Once Upon a Road Trip (23 page)

“I’ll call up in the morning.” Scott squared his shoulders, reestablishing his composure. “Night.”

Once he’d left, Angie eased the door closed, locked it, and then rested her forehead against it. She lifted her head and let it drop forward with a light
thud
several times, thinking she might deserve to be smacked in the face quite a bit harder.

Still thrumming with bewilderment, she pulled out the couch bed and dropped onto it. Picking up her journal out of nightly habit, she opened it and stared at a blank page. She waited for words to come to her. After several minutes of futility, it dawned on her that she didn’t have enough brain power left to brush her hair, let alone express whatever it was she was feeling.

Sleep on it
, something in her advised.

Finally allowing herself to lay her head down, she was immediately swallowed by merciful unconsciousness.

Chapter 13

“So, about what happened last night—” Scott got straight to the point. It was a clear, sunny mid-morning, and they were heading for the nearest subway station. He had obviously been impatient to address the incident from the moment he met Angie at the elevator and they’d ridden down to street level. His fidgety state seemed to have overwhelmed him after less than five minutes of neutral conversation regarding their plans for the day. “Who kissed who first?”

“I don’t know.” Angie shook her head, less eager to talk about it. She was still dismayed to have woken up with no better idea of what had come over her. From the way Scott spoke, she began to wonder if it was something that had happened to them, rather than something either of them truly intended.

“It was a mistake.” She finally met his gaze. “You could end up getting mono because of me.”

“It was worth it,” Scott said, without missing a beat.

Caught off guard, she looked away.

“You’re embarrassed?” he asked, incredulous.

“You’re perceptive,” Angie said, unable to withhold the dry bite to her tone. She watched his perplexed expression shift to one of blatant amusement.

“Why?” Scott sidestepped to give her shoulder a playful nudge as they walked. “I mean, that couldn’t be your first kiss. You’re too good at it,” he said, sincere in his praise.

Angie tucked her chin, thankful that she wasn’t prone to blushing. “No, it wasn’t.” She locked her gaze on the sidewalk ahead of her, absently counting the cracks in the cement. “That was the second time.”

“So, who was the first guy?” Scott asked, his tone guarded.

“Just some guy I went to school with.”

“And—?”

“And, what?” she snapped, with more agitation than she’d intended.

“You still got a thing for him?” Scott pressed.

Angie wondered then if it was envy she was detecting in his voice. She might have been flattered, if she hadn’t been so flustered over the entire situation. Exasperated, she turned her head to look him straight in the eyes for a drawn out moment. “Scott, I was twelve years old. A guy I thought I liked asked me over to his house after school. He told me he liked me, and then he asked if he could kiss me. I let him.”

“Twelve, huh? That’s kinda cute.” Scott chuckled, his voice regaining a lax quality.

“It was cute—” she agreed, turning her attention back to the sidewalk. “—until he told me to take my shirt off.”

“What’d you do?” She could hear the unsettled surprise in his voice.

“I may have been a kid, but I still had -some- sense of self-respect. My mom had enough talks with me by then to make sure of that.” Angie’s tone evened out and she glanced aside to him. “I told him no, and I left. I never spoke a word to him again. Pretty awkward, considering I had classes with him every year for all of middle school and high school,” she said, using a safely vacant tone. “But he managed it without so much as looking at me ever again. Like it never happened...and I didn’t exist.”

“Wow—that sucks. What a douchebag.” Scott scowled. His dark brows knit in earnest. “You know, I’d -never- do something like that.”

Angie felt his hand brush and then envelop hers in a loose, reassuring hold. A warm sensation hummed up her arm and settled in her already knotted stomach. “Good. Because I’m a lot more capable of violence now than when I was twelve.” She smirked, defaulting to sarcasm in her attempt to conceal nervousness.

“That reminds me—I’ve got a Kendo class this evening.” Scott broke into an easy grin that reached his eyes. “I was just going to skip it while you’re here, but then I thought maybe you’d want to sit in on it and see what we do.” He released her hand with some reluctance, grasping instead for a hand rail. They had reached a concrete stairwell that broke from the sidewalk and descended into the ground.

Angie followed close at Scott’s heels as they moved below street level, relieved by the change in subject. “I’d love to watch, if your Sensei is okay with that. You shouldn’t have to miss out on something just because I’m here.”

Cool air swallowed them as they approached the base of the steps. The concrete walls of the station were a flat gray, given random color by a medley of signs, posters, and professional advertisements. The mellow, resounding tones of steel drum music echoed through the crowded transit space. Scott used a card to get them through the turnstile gates and onto the platform, where they waited for the next train to arrive. The tiled floor of the station was dingy, but Angie noted it was relatively free from garbage. For whatever reason, she’d expected more trash lying around and even some sign of rodent activity.

I guess I’ve been watching too much TV
, she mused.

Spotting the source of the warbling Caribbean melody, she made her way toward the performer who stood with his back against a squared cement pylon. The tall man’s skin was the color of dark roast coffee, which made his broad smile seem all the more luminous in contrast. He tapped away at the set of metal cylinders in front of him, looking immensely pleased with anyone who paused to watch. A tip jar sat on the floor in front of him, and Angie noted the meager handful of coins and small bills occupying the bottom of it. She was beginning to regret her ‘no cash’ policy.  

“These guys are everywhere, just so you know,” Scott said, seeming less impressed with the performance.

“Well, it’s the first time I’ve ever seen someone play them in person.” Angie shrugged, watching the musician to keep from looking at Scott. He’d come to stand at her left side, hovering close enough for their shoulders to touch. As much as she didn’t want to admit it, she liked the nearness. Something about her perception of him had changed in the last eight hours. Was it simple physical attraction? She wasn’t sure how to define it. It seemed similar to the nervous pull she’d felt when she was around Zak, yet different somehow. She found this new awareness intriguing, but at the same time, alarming.

What am I feeling, God? Why is this so confusing?

She waited for a thought to hit her; some spark of insight that might help to clear her head. Instead, a squealing roar invaded her mind, drowning out the buoyant trill of the steel drums. A train slowed and pulled up to the platform.

They found a set of open seats in a half-empty car and settled in for the ride. Scott was relatively quiet while he focused on determining their destination. Though Angie was initially relieved to have his attention elsewhere, an inequality between them began to nag at her. She waited for the rumbling of the train to even out before taking a deep breath.

“Fair is fair. Who was your first kiss?” she asked, trying for a casual tone.

Scott pulled his gaze from the map overhead and looked at her. “My ex-girlfriend, Ashley. Three years ago.” He answered more quickly than she expected. Bracing his forearms against his knees, he leaned forward in his seat and hung his head. “Just so you know… you’re only the second girl I’ve ever kissed.”

Angie considered him for a few moments. “How long were you and your ex together?” she asked. As often as they’d talked, it had never occurred to her to pry into a subject this personal. Now that she was considering him in a different light, she felt somehow entitled.

“Over a year,” Scott answered in a bland voice. “But most of that it wasn’t serious. Not til’ the last few months. Mostly, I think she just liked it that her dad hated me. He couldn’t stand it that my hair was longer than hers.” Scott smirked to himself and smoothed a hand back over his well-subdued locks.

“Is that why you broke up?”

“No. She broke it off because I…turned her down.” His gaze shifted side to side, as though he were concerned someone might overhear.

“Turned her down, how?” 

“You know what I mean.” Scott sighed in aggravation. “She just kinda threw herself at me one day. I don’t know if she was trying to get back at her dad for something, or what. It just didn’t seem…right.” He looked down again, almost guiltily. “I told her that. She got real mean all of a sudden, and then it -really- didn’t seem right.” Scott grimaced in recollection before venturing an uncertain glance at Angie. “And that was pretty much it. We were done.”

“That’s impressive.” Angie commended him with a smile. “I don’t think most guys would have had enough willpower to do that.”

Scott cast a dubious look her way. “Yeah? Try telling that to Yosh and them. They never let me live it down.”

Angie shook her head. “Why do you care what they think? Those guys didn’t strike me as poster children for good judgment.” When he didn’t answer, she prodded him in the side with her elbow. “What, now -you’re- embarrassed?”

“Ya think?”

She stared at him expectantly.

He made a guttural sound of frustration and eased back in his seat, folding his arms tight to his chest. “Look, it’s different for guys. We’re not supposed to say ‘no.’”

“Right. Men are supposed to be easy.” Angie rolled her eyes. “So, then what made you buck the social norm?” When Scott responded with a glazed expression, she rephrased. “Something must have given you a reason to say no. What was going through your head?”

Scott mulled her question over, absently toeing at an abandoned newspaper on the vibrating floor of the train. “A couple of things, I guess. I’d just started taking Kendo classes, and my Sensei kept going on about having discipline and honor, and not just while we were in the Dojo—” he began, seeming lost in thought. “And then, my mom had always told me when I met the right girl, I’d know. She said I should wait until I was sure it was forever. When I looked at Ashley, I wasn’t sure.”

“Well, I’m proud of you.” Angie had expected him to credit his choice to simple fear, but his answer turned out to be far more complex and interesting. “Whoever the ‘right girl’ is, you did her a favor. Trust me.”
If it were me, I’d be grateful
, she thought, though she kept herself from vocalizing that part.

Another thought sprang up in her mind, demanding to be analyzed.

What if I’m the right girl?

She glanced over at Scott and caught his enigmatic stare.

“Thanks,” he said. In that moment he regarded her with such intensity, it caused her stomach to seize. Had the same thought occurred to him?

Angie forced herself to shrug and bounced her gaze to an empty seat across from them, pretending to be interested in a wad of chewing gum that had been left on the back of the seat. The logical part of her mind tallied Scott’s positive attributes. His scorecard was compelling, but that didn’t silence any of the practical arguments against him. All of this swirled together in her head until one aggravating question remained:
What the heck is wrong with me?!

The train lurched as the brakes ground somewhere under the floor, yanking her back into the reality of her surroundings. Scott flashed a quick smile her way and stood, then grabbed a metal support pole and slung his backpack over one shoulder.

Relieved that the strange tension between them had evaporated, Angie latched onto a hand-strap above her and waited for the doors to open.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Their first stop was the architecturally elaborate Grand Central Terminal, where they grabbed an early lunch. From there, they moved on to the Empire State Building.

After a long ride in a stuffy elevator, they were deposited onto the observation deck on the 86
floor. Angie took advantage of the 360-degree vista and snapped pictures from each corner of the building. After she’d captured a shot of the arching crown and spire of the Chrysler Building, Scott extended a hand through the bars to point out a skyscraper to the right of it. Up until this point, he’d seemed patiently disinterested in the landmark, which he’d no doubt visited many times before.

“That’s where my dad works,” he said, tone tinged with reservation.

Angie acknowledged with a polite nod, deciding she didn’t want to seem too interested.

It still seems so surreal
.

Just as Scott promised, they came across a half dozen more steel drum players as they traveled. Self-employed entertainers were plentiful. By the time they boarded a ferry for Liberty and Ellis Island, Angie had also seen two guitar players and a one-armed man who played the fiddle while holding it with his feet.

When they left the ferry station an hour later, they made their way north on foot. In this part of the city, it was the sidewalk artists that commanded Angie’s attention. Their mediums and styles varied widely, but there was a consistent and haunting theme appearing in the majority of their pieces. She found it vaguely unsettling that this theme was also their next destination — Ground Zero.

There was no blatant indication that they were close to the former site of the Twin Towers, and so it came as a surprise when the tranquil blue of the sky seemed to gain sudden domination ahead of them. Of course, the sky had always been there. It’s appearance was striking simply because of what -wasn’t- there. In this area so crowded with immense buildings, the yawning gap they approached was equally imposing.

They paused at a street corner on the eastern side. Angie was immediately unsettled by the sense that she was standing at the bottom of a man-made canyon. The surrounding buildings varied in height; their dull, windowless faces fitted with expansive lengths of what looked like orange mesh. Recalling that several of these buildings had been damaged beyond repair and would eventually be torn down, she supposed the netting was meant to catch any debris that might break off from the structure and threaten the streets below.