Again, But Better

20. Spinning
2/15/11
It’s been a while.
Other than interning at
Packed!, which is fine (I’m
still running basic errands), and doing writing
assignments for class, which is going great,
basically three things happened in these past two
weeks:
1) Babe and I decided to plan a flat family dinner.
Because all of a sudden the whole flat got super-
busy. We haven’t hung out all together in ages
(weeks but it feels like ages). I barely see Sahra,
Atticus has always been busy, and Pilot’s MIA.
Babe and I go out of our way to chat most days, but
even that’s been difficult. I guess the combo of
internships and class can do that. Babe and I
discussed our lack of hangs and decided the way to
fix it was a scheduled flat activity: an American
family dinner with the works—baked ziti, wine,
cards, and beer pong. She started a group
Facebook chat to work out what day would be best
for everyone.
2) I didn’t speak to Pilot.
After that night in the kitchen when we talked about
Rugby Guy, I didn’t even see Pilot for six whole
days, let alone exchange words. I was writing in my
bunk when I finally caught sight of him walking into

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the kitchen through the bedroom window. He set his
open computer down on the table and chucked a
frozen meal into the microwave. For a minute, I
debated going in there to “write,” but then I
realized he was talking—Skyping again. My heart
slunk further down into its metaphorical chair as he
shared a laugh with the screen.
3) We scheduled the family dinner.
It might as well be a hundred years from now. When
four of us can make of it, one of us can’t, and when
three of us can make it, two of us can’t. The date we
picked was so far in the future that Atticus
suggested we just save the dinner as a big last-day-
in-London flat celebration.
So now, it’s scheduled for our last day in London
(April 22).
I feel a little like I’ve lost control of my raft. Like, I
came to this river with the boat, and I was rowing
toward my destination, but somehow I got caught in
a tide. How do I reestablish control? Was I ever
steering? I must have been. I got myself to London,
didn’t I?
“Do you know what you’re doing for spring break yet?” Babe
asks as she twirls some spaghetti Bolognese onto her fork. We
coordinated our dinner eating times today, but I finished way
before her and am currently working on character bios.
My eyebrows furrow, and I push my computer screen
down a bit so I can see her face at the end of table. “We have
spring break? When?”
“Next week, Shane.” She laughs.
“
What?
That’s so soon. Don’t we all have work?”

---

“It’s written into everyone’s internship schedule; it’s part
of our program,” she says matter-of-factly. “I’m going on a
tour of Ireland! And I’m going by myself. It’s going to be
great, like an epic adventure!”
“Wow, good for you,” I say halfheartedly.
“Yeah, I’ve never gone somewhere by myself before, but
traveling alone is supposed to be an amazing experience. And
I’ll be on a bus tour, so I’ll meet people, and it should be kind
of like a journey of self-discovery, you know. And Guinness
was invented there. I think I’ll get to go to the factory.”
I smile at her enthusiasm. “Well, that’s awesome. Do you
know what Sahra’s doing?” I ask.
“Yeah, she’s meeting her boyfriend in Barcelona to
celebrate her birthday!”
“Wow,” I respond softly.
I wonder what Pilot’s plans are.
Why are you wondering? You haven’t spoken in two weeks
.
The door bangs open as Atticus races in with a bag of
groceries. “Hey, guys!” he greets us before reaching into the
bag and whipping out yet another frozen meal. “I’m running
late for a play, but I’ve gotta take ten minutes and eat!” He rips
the food from the box and stabs at it with a butter knife.
“Atticus!” Babe laughs from the table. “That’s so loud!”
“Yeah, I enjoy drama. What else is new?” he cracks.
The two of them cackle. I pull my computer back in front
of me, so I can stare into space angstily without looking like
I’ve just had a lobotomy. What if everyone’s already doing
things for break? I’m going to be stuck here alone in London
all by myself for a week?
“We were talking about spring break plans!” Babe
announces. “What are you going to be doing?”
I jump into the conversation. “Yeah, At, do you want to do
something together?”

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He turns to me. “Actually, my family is flying out here!
We’re road-tripping across the UK, up to Scotland!”
Babe rinses her dishes in the sink. “Oh my gosh, that
sounds great. I’m going to Ireland on a tour, and I’m going by
myself. I’m so excited! Traveling alone is supposed to be an
amazing experience of self-discovery! And I’ll be on a bus
tour so I’ll meet people…”
Hearing this a second time is depressing. I duck down
under the table to grab headphones from my book bag. As I’m
digging around, the door opens again. Four of us in the kitchen
at once? 
It’s probably Pilot!
I yank my head up to check.
There’s a loud thud as my cranium slams into the corner of
the table.
I’m catapulted forward with the rebound momentum and
topple sideways, crumbling into a heap on the floor. My chair
clashes onto the tile next to me.
The microwave bell goes off as I yell, “Freakin’ A!” and
Babe yelps, “Jiminy Cricket!”
When I look up, everyone’s hovering.
“What happened?” Atticus asks.
“Are you okay?” Babe demands. “That was an epic bang!”
When Pilot steps into view, I cringe. Of course he’s here.
The first eye contact we’ve made in weeks, and I’m in the fetal
position on the floor.
“Did you really just use the phrase 
Jiminy Cricket
?” I
grumble to Babe, moving to get my legs back under me. “I’m
fine. Evil chairs are out to get me, falling every five seconds.”
As I get to my feet, Pilot shakes his head. “Devil chairs,”
he accuses in an exaggerated Southern accent.
I want to be mad at him, because I am. I want to say
something like: Where the hell have you been the last fourteen
days? But instead, I loose a flustered huff, pick up the chair,
and flop back onto it.

---

“These chairs are a hazard to myself and others.” I wince,
touching a finger to the bump forming on my head.
“Sure you’re okay?” Pilot asks.
“Yeah, fine,” I say dismissively. Atticus is at the table now,
stuffing pasta puttanesca down his throat.
Babe swoops into a seat. “So, Pilot, what are you doing for
spring break?”
I glance at him. Cross my arms. Uncross. Raise a hand to
hold up my chin.
“I’m going with Steve and Quail from Flat Four to Vienna
and Amsterdam,” he tells her. Again, looks like we’re not
invited.
Well, ask. Take charge of your raft.
I open my mouth. “Oh man, that sounds cool. Um, I don’t
have any plans yet. Do you think maybe I could join?” I’m
already having a hot flash. I can’t believe I just said that. Pilot
drops his gaze to the table.
Oh god, he’s going to say no. I think I’m going to cry. My
face is burning. It’s gonna melt off.
“Uh … I’m sorry, Shane. It’s actually already planned, and
it’s just gonna be a guys’ trip. I’m sorry.” He looks up at me.
He is sorry. I see it in his conflicted mossy eyes. “If things
weren’t—”
I cut him off, waving my arms around. “Oh my god, of
course, I’m sorry. Why would I assume? I didn’t mean to …
that was … forget I said anything.”
You’re fine. No crying.
Atticus is looking at me with his
head cocked to the side. I shoot Babe a wide-eyed look: 
Help!
She jerks into gear. “Wow, well, that’s going be awesome,
Pilot! Guess what? I’m going to Ireland! And I’m going by
myself on a bus tour…”

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