Again, but Better (34 page)

Pilot laughs and continues playing the guitar slung over his shoulder.
Am I hallucinating?
I blink in confusion as he settles onto a single, random, boxy black rock ten feet away.

Then he starts to sing, “
And I neverrrrrrrr, saw you coming-ing, ayayayayayayay
.”

I inch closer, like a spooked kitten. “What are you doing?” I shout.

“
And I’ll neverrrrrrr be the say-yah-yay-aye-yay-ahh-mme
.” He raises his eyebrows with impish amusement.

Did he get my text? How is he in front of me on a mountain playing Taylor’s … “State of Grace”?

“
You come around and the armor falls … pierce the room like a wrecking ball, now all I know is don’t let go.”

I hug my legs to my chest. He keeps singing. He’s changed the song a bit, morphing certain lyrics and parts together. “Pilot,” I interrupt.

He breaks song for a second and smiles bashfully. That’s an expression I’ve never seen on him before. I melt a tiny bit.

“Hold on,” he says. “I have a three-song concert prepared. Let me do this.”

A three-song concert?
The melody changes to one of my favorites. A happy-go-lucky song that Taylor plays on the ukulele.

He sings, “
I’m pretty sure we kinda broke up back in February … I was an idiot,
a how you say? Douche. Canoe.
” I snort.

“
We made things all dramatic and I let you walk away. And I, I, I, I, I, I, I, I’m sorry.”

I try to scoff. “That really doesn’t rhyme at all.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “
Stay, Stay, Stay. I’ve been loving you for quite some time, time, time. I think that’s it’s funny when you’re mad, mad, mad, and I think that’s it’s best if we both stay … Stay. Stay.
Stay, Stay.
”

I open my mouth to speak again.

“Wait just one more,” he protests, holding up his hand and smiling at the ground. He starts the last song. I snort-sob.

“
And you got a smile that could light up this whole town, I see it right now and it’ll always blow me down … I hope that means we can go forward from here?”

“Okay, stop!” I wipe at my cheeks. Pilot lowers the guitar into a black
case he must have brought with him. He sits next to me on the ground.

“Hey,” he opens.

I stare for a second and shake my head. “What … what the hell are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “I needed to make a move.”

“How did you even know I was here?”

Pilot grins. “Are you kidding? I never miss a post from French Watermelon Nineteen. You said you were headed to Edinburgh … and I gathered more exact
intel from Babe.”

“Babe?”

Babe endorsed this? I blink some more, unsure of what to say. He glances nervously at the ground. I fiddle with my hands. “Um, what happened to Amy?”

“I broke up with Amy.”

I meet his eyes. “And she knows it?”

“Yes.” He nods and closes his eyes like it’s an immense relief to speak this aloud.

I smile the tiniest bit. “Oh.”

A frown tugs at his lips. “I’ve wanted
to come talk for a while now, but you were doing really well without me, like you said you would, so”—he presses his lips together—“I started to think you were right. I mean, maybe I was getting in the way of why you were really here. You’ve been kicking ass.” His eyes meet mine, sincere and olive green.

I swallow, looking at his cheek rather than holding direct eye contact.

“I was going to
come talk to you the night your piece went up on
Packed!
I was so pumped; it was so good too.” He bites his lip. “But I chickened out because after the way we left things, I wanted to—I mean, I needed a move.”

Pilot shifts to meet my averted eyes. “Listen, I know this is scary, the pull between us or whatever, but it’s also really rare. And great, and I’d really love to try and make it work.
I know you’re worried about losing yourself. Let’s have dates where we just read so you don’t fall behind on that, and we’ll have ones where you can write whatever you’re working on, and I can work on music. We can work on a balance. Shane, I want you to choose you too … I just”—he exhales shakily—“lamppost.”

My chin wobbles. I bring a hand to my forehead, and watch him sideways. “I really like
those ideas … I’ve missed you,” I say quietly. I drop down on my back again.

He comes down next to me. “I missed you.”

I blow out a shaky breath. “That was a big move,” I tell the sky. I turn my head to find his eyes. He’s already watching me. “I tried to make a move like this once.”

He smiles. “For who?”

A wispy tear trickles down my cheek and into the grass. “For you.”

His brow furrows.
“In Paris?”

I shake my head. “No, the first time we were here.”

“When?”

“I wanted to tell you, that I”—I pause to take in a breath—“that I really, really liked you. And I didn’t get my shit together to do it until I was at Heathrow. I turned around at the bag drop, and took a taxi back to the Karlston. I ran down to your door and knocked on it incessantly.

“But no one answered because you
had already left. The door wasn’t
locked … I opened it and all your stuff was gone. I hadn’t thought to ask what hotel you were moving to.

“It was stupid. I spent too long looking for you there and I missed my flight.”

His eyes pierce mine. “Shane…”

My cheeks redden. “Yeah … Lamppost back atcha.”

He reaches out, takes my hand. “I followed you up a mountain today, so…”

A gurgled laugh bubbles
out of me.

He smirks. “I had to keep a group between us so you wouldn’t see me, or else it would spoil the moment, you know.”

I study him in silence for a minute. My lips purse. “Did you mean what you and Taylor said in those songs, literally?”

“Yeah, I think I really, really like you a lot, Shane Primaveri. Like, even more than the kitchen chairs.”

I inhale sharply. “I might like you more
than the shawarma.”

“Damn. Shawarma was basically why you wanted to come back and study abroad again in the first place.”

“I mean, yeah, basically.”

“I’m honored.” He shifts closer, but I pull back and suck in a breath.

“Pies, I was about to push the reset button. Like, my finger was on it.” His expression falls.

I sit up and bring my clenched left hand forward to reveal the silver artifact.
“I’m pretty sure my parents aren’t going to let me live with them unless I revert back to their life plan. I might not be able to go back to school. I’ll have no place to live. I didn’t find a writing job. I have no computer. I have no money! I used it all traveling … I don’t know—”

“Hey.” He sits up next to me. “Wait, what, no computer?”

“It broke,” I mumble sadly.

Pilot tucks my hair behind
my ear; his touch sparks through me. He smiles ever so slightly. “Is that why you’ve been using notebooks again?”

I reach up and catch his fingers in my hand. “How the hell do you know that?”

“I told you, Primaveri, if you’re in sight, I see you.

“I know how much Sawyer meant to you, I can’t imagine how hard these past two months have been without a laptop. But … whatever happens, you’ll get
through it. Future Shane is going to be an amazingly successful author.”

“Pies, I’m serious.” I roll my eyes and shake my head, sending tears running down my face. “Becoming a doctor? It’s so solid. There’s a blueprint; there’s a set path to follow.” I swallow. “Becoming a writer is like … being lost and just having to hope to god you stumble to your destination.”

He coaxes my face back toward
his and looks me right in the eyes. “I am an avid French Watermelon fan. I believe in you, one thousand percent, and everything else … I’d like to be there to help you figure it out.”

A close-mouthed grin wobbles onto my face. “Seriously, you really want to do this? 2011 and onward all over again? With me?”

“I’m in if you’re in.”

I fidget, nerves flickering in my gut. “But it’s going to be
really hard, Pilot. We’ve changed the timeline … so many things can go wrong.”

He guides my fingers closed around the locket. “But think how many things could go right.”

I suck in a breath and gaze out at Edinburgh. What would life be like if things went right? If I mended things with Leo? Kept working things through with my parents? Changed my major? Never went to med school? Never moved to
California? Kept working on my book? Dated Pilot?

I scoot over until I’m right in front of him on my knees, and study his eyes. “You’re sure?”

His smiles at 100 percent. It sends my heart sprinting. “I’m scarily sure.”

A grin creeps up my cheeks. “Like, forty-two percent sure?”

“Like, a hundred and eight percent sure.”

I pull him into a hug. His arms wrap tight around me.

“I’m scared shitless,”
I whisper over his ear.

“It’s all part of the vulnerable idiot experience.”

I pull back. “What about you? What about the divorce? You’re going to have to deal with that all over again.”

“I’m better equipped to deal with it now.”

“How are your sisters?”

“They’re working through it. We’ve been talking once a week. You can meet them on the next Skype call if you want.”

“I’d like that.”

“I
uploaded our video yesterday.”

My face lights up. “What? ‘Wrecking Ball’? Really?”

He moves to stand and helps me to my feet. “Really.”

“Oh, man, I am so proud.” I squeeze his hands. “I hope Usher’s waiting to sign you on Monday.”

He scoffs, leaning forward so our foreheads meet. Our noses brush. I watch his eyelashes flutter.

“I think I love you,” he says softly.

My mouth goes slack, a
rush of glitter hurtling into my chest. I pull back a few inches and give in to the goofy smile itching at my lips. “Well … I love shawarma so, like, by definition…”

His eyes light up, but he doesn’t smile. He bites his lip. “It’s so hot when you compare me to shawarma.”

“I love you too.” I grab a fistful of his shirt and close the gap between us.

We’re trekking down the crag, hand in hand,
when my purse pulses against my hip.

I raise my eyebrows. “Did you finally text me back?”

“You texted me?”

“Yeah, before.” I let go of his hand to dig the phone from my purse. It’s a text, but not from Pilot.

Donna:
Finally heard back from my friend at Seventeen. You have an interview on Monday. xx

www.abowlofbookishness.com/authorinterviews?1french-watermelon

AUTHOR INTERVIEW WEDNESDAY

with FrenchWatermelon19

Posted January 24, 2017 by Dani aka A Bowl of Bookishness

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Sixteen-year-old Dani is president of her high school’s creative writing club and an aspiring author.

Who’s FrenchWatermelon19, you ask? The alias of bestselling author of
Flailing Through
the Freefall
, Shane Primaveri. The sequel hit stores this week (thank god because I was dying to read it), and I had the opportunity to interview her after her signing event here in New York! (I couldn’t make it before the event started when she was doing longer interviews because school … uuugh.)

If you don’t already know, Shane started out as a blogger! She worked for
Seventeen
magazine for
three years, and then she worked as an editor at the
Packed! For Travel!
NYC headquarters for three more years while she worked on her duology.

The bookstore was packed yesterday. It was an especially special event for her because she’s from New York. I got to meet her boyfriend afterward (heart-eyes, more on this later), and her parents were there, and, like, ten cousins that look kinda like
her. I only recognized Leo because he’s always on her Instagram. Her mom and dad actually went to the front of the room halfway through the event and used her microphone to give a little speech about how proud they were. Shane cried. She was wearing a black blazer over a pretty red dress that poofs out at the waist with that same silver locket she always has around her neck.

After a fun round
of Q&A and a signing, she was nice enough to stay after and talk to me! I was given fifteen minutes. Enjoy!

So how does it feel to be done with this duology?

Amazing! Scary! I never thought this would really happen and … I’m so grateful and excited for everyone to finish the story. It’s so close to my heart.

You seemed really emotional earlier. Did you know your parents were coming tonight?

(She laughs.) Yes! I invited them, but I wasn’t expecting a speech. We’ve gone through some stuff, and we’re closer now because of it.

At this point she politely asked if she could run to the bathroom (she hadn’t been able to go for hours). Her boyfriend came over as she stood, kissed her, and reminded her that he made reservations somewhere. She smiled and whispered something in his ear.
He was dressed all nice in a red button-up shirt to match her. He’s got ruffled light-brownish hair. Shane slipped off to the bathroom, and he sat in her seat and smiled at me.

Him: Hi!

Me: Hi?

Him: I’m here to entertain you while Shane’s in the bathroom. So, you’re a blogger?

Me: Yeah, Shane’s my favorite author! I already finished book two. I stayed up all night the day it came out.

Him:
That’s amazing. I did too when she finally let me read it.

Me: (giggles) Are you a writer too? Did you work with her at
Packed!?

Him: No, I make music, produce it, and write stuff with new artists.

Me: Oh! That’s cool. Does that mean, are you—? Are you obsessed with the Beatles like Ian in the book?

Him: I mean—

(He shrugs and pulls a weird, fat, wooden-doll version of John Lennon from his
pocket, grinning like a little kid with a toy, and shakes it. It rattles like there is something inside it.)

Him: Oh, she’s coming.

(He grins again and stuffs the doll back in his pocket before he hops up. Shane shoots him a bemused look before sitting back in the chair. He leans against the wall, watching. I put my interview face back on.)

Do you have any advice for aspiring writers?

Keep going no matter how dark things seem. You’ll get there!

click to continue reading

“Are we there yet?” I ask again.

“Relax, Primaveri. I’ve got you.”

I laugh, squeezing Pilot’s arm excitedly. “Okay, I’m relaxed! Can you give me a hint…? Have you finally managed to meet Taylor Swift at work? Are we doubling with her tonight?”

“Yep, you caught me. It’s eleven p.m. on a Wednesday night,
and we’re headed to Taylor’s apartment.”

I snort, tripping over my feet a bit. “Which reminds me, we’re having dinner with Leo and Jared next Friday.”

“Sounds good! We have a Taboo score to settle. We shouldn’t have left things all tied up last time. Is Jared cooking again?”

“He is. I am freaking pumped.”

“Amazing.”

I stumble and Pilot’s arm tightens around me. “Careful. We’re coming up on
steps.” I step up. “Keep stepping,” he prompts. “Okay, stop. Now just walk.”

A door opens, and the air warms as we step inside. Pilot lets go of me, and I tense up for a few moments.

“Can’t see here, Pies,” I remind him.

I feel him return to my side. “Okay,” he breathes. He loosens the blindfold, and it slides down, settling around my neck.

I blink a few times, my eyes adjusting to the light.
Lots of lights. Fairy lights, an endless array of them, are strung up everywhere. It takes me a second to see anything else. “Whoa,” I breathe.

There’s a round table at the center of the room, with things on it. Not a room—we’re in a lobby. There are silver elevators all along the left wall and a receptionist desk on the right, with someone—

“Ah!” I yelp, stumbling backward over my heels. Pilot
steadies me from behind.

“Shane,” he starts calmly.

“What is she doing here? What are you doing here? Where are—?” I spin around, gaping. “This is—why are we here? What are we doing here?
We’re done with you, spirit guide!
” I point at her accusingly.

She raises her hands in surrender. “Darling, you’re fine.”

“Shane.” Pilot takes my elbows and turns me carefully to face him.

I crane my neck,
trying to keep her in view. “You don’t want to—What are we doing, Pilot?” I can’t form full sentences. I grasp at the locket around my neck.

“Shane,” Pilot says again. I turn back to him. “Breathe, we’re okay. She’s cool.” He drops his forehand against mine.
She’s cool?

“I’m sorry. I’m really confused.” I try to keep my voice level. My heart’s pounding a mile a minute.

“She asked me if we wanted
to hold on to this”—he taps the locket—“anymore, or if she could have it back.”

I blink. My voice drops to a whisper. “I, I don’t need, do you, do you want to keep it around?”

Pilot smiles and shakes head. He carefully moves my hair, unclasps the necklace, and places it in my palm.

I look from him to our spirit guide, still disoriented. She holds out her hand. I shuffle over slowly and drop
the locket into it. “Um, thank you,” I whisper.

She nods and turns away, exiting swiftly through a door behind the front desk. I pivot around to shoot Pilot a wide-eyed look.

“Pies, what, when, what’s—”

He comes forward and takes my hand. He leads me toward the table I saw at the center of the room. A number of items are lined up around the edge of the small circular surface. There’s a gym
lock? A picture of us kissing, a key, a ceramic piece of apple pie—I shake my head and look up at him again, confused.

He takes both of my hands in his, searching my eyes. “This is where you changed my life,” he says.

He gestures to the pie on the table. “On our walk home that first day in London, you called me
Pies
and rambled something about me being … warm?” His eyes twinkle under the lights.
“That’s when I first felt something shift.”

He looks back at the table. “That lock is from the first time we spent the night together in Paris.”

I look down at it, breathing hard now. The picture is next. Looking at it now, I see it’s the one we took on our way down the crag in Edinburgh. Pilot looks from it to me. “From the day we decided to stay.”

I bite at my lip. “You did all this?” My
voice wavers as I gesture to the lights around us.

He points to the key sitting next to the picture. “That’s the key to our shitty studio apartment.” A tear escapes my eye. I loved our shitty studio apartment. I loved working near the window and being able to look over at him, a few feet away, playing on our bed. We moved to a bigger place last year, after my second book sold and Pilot got hired
as a full-time producer at Stone Glass Records.

I follow the curve of the table all the way around, past a small streetlight figurine, to the last item—the John Lennon Beatles nesting doll. It’s set right in front of me.

“Oh my god, where did you find that?” I blurt, pointing to it.

Pilot picks it up with a small smile. “I got it when I went back to the store the second time around.”

“When
you got the cards? I still can’t believe you went without me,” I scold.

His smile slips into a smirk.

“You’ve had this since then?” I ask in disbelief. He glances down at it before meeting my eyes again.

“Shane, I love you. I wanted to stop in here one more time to pay my respects to the moments that brought us to where we are.”

I huff a small laugh. “I love you.”

He offers John Lennon to
me. My brows pull together, but I reach out slowly and take it from him.

“Open it.” He smiles. I narrow my eyes before looking down at the doll.

I open John Lennon. Inside him, I open Paul. And then George. And then Ringo. Inside Ringo is a tiny wooden bowling pin–shaped guitar and … a ring.

It knocks the wind out of me. I look back up at Pilot, but he’s not standing in front of me anymore.

He’s on his knee. My jaw drops.

“I have no regrets. I have no interest in ever going back to before. I only want to move forward with you.”

I shake my head in disbelief, sporting the toothiest smile of all time.

“I, I’m just.” I carefully get down on my knees and take his chin in my hand. “Pilot Penn,” I start softly. “Screw you, I’m never going to be able to top this move.”