what you wanted.”
“I always knew, Stella. I always wanted you.” Perhaps I shouldn’t say it. I’ve kept it in for so long now, though, that it’s impossible to hold back. What does it matter, anyway? I’ll be getting on a plane in twenty-four hours, and then it’ll be too late to say anything at all.
Carrie ducks her head, hiding behind her hair. “And I always wanted you, too.”
“Maybe you can get to work on some theoretical math. Solve this little time travel problem. If you do, make sure you come and find me, huh, Mendoza? I’ll drop everything to go back with you and fix us.”
She laughs, though the sound comes out thick with tears. “I will. I promise. I’ll find you.”
I help her downstairs, my heart shattering all over again. It’s funny—I thought it had already been ground into a million little pieces, but it turns out that the tattered lump of meat in my chest has an infinite capacity for breaking.
57
DASH
“Will that be all, Sir?”
I glance down at the rum and coke in my hand, not even pleased with myself that the bartender didn’t card me. Around me, a thousand people bustle in and out of shops on the concourse, grabbing last minute items and magazines for their trips.
I fucking hate airports.
“Yeah, that’s it, cheers.”
She gives me the check and I pay, then I down the drink in one go, gritting my teeth as the cold liquid freezes the back of my throat.
I checked in online three hours ago. It’s only seven in the morning, so there’s very little chance the boys are up yet. Wren won’t realize I’ve left until it’s too late, by which time I’ll already be halfway over the Atlantic. I didn’t even bother bringing a full-sized suitcase in the end. Just my carry on. I can grab anything I need when I get to London, but for now my laptop and a couple of changes of clothes are all I require. And no, there isn’t a single formal shirt inside my bag. No dress pants, either. A couple of t-shirts. A few pairs of jeans. Socks. Underwear. One pair of sneakers. I swear on everything holy, I will never wear a suit again unless a situation specifically requires it. Life should not be spent so constricted, trussed up like a Thanksgiving turkey.
I meander from store to store, my eyes passing blindly over all of the Boston branded sweaters, mugs, pens and socks, delaying the inevitable, but soon, there’s no putting it off.
“Advantage Airlines would like to invite all passengers traveling to London, England, to now board at gate fifty-three. That’s all passengers, at gate fifty-three.”
I hung back when they called my section half an hour ago, but this is the final call. It’s time to go. I pull out my boarding pass and my passport and join the end of the short line gathered in front of the desks. Out of the floor-to-ceiling windows, the plane that will take me from Boston back to England awaits.
I should be excited for this. A new journey? True independence? My own place? I’m sure I’ll begin to appreciate all of the adventures that are just over the horizon for me, but for now all I can feel is…shitty. I try to scrounge up a better descriptor, but there really isn’t one. I feel like a steaming hot pile of dog shit.
I’m leaving my friends behind. The academy. Rasputin. And Carrie. Worst of all, I’m leaving the girl I love more than anything in the world behind, and there’s no light at the end of that tunnel. I imagine that this is how an astronaut might feel if they were heading out into deep space, with the Earth, and the moon, and the sun growing smaller and smaller behind them. I am heading into the unknown, into so much darkness, and there are no familiar lights or landmarks up ahead to guide me. I hate to sound melodramatic here, but this kind of feels like the end of the world.
The guy in front of me hands over his ticket and passport to the airline employee, juggling a massive backpack and bag full of booze he must have bought at duty free. I hear his English accent and it hits home. This is really happening. I’m really doing this. I’m really leaving.
I take a step back…
“Shit!”
…and collide with someone rushing to join the end of the line.
“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry! I—” I turn around, and a bright bolt of pain explodes in my temple. Wren shakes out his hand, cursing loudly. He just fucking hit me. I hold the side of my head, shrinking away from the splintering headache that I’ve suddenly developed.
“What the hell?”
“Don’t what the hell? me. I am seriously fucking pissed at you, man. What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Uhh, excuse me? Did this person just assault you?” A woman with a perfect bun, perfect red lipstick, and a perfectly pressed uniform shows up, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“No, no.” I try to smile reassuringly but I’m still seeing fucking stars. “It was an accident.”
“Hah! Accident,” Wren snipes.
The woman tuts disapprovingly. “I’m calling security.”
“No! No, really. Look. See. I’m fine.” I straighten up, dropping my hand from my face, attempting a cheerful smile, but the woman blanches.
“Sir, you’re bleeding.”
Christ, I am. I can feel something wet and warm trickling down the side of my face. “Don’t worry. Like I said. It was an accident.” I grab Wren by the shoulder and shove him away from the desks, dragging him away from the gate.
“Sir, boarding closes in three minutes. We won’t be admitting late passengers after that time.”
“Won’t be a second!” I turn on Wren and bare my teeth. “What the fuck are you doing here? And why the fuck did you hit me?”
Wren’s eyes are blazing balls of green
fire. “Why do you think, Poindexter? You get up and sneak out of the fucking house at three o’clock in the morning? Without saying goodbye? No way, dude. I’ve been a jackass for a long time now, but things are changing. I’m changing. You’re changing. Whether he likes it or not, Pax is gonna have to change a little, too.”
“Fuck, you didn’t bring him with you, did you?”
“No! Do I look stupid? You, bailing halfway through senior year is like his parents announcing they’re getting a divorce on Christmas fucking morning. He doesn’t know a thing about this, and I plan on keeping it that way.”
“His dad’s dead.”
“What?!”
“That doesn’t matter right now. Look, you can’t keep it from him forever. He’ll put two and two together eventually, when he realizes I haven’t been around for a couple of weeks.”
“You’re not going anywhere, dude. Just grab your shit and let’s go.”
“This is a final boarding call for Advantage Airlines flight seven three zero from Boston to London. Would all remaining passengers please head to gate fifty-three immediately. Again, this is the final boarding call for Advantage Airlines flight seven three zero from Boston to London.”
“Wren, seriously. I mean it, man. I really have to go.” I grab him and I pull him into a hug. I think I surprised him, because he just stands there at first, like a wooden post, stiff and uncomfortable. I squeeze him, about to release him, and he finally hugs me back.
He lets me go, holding me at arm’s length. “Just one more second,” he says.
“Wren! I—”
He spins me around, and the world stands still.
“Dashiell Lovett, please make your way to gate fifty-three. Dashiell Lovett to gate fifty-three. This is a final boarding call.”
The boarding bridge that leads to the plane is less than twenty feet away, but my entire world stands between it and me.
Unruly curls.
NASA t-shirt.
Maroon jeans.
Bright yellow Chucks.
My Stella looks up at me, forehead creased, brows drawn, a sea of panic in her beautiful, liquid brown eyes. “I looked it up,” she whispers.
I can’t speak. I stare at her in astonished silence.
“The math. I…looked up the math,” she continues. “And, while theoretical paradox-free closed time-like curves are technically possible…I doubt that any discoveries made in the next forty or fifty years will lead to the practical implementation of time travel.”
“Oh.” I’m so hot all of a sudden. “Well, that sucks.”
Carina nods. “And I got to thinking anyway. I don’t want to waste a lifetime working on a fix for something that’s already happened. I think…”
My pulse slows. “What do you think?”
She looses a breath, frustrated. “I think past experience is valuable. An opportunity to learn from our mistakes. I think that going back is impossible, and even if it was possible, we shouldn’t do it. We should move forward and create new beginnings instead of trying to re-create old ones.”
The airport see-saws in my vision. The Advantage Airlines logo wobbles and distorts over Carrie’s shoulder. Wren blurs and fades into a dark smudge. All I see is Carrie. I take a cautious, hopeful step toward her. “Maybe you could put that into layman’s terms for me. What are you saying, Stella?”
She worries at her thumbnail, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “I’m saying…that I’m selfish. I’m saying don’t go to London yet. Stay here and finish out the year. With me. I’m saying…let’s learn from our mistakes and grow. I’m saying let’s create a new beginning.”
Overhead, another call goes out for flight seven three zero to London. My name blasts out across the concourse, ringing in my ears, but none of it registers. Carrie worries at her thumb nail, peering up at me, her face full of fear. “Well? Aren’t you going to say somethi—”
I close the distance between us and fold her into my arms, pulling her to me. My mouth is on hers, the scent of her filling my head, the warmth of her thawing out the block of ice in my chest, and I’m kissing her. Fucking finally, I’m kissing her.
Holy shit, I had no idea how heavy the weight of my misery was until now. It lifts from my shoulders. It retracts its claws. It sets me free, and my heart soars.
Carrie whimpers against my mouth, her back arched against my hand, her tits smashed up against my chest, her hips against my hips, our bodies aligned as one. For eighteen years, I’ve walked this earth. I’ve eaten, and slept, and dreamed, but I have never truly felt alive until this moment.
Propriety eventually demands that I put Carrie down, though she doesn’t seem too happy about it. I smirk at the sulky, delicious little sound she makes when I pull back and look down at her. “A new beginning sounds perfect. So long as I’m allowed to love you right out of the gate.” My voice is rough-edged with emotion. I don’t even care if Wren hears it—this is the happiest I’ve been in my whole fucking life.
Carrie blushes. Nods. “I’ll permit that. So long as you allow me to do the same.”
I laugh. “Permission granted.”
“Good. To new beginnings, then.” She takes an exaggerated step back, thrusting out her hand to me, her back straight, her eyes shining brightly. “Hello, my name’s Hannah Rose Ashford. And there are a lot of things I want to tell you.”
I smile so hard my cheeks ache. “Hey, Hannah. It is the honor of my life to finally meet you.”
58
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