Again, but Better (25 page)

I’m at the kitchen table Wednesday morning, working on a bagel, when Pilot strides in. My heart kick-starts. We head to Paris tomorrow.

“Morning,” he greets me casually before flipping on the electric kettle.

“Morning.” I smile at him before returning to my studious Twitter scrolling on Sawyer. He fixes himself a cup of tea and sits across from me, grinning.

I pull away from the computer and raise my eyebrows in question.

“So,” he starts, “ah … I don’t want to come off super-forward, but would you maybe want to come to Paris with me this weekend?”

“Like on a date?” I say with mock surprise.

“Yes?”

“Sure.”

“Okay, good.” His grin widens. “What time does your class get out tomorrow?”

“Four thirty.”

“Four thirty,” he repeats. With that, he stands,
puts his tea in the sink, and leaves.

Thursday has come. I’m in class. We’re discussing world-building by dissecting Harry Potter and it’s everything. I’ve got my backpack and rolling
suitcase with me at my desk because I have to leave straight from here to make the six-thirty Eurostar. When the lecture ends, I’m the last one out, bringing up the rear with my luggage. As I drag my bag over the
building’s threshold, I catch sight of Pilot standing out on the sidewalk, wearing his backpack and carrying a plastic bag.

“What are you doing here?” I ask cheerily, as I step up to where he’s waiting.

“Got us some travel food.” He holds out the plastic bag.

I gasp dramatically at the contents. “Shawarma! How did you know I liked this?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never heard you talk about it.”

We sit side by side on the Tube. We’re nice and smooshed with the incoming rush-hour crowd.
We’re on a date.
A first date. Which is weird because we already know each other. First dates are usually so … new.

But how much do I really know about Pilot’s life outside of London? I turn to where he is on my right, and he meets my eyes.

“Pies, we’ve never really talked about our lives outside of …
study abroad. Is that weird? I felt like I knew you, I feel like you knew me, but did we?” My eyebrows pull together.

“That’s a loaded question.” He tilts his head. I watch, freely admiring how attractive he looks right now, because I’m allowed, because we’re on a date! The Tube lady’s voice rings overhead: “Mind the gap.”

His eyes refocus on me. “We knew each other. I guess I kept stuff about
life back home private because it just didn’t come up. There were so many other things to discuss because everything was new.”

“Yeah, I never really offered much information about life at home either. I guess it was kind of like an escape, being here and not having to dwell on anything but the novelty of
being here.
”

He frowns slightly, nodding. “I mean, just because we didn’t talk about our
lives back in the US doesn’t mean we didn’t know each other.” He smiles a bit now. “I knew that when you got up in the kitchen, the chair would fall.”

I snort.

He continues matter-of-factly, “I knew that if a song you knew came on, or if someone started singing randomly, you’d sing along. I knew that if you tripped on the street, you’d do a crazy dance and manage to stay upright. I knew I could
probably always find you writing in the kitchen. I knew your eyes were ice blue. I knew I could always poke fun at the weird stuff you do because you’d laugh right along with me. I knew enough to know you.”

I stare, speechless for a moment. He drops his gaze, smiling at his hands and fiddling with a strap on his backpack. “You know, you never really gave me any shit back then, when I’d give it
to you,” he finishes.

My lip quirks up. “You’re not as weird as I am; it’s harder to make fun of you. Back then, I barely knew how to make fun of myself—not jaded enough yet, I guess.”

“And you’re jaded now?” He smirks.

“In terms of me, I’m jaded,” I answer with a scoff. “I came here so sheltered. It’s hard to be cynical when you’re constantly spinning around in awe of the stuff around you.
So many times, you’d crack a joke or say something ridiculous, and so many times, I wouldn’t realize it for a good three minutes because I was too distracted by the world to pick up on the sarcasm and I’d feel like an idiot for having missed it and not reacted in the moment.”

He grins, shaking his head.

I continue in earnest, “We were gallivanting around in foreign countries I’ve never seen
before! It was a lot to take in.” I laugh, looking at my knees. “Now that I’ve been here before, it’s a little more familiar than foreign.” I meet his eyes again. “I feel a little less like a newborn puppy than before.”

Pilot nods with a small smile. “I’ve noticed.”

“Noticed what?” I ask with a smidge of attitude.

“You’re bolder than before.”

We eat our shawarma in the Eurostar waiting area.
Once we’re settled in on the train to Paris, I turn and ask him something that’s been on my mind for a while. “Why did you want to do study abroad?”

“To get away from everything and travel, see the world.”

Everything?
“Really?”

“And get a break from school. It’s a lighter semester, and when else are you going to be able to live in a different country?”

I nod and look down at my lap.

“What
about you?”

I purse my lips. “I mean, I needed to get away, I guess, but at the time I was fixated on starting college over.”

Pilot tilts his head. “What do you mean?”

“My roommates from freshman and sophomore year had gone ahead and booked a double without me for junior year. They were my closest friends at YU. I was left super-alone in a single apartment, all sad and friendless. I was going
home every weekend. I found the writing program on the study abroad site—and the rest is history.”

He studies me thoughtfully. “And you’re glad you did it?” He raises his brows, eyes twinkling because he already knows the answer.

I fiddle with the edge of my jacket. “Best unintentional decision I ever made. You?”

He grins. “Are you kidding? I wouldn’t have missed this for anything.” He reaches
for his backpack on the ground and plunges his hand inside. It comes back out holding … a pack of Beatles cards!

I gasp and he chuckles. “Picked these up yesterday. Didn’t feel right not having them.”

“You went to the Beatles store without me!” I nudge him playfully.

“I wanted them to be sort of a surprise.”

“Well, thanks.” A fire stirs to life in my chest.

“Shall we play?”

My hand smacks over Pilot’s as a second queen shows up. I topple sideways, cackling in defeat. I might lose this round of Egyptian Rat Screw.

I’m all smiles and smothered competitiveness. There’s a palpable air of hesitancy when it comes to closeness, much like real first dates. We did kiss last weekend, but it’s different now. He’s single. Closeness is expected now, anticipated.

Pilot snorts as I rattle off the address of the hostel to the cab driver.

“You know what I didn’t realize till now,” he starts dubiously. “We’re going back to
that
hostel.”

I laugh. “
Yeah
. I didn’t forget.”

He scoffs, “If you didn’t forget, why didn’t you push Babe toward something different?”

“Because then we wouldn’t be redoing this trip. We’d be on a different trip. Where’s the struggle
there?” I beam. He shakes his head, grinning, and I continue. “Think of all the things we’d be missing out on. We wouldn’t get to room with that forty-year-old and the sleep apnea machine.”

“You’re right, and we wouldn’t have that banging wall of lockers to put our stuff in.”

“They were the perfect shade of gym-locker blue,” I coo. “And don’t forget the shower. You remember the shower?” I ask
excitedly.

His head kicks forward. “I forgot about the shower.”

I throw a hand over my heart. “You know how I love a good forty-five-second shower.”

The hostel’s just as unimpressive as it was the first time. Babe’s waiting with our keys when we arrive. She introduces us to the same brosef Chad I remembered. I purchase a lock, anticipating the need for one before we head up. Pilot snags a map
from the brochure stand next to the check-in desk. Upstairs, we drop our things in the lackluster lockers and go out to find food.

When Pies and I get back to the room post-dinner, I head to the shower because I’m not sure what protocol is now. It’s strange to share a room on a first date. When I reemerge, he’s lying on his bed, head propped up on his palm, waiting for me.

“I feel like this
first date is ending rather anticlimactically,” he says thoughtfully as I climb into my own bed. I throw my damp hair over my shoulder and mirror his posture.

“Well, it’s not really the end, though. We have all of Paris,” I reason.

“Yeah, but a date is a day, it’s right there in the word, if a date was a weekend, it’d be called a wate.”

“I mean, if you’re gonna do that, I feel like week-ate
makes more sense.”

“I guess this is the end of our first date, but we can come back around to rating the wate as a whole, Sunday night.”

I snicker. “I’ll write up a full review for Yelp.”

Pilot makes an irritated
tuh
sound. “Shane, you know I’m only on Trip Advisor.”

I drop my head, cackling. “Well, our date isn’t completely over yet.”

He perks up. “Oh, are we continuing it with our new friends:
forty-year-old-sleep-apnea man and random teenager in the corner?”

“We could play a game,” I suggest.

“Are you going to wake them, or should I?” Pilot teases with a nod toward the far-right corner.

I snort. “It’s a game just for us; we don’t need them.”

Pilot squints at me. “I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”

“The opposite game.” I smile goofily.

“The opposite game?” he repeats in an amused,
ridiculous voice.

“Yeah, the opposite game.”

“I hate the opposite game,” he says in a fervently serious voice.

“I hate the opposite game too,” I whisper.

He smirks. “I love this pillow.”

“I love this pillow too.”

“You’re just taking all my opposite ideas. I win the game,” he says.

“Yes, I win the game.”

Pilot snorts and I giggle deliriously.

“This isn’t the opposite game,” he retorts.

“This isn’t the opposite game!” I say cheekily.

“I like brussels sprouts.”

“I like lemons.”

“I’m from the future.”

“Ha!” I beam. “But you
are
from the future. I think that means I win.”

He falls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling now. I can see the white of his smile in the dark. I fall on to my back and look up at the ceiling as well. We lie there like that for a few minutes.

“Hey,”
he breaks the silence. “I really hate this situation we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

I rotate so that most of my body is belly-down on the bed. My arms fold under my pillow, propping up my head. “I don’t like you,” I whisper, smiling like a five-year-old.

He rotates onto his stomach to mirror my position. “I don’t like you either.”

I bury my face in the pillow, laughing, and pull the blanket
up over my shoulders. I’m still smiling when I close my eyes. “Morning, Pies.”

“Good morning.”

I get up early to beat Pilot to the bathroom and get myself sorted. I’m back waiting on my bed before he’s even opened his eyes. I realize too late that I never did download Angry Birds. I should have brought a book.

“Hey.” Pilot’s sleep-ridden voice stirs me from my thoughts.

“Hey.”

Spikes of
his hair stick up in weird directions. “Why are you already ready?” he grumbles.

“I needed to beat you to the bathroom. This way you don’t have to wait around and deal with zombie Shane.”

He smiles lazily. “Zombie Shane? I want to meet zombie Shane.”

I scoff, “Maybe another time.”

We meet up with Babe and Chad, grab croissants from the hostel’s built-in diner, and stroll down to the nearest
Metro station. Babe and Chad walk a few feet ahead of us. My hands are jammed in my pockets, like Pilot’s beside me. The streets are fairly empty—to be expected given that we’re in the East Jabip sector of the city. Around the next corner, a Metropolitan sign comes into view. The sight sends an unexpected bout of happiness bubbling through me.

I’m on a date
in Paris
. I smile to myself, feeling
fearless as we approach the underground. On a whim, I extricate my hand and take hold of Pilot’s arm. Delicately, I pull it from his pocket and slide my hand into his. Pilot looks taken off guard for a second and then, doing his best to strangle a smile, glances down at our now intertwined hands. Glitter pulses through my fingers. Nerves shoot around in my stomach.

“What’s this?” he asks, amused.

I hold our hands up for inspection, squinting dramatically. “I think this is a move.”

Pilot’s head shoots back with laughter.

“Is there some separation anxiety happening between your hand and the inside of your pocket?” I ask.

He narrows his eyes. We’re only ten feet from the Metro steps now. Babe and Chad are already descending. Pilot takes an unexpected left, crossing
in front of me. He leads
us away toward a brown business building. When we’re right up on it, he swings me around so my back is to the wall, and raises our held hands up above my head. They press against the wall as he brings his face close to mine. My pulse shoots up.

“What’s this?” I manage to breathe. He closes the gap, and we kiss for the first time as single humans, and it’s ridiculous and spontaneous and—all the
swoon.

I feel like I just threw back a few espresso shots when he pulls back to meet my eyes.

“That was a move,” Pilot whispers smugly.

I push him away and step off the wall. “Show off.”

Over Pilot’s shoulder, I catch sight of Babe and Chad standing with their arms crossed, watching.

“Oh my god.” I choke. My cheeks flush. Pilot follows my gaze and laughs.

“We’ll be there in a minute!” I
yell to Babe. They turn around and go back down the Metro steps.

“Give me your hand!” I demand. “Trying to out-move me with your movie-worthy, stupid, really great moves,” I mutter as I snatch at his palm and drag him toward the steps.

“I’m not the one who threw down the gauntlet with the super-intense hand-holding.”

I shake my head, giddy as we descend into the yellow-tinted tunnels of the
Metro. We find Chad and Babe waiting for us by the turnstiles. When we get close enough, Chad looks at Pilot and nods his head approvingly before saying, “Duuude.”

I roll my eyes and turn to Babe. She widens her own like,
Oh my god, so now are you guys a thing?