Again, But Better

lucrative
future.” I blink at
the ceiling. “My grandpa did the struggling-artist thing, wrote
poetry and stuff, worked a bunch of temporary jobs. It made
him a pretty shitty dad. He was never around, and when he
was, he was distant and tired, had a short fuse with my dad and
his siblings.
“Now my dad’s obsessed with financial stability, in this
macho Italian, I’m-a-real-man sort of way. I’m his only kid

---

so … he … it’s a lot. Like, I know in his own way, he’s just
trying to be a good dad—and writing, being creative, it’s not
exactly known for being a pragmatic career path.
“I’m good at math and science, and I like numbers. My
mom was gonna be a doctor. But she had to drop out of med
school when she got pregnant with me, so it just makes sense.
She’s really excited.” I turn my head to get a read on Pilot. His
face is right there, a breath away. There’s a sadness etched in
his eyes.
“I don’t hate being premed, I’m just not particularly, you
know, it doesn’t have the same—and it’s so all-consuming. I
don’t know, I want to make things. These past two weeks here,
studying something I really care about, and writing, it’s been
the best.
“I hadn’t really found a place at YU, so I’d been going
home like every other weekend. And everyone in our year was
prepping to studying abroad, and I felt like maybe this would
be a way to start over. Make new friends and have new
experiences and not spend all my time in the dorm.
“I started looking into programs, saw this writing
internship track in London, and I knew it was my chance to try
to do … what I would really love to do because there’s the
internship—a writing internship … like a real job, and if I did
well there, maybe they could help me get a real paid summer
internship job somewhere in the US, and maybe then I could
show my parents that, you know, I can do this.
“I can do it. I’m good at it, and I can do it. I’m gonna do
it.” I swallow hard. Pilot’s watching me attentively. I meet his
eyes for a moment before shifting back to the ceiling tiles.
“So, um, when I get jumpy, that’s me doing my best to deal
with all the residual paranoia and fear swirling around. Like
when I lost my purse, I thought, you know, it could ruin
everything. They would find out and, I don’t … I don’t
know … I haven’t told anybody any of this.”
Pilot’s fingers weave through mine. He squeezes my hand.
Warmth shoots up through my fingertips.

---

It’s quiet for a minute before Pilot says, “Shane. That’s
insanely badass.”
Unexpected laughter rises in my chest. My shoulders shake
as I try to contain it. I don’t know what to say. I gently squeeze
back. We lie like that for another twenty minutes. I don’t know
what to do with myself. I couldn’t possibly sleep. My heart is
ping-ponging around like a Super Ball. After a while, he
finally gets up. Carefully, he scoots back into his own bed. I
pretend to be asleep.
“Good night, Shane,” he mumbles from his bed.
My words wobble nervously from my mouth. “Night,
Pies.”

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