Again, But Better

27. Marching On
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

---