Again, But Better

country. You don’t introduce the idea of your
girlfriend to people with the phrase “we’ve only
been dating for three months” if you’re in love. You
don’t say, “I don’t know, we’ll see what happens” in
response to a question about staying together long
distance if you’re in love. You don’t, you just don’t.
You don’t. You don’t. You don’t. You just don’t. You
don’t.
Why wasn’t this on Facebook?

---

How do I act around him now? As if everything’s
fine? As if everything’s the same? Are they going to
break up?
He said, “We’ll see what happens.” Like, what the
actual fudge? *Metaphorically rips hair out.*
In other, less depressing news, I’m prepping to use
Skype for the first time.

---

It’s Thursday, and it’s pouring. I can hear the rain pummeling
the Karlston. I’ve set myself up in the kitchen with Sawyer and
a bagel. In my email, I find a letter with the name and address
of the place I’m going be interning: a travel magazine called
Packed! For Travel!
I have to interview with them before things
are definite. My interview is scheduled for tomorrow afternoon,
a few hours before we catch the plane for Rome.
I’ve been conditioned to think of creative jobs like mystical
beings. Finding one would be like finding a unicorn. When I
filled out the Common App for college three years ago, both of
my parents were in the room, hovering over my shoulder. When
I scrolled down to creative writing and added it as my major,
Dad jolted behind me. I knew it wasn’t what they were
expecting.
“
What are you doing?” Dad yelped.
“
I’m choosing a major.”
“
Honey, we’ve known for years you want to be a doctor.”
Mom smiled encouragingly.
“
Well, I’ve been thinking—”
“
No.” Dad tried to end the discussion.
“
What about journalism?” I moved the cursor to select it.
“
Where is this coming from? You’ve got straight A’s in all
your math and AP science classes; you’re going to be a great
doctor,” Mom pushed.

---

“
Yeah, just, I took that creative writing elective last year and
it was so fun. It got me thinking, maybe—”
“
There is no maybe. We talked about how that class was just
for fun. I’m not going to drop fifty thousand dollars a year for
you to graduate with no job prospects. What are you tryin’ to
pull here?” Dad said.
“
I’m not trying to pull anything—”
“
Look at me,” Dad commanded. I twisted to look him in the
eye. “Do you trust me? Do you trust your dad?” I felt my lips
start to quiver. I smashed them into a line, gave him a quick
nod. “We know what’s best for you.”
I get where they were coming from, but—
Packed! For
Travel!
is a real-life, well-known magazine that can lead to a
real-life job prospect.
I spend the morning in the kitchen, alternating between
researching 
Packed!
and reading book three in the Vampire
Academy series: 
Shadow Kiss
. When I break midday and head
out into the hall, it’s full of music. Guitar. I tread lightly down
the corridor and stop outside my room.
Across the way, Pilot’s door is wide open. He’s sitting inside
on a navy-blue twin bed, fiddling with a shiny tan guitar.
There’s a big map of the UK pinned up on the wall behind him.
It takes a few moments for him to register that I’m watching.
When he does, he stops playing.
“Hey,” he starts.
“Hey.” I hesitate a moment before crossing the hall to lean
against his doorframe.