Again, But Better

4. I’m the First in Line
January 12, 2011 (take two)
Mom and Dad,
We haven’t really talk-talked in a while,
so it’s extra-weird to be writing these to
you again. This is when everything really
went to shit—for a couple of months, I
stopped worrying about making you
happy. I’ve been trying to make you
happy for six years now, hoping somehow
that would make me happy too, but I
don’t think it’s working. You’re not really
happy with me because I’m not happy
with you because I’m not happy with me.
XO,
2017 Shane
My mom’s parents used to have this old-fashioned record
player. We don’t see them as much as I see my dad’s family.
But, when we did visit, I used to look forward to playing with
that record player. Hunting through their album collection until
I found 
Mary Poppins.
Carefully pushing the record onto the
device. Positioning the needle like my life depended on it.
Grinning ear to ear as music magically began to play.
Spending hours dancing around their living room to
“Supercalifragilisticexpialidocious.” This morning I got up

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and re-attended the first class of my abroad semester. The
professor gave us our first blank postcards and the famous
first-sentence writing prompts. I honestly don’t remember the
last time I sat down to write something that wasn’t gastro-
related. It felt like being back in that living room. Setting the
needle down on a record full of music that lights you up from
the inside.
We have two nights before we fly out to Rome. I’m sitting
at the kitchen table, staring at the start of my first study abroad
blog post. I’m not sure what to do with it. Rewrite what I
wrote the first time around? I close out of the blog and open
the file with the outline I have all prepped for my 
great
American novel
. Scrolling through it sparks excitement in my
chest. I open a blank page and start typing, because honestly,
why not?
I have three thousand words down on the page when Pilot
strides into the room with a sandwich.
“Hey.” He pulls out the chair across from me and sets
down his food. “You writing?” He raises an eyebrow.
I bite back a smile and yank out my headphones. “As a
matter of fact, I am.”
He grins to himself, settling into the seat.
“This is so weird … going to class again.” He shakes his
head and peels the cling wrap from his food.
“Agreed, but I kind of had fun.” I shrug.
“I probably should have cut mine, but Sahra’s in the class
so it felt”—he looks up, searching for the right word
—“suspicious? Skipping.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, I have this uncontrollable need to be
good in school, so I didn’t even think about cutting.” Maybe I
would have considered it if someone had brought up the idea
before I got there, but not anymore. I forgot how much I
actually enjoyed going to this class.

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He takes a bite of sandwich, focusing somewhere on the
wall behind me. “You remember what we did today the first
time around?”
I close my laptop and give him my full attention. “Of
course. Do you?”
He meets my gaze. “The Beatles store.”
“Got those gorgeous playing cards.”
“They were a great find.”
“That they were.” I bob my head nostalgically. “Remember
the Russian Beatles nesting dolls?”
He snorts. “Those were fantastic.”
“I love that they’re a thing.” I bite my lip a moment,
hesitant to push this any further. “You want to go?”
Pilot sucks in a breath and leans his head forward. He runs
his now interlocked hands up from the base of his neck over
his hair and back down to the table in front of him before
looking at me again.
“Uh … I don’t think so, you know … We should probably
keep our distance for now, ride out these last few days, find
the button, get out of here.”
I nod, absently. “Oh, yeah, okay, um, I’m gonna go find
something for dinner.”
I carefully stand up out of my chair with one hand locked
on the back so it can’t possibly fall over. I pull my book bag
off the floor, snatch my laptop from the table, and head onto
the streets of London to clear my head. Instead of taking my
usual right toward Gloucester Road, I hang a left toward Hyde
Park, hiking my way toward the main street near the Odeon
and Orange cell phone place.
Twenty minutes later, I’ve picked up some new makeup
that past Shane didn’t know she was missing, and I’m crossing
the street to TK Maxx. I find myself a black backpack with

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three different compartments and padded straps. Book bags are
for travel rookies. I’ll be backpacking it from now on.
Later, as a flat, we all go to the pub down the block. We
play 21. Atticus brings up Pilot’s girlfriend. Babe is shocked.
Pilot looks at the table and quickly changes the subject.

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