Again, But Better

11. What Comes Next?
January 17, 2011
Mom and Dad,
I got an email this morning confirming
that I got the internship at the magazine,
Packed! For Travel!
I start next Tuesday!
I’ll have to lie to you about where I’m
working when we Skype, and I’m not
looking forward to it. I hope BBQ this past
Sunday went well. Did anyone notice I was
gone?
XO,
Shane
I slip today’s postcard in with my growing collection as
Professor Blackstairs hands back our first assignment. I almost
leap out of my seat when mine falls onto my desk. I got an A.
An hour and a half into class, Professor Backstairs dismisses
us for a fifteen-minute break. A lot of students head out into the
street to grab a snack or some air. I guess I could do that.
There’s a Café Nero down the street, and I could go for a latte. I
push up out of my seat and make my way outside.
“Shane?”
I pause on the front steps of the class building, my gaze
snapping up to find Pilot ten feet in front of me on the sidewalk.
“Hey!” I walk over to where he’s stopped.

---

“Are you done with class?” he asks, confused.
“No, I’m on fifteen-minute break. I was going to grab a
latte,” I tell him, delighted I decided to leave the classroom.
He shakes his head with a disbelieving grin. “Dang, me too.
I guess our professors coordinated today.”
He’s all casual, hands in his pockets, hunched slightly
against the breeze as we start down the block. I stuff my hands
into my pockets too.
“So, Rome for the weekend is over,” he says, a half smile on
his lips.
Residual Rome hype spills out of me. “Yeah, it was so fast,
but we saw so much stuff! I mean, yeah, the Sistine Chapel was
closed but—”
“But,” he interjects happily, “we got to chill with the Pope.”
“That we did, that we did.”
“How would you rate it out of ten?”
I consider this for a moment, pursing my lips. “Hmm, eight
out of ten, I think, which is excellent, but leaves room for
improvement. If there’s ever a trip that’s out-of-this-world
superb, like if we got to hang with Taylor Swift and the Pope,
that would be a ten.”
Pilot nods approvingly.
“And what would you rate it?” I ask, raising my eyebrows.
He answers in a cheeky, over-the-top version of his voice. “I
mean, I’m pissed Taylor Swift wasn’t there, but I guess I’d give
it an eight out of ten too.”
I snort as we come to a stop, waiting for the walk signal to
cross the street. “Where else do you want to travel while you’re
here?”
He jumps at the question. “Oh, man, everywhere! Scotland,
France, Germany, the Netherlands, Belgium, Hungary,
Denmark, Austria. I really just want to go as many places as I
can.”

---

I bite back a smile at the enthusiasm in his voice. “It’s so
cool that everything’s so close. I didn’t realize we’re like two
hours from so many places.” The light changes, and we scurry
toward Café Nero. “When do you fly back to the States?”
“I don’t have a return ticket yet,” he says.
My head whips over to meet his eyes as we reach the
sidewalk again. “You don’t have a return ticket?”
“Nope. Playin’ it by ear. We’ll see what happens.”
There’s that phrase again.
“Wow.” I pause as he pulls open the door to Café Nero. We
step in and join the line. 
People go places without getting a
return ticket?
“I never even realized that’s … like, an option when you
travel,” I say slowly.
“What countries do you want to hit?”
“Um, I don’t know. I didn’t think about it enough because I
didn’t realize everything was so close, and now I want to go
everywhere I can.” I meet his eyes again.
He smiles and straightens his arms, stuffing his hands
farther into his pockets. I float a few inches off the ground. His
smiles aren’t like mine, which typically etch themselves onto
my face for various stretches of time. Pilot’s are fleeting; they
come and then they’re gone again, and he’s back to his normal
resting chill expression.
“Next!” the barista snaps.