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17. Such a Breakable Thread
1/23/11 8:30 a.m.
THINGS I’M PRETTY SURE ABOUT:
1) It’s time to leave for the train back to London.
(100%)
2) Pilot and I have almost kissed multiple times
now. (91%)
3) Pilot has a girlfriend. (73%)
Does this thing that’s been happening mean he
might break up with his girlfriend? Would he break
up with his girlfriend? Has he already broken up
with his girlfriend? Would he have told us? I can’t
bring myself to ask. I never ever bring her up, and
he hasn’t brought her up since, well… he’s never
brought her up.
If something were to happen between us, he would
have to make the first move. Not that I would even
know how to initiate any sort of move … he might
have been making moves last night. Moves that I
blocked? I wish I could ask Babe. It feels taboo to
share any of this with anyone, because as far as I
know, Pilot has a girlfriend. It’s against the rules to
like him. I like to follow the rules.
But, maybe they did break up? It’s not like he would
have shouted it from the rooftops. He could have.
He said he wanted to go to Edinburgh together next
weekend. I mean, the signs are saying yes!
“Shane?”
My head snaps up. Pilot’s at the foot of my bed, waving his
hands around.
Whoa.
Last time I looked up, Pilot was heading
to shower. I slam the cover closed on my notebook, hastily
click off my pen, and smile at him. “Hey! Yes! Ready?” I
shove Horcrux Nine into my book bag.
Pilot and I find Babe and Chad in the lobby, sitting on
opposite sides of a bench with their arms crossed.
“Hey,” Pilot says as we step up to their bench.
“Morning!” I greet them.
“Ready to get a cab?” Babe jumps up.
“Yeah, sho—” I start.
“Great!” Babe interrupts. She power walks out the door
with her suitcase.
It takes us ten minutes to flag down a taxi in this outskirt
area of Paris. When we do, I step up and open the door to the
back seat. Babe jumps forward and scoots in immediately. The
driver pops the trunk and gets out to help load our bags.
“I’m not getting in that taxi,” Chad announces from the
sidewalk. There’s a thump as Babe’s bag flops into the trunk.
I whip around. “Why? What’s wrong with this taxi?”
“I’m not going in the same taxi as
her
.”
I hear the thump of my bag dropping into the back. The
boys both hold onto their packs, so the driver closes the trunk
with a bang and gets back into the car.
“What do you mean, you’re not going in the same taxi as
her? We’re all going to the train station. There are four seats
here.” I try to speak calmly, but bits of anger edge their way
into my voice.
“I want to get a separate taxi!” he yells. Pilot and I
exchange a look.
“Man, it took us, like, ten minutes just to find this one
taxi,” Pilot reasons.
I duck my head down into the cab to gauge Babe’s
reaction. She’s looking determinedly at the back of the seat in
front of her.
“I will not ride in this cab,” Chad repeats loudly.
“Shut up, Chad,” I say, whirling back to him.
“You guys go. I’ll stay with him, get another cab. We’ll
meet you there,” Pilot offers.
I blow out an angry breath, but concede with a nod and
slide in next to Babe.
“Okay, good luck,” I say before closing the door. I shoot a
glare at Chad and slam the door. “Gare du Nord, please!” I tell
the driver.
My eyes are on Pilot as we pull away from the curb. He
nods at me before turning to say something to Chad. I settle
into the back seat, my puffy jacket swishing against the
leather. Babe pouts next to the window.
I heave a great sigh. “Babe, did more stuff happen with
you two? I’m sorry about last night, but please don’t be mad at
me. Chad came at me with his face to make you angry or
something, but nothing happened. I ran away from him.”
Babe sighs as well. “I’m not mad. I’m sorry I yelled at you.
I drank too much.” She’s still looking at the floor. “Chad’s just
being an asshole and making a scene. He gets really dramatic
sometimes.”
“No kidding.”
Babe snorts and meets my eyes. Hers are glassy. “Last
night at the bar I thought things were going really well. He
freaked out—and then later when we got back to the room, I
wanted to explain, but he wasn’t having it. He just talked over
me: ‘Babe, we’ve talked about this! I like short girls, you’re
not my type, god, why are you trying to ruin this? We’re
having fun and you have to ruin things. It’s so frustrating.’”
Her Chad impression is pitchy but I like it.
She continues, “And I was like, ‘I don’t understand why
would you ask me to plan your birthday, then!’ And he had the
nerve to say, ‘I didn’t ask you to plan anything.’ And I was
like, ‘You sure as hell didn’t ask me not to; here we are in
Paris together for your birthday!’ And he goes, ‘Don’t try to
turn this into some romantic thing.’ And then I told him he
was being an asshole, and then he stormed out of the room.”
“What kind of douche kabab says those things to their
friend? Who treats anyone like that? He doesn’t deserve you in
his life.”
“He eventually came back in and went to sleep.”
“And apologized?”
“No, we didn’t speak this morning.”
“What the heck? And that’s why he had a hissy fit outside
and wouldn’t share a cab?”
“I tried to talk to him again while we waited for you guys
to come down…”
“Babe, there are other guys out there who like Disney. This
whole situation is so weird and melodramatic. It was like you
were married for ten years, and he caught you with another
man in bed this morning.”
“He’s just passionate.”
I slap a palm to my forehead. “You’re not going to pursue
him anymore, right?”
She’s silent for a moment, before shrugging coolly.
“You’re one to lecture. What’s going on with you and Pilot?”
My lips clamp shut. I swallow slowly, debating whether or
not to share my breakup theory. I stay quiet.
She raises her eyebrows. I turn to look out the window.
We pick up burgers on our way back to the Karlston. I eat
mine in the kitchen with Babe, both of us surfing the internet
and catching up with the world. I import all the Paris pictures,
edit them, and get an album up on Facebook. I spend some
time on the
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