Again, But Better

13. Close
My hand smacks over Pilot’s as a second queen shows up. I
topple sideways, cackling in defeat. I might lose this round of
Egyptian Rat Screw.
I’m all smiles and smothered competitiveness. There’s a
palpable air of hesitancy when it comes to closeness, much
like real first dates. We did kiss last weekend, but it’s different
now. He’s single. Closeness is expected now, anticipated.
Pilot snorts as I rattle off the address of the hostel to the cab
driver.
“You know what I didn’t realize till now,” he starts
dubiously. “We’re going back to 
that
hostel.”
I laugh. “
Yeah
. I didn’t forget.”
He scoffs, “If you didn’t forget, why didn’t you push Babe
toward something different?”
“Because then we wouldn’t be redoing this trip. We’d be
on a different trip. Where’s the struggle there?” I beam. He
shakes his head, grinning, and I continue. “Think of all the
things we’d be missing out on. We wouldn’t get to room with
that forty-year-old and the sleep apnea machine.”
“You’re right, and we wouldn’t have that banging wall of
lockers to put our stuff in.”
“They were the perfect shade of gym-locker blue,” I coo.
“And don’t forget the shower. You remember the shower?” I

---

ask excitedly.
His head kicks forward. “I forgot about the shower.”
I throw a hand over my heart. “You know how I love a
good forty-five-second shower.”
The hostel’s just as unimpressive as it was the first time.
Babe’s waiting with our keys when we arrive. She introduces
us to the same brosef Chad I remembered. I purchase a lock,
anticipating the need for one before we head up. Pilot snags a
map from the brochure stand next to the check-in desk.
Upstairs, we drop our things in the lackluster lockers and go
out to find food.
When Pies and I get back to the room post-dinner, I head to
the shower because I’m not sure what protocol is now. It’s
strange to share a room on a first date. When I reemerge, he’s
lying on his bed, head propped up on his palm, waiting for me.
“I feel like this first date is ending rather anticlimactically,”
he says thoughtfully as I climb into my own bed. I throw my
damp hair over my shoulder and mirror his posture.
“Well, it’s not really the end, though. We have all of Paris,”
I reason.
“Yeah, but a date is a day, it’s right there in the word, if a
date was a weekend, it’d be called a wate.”
“I mean, if you’re gonna do that, I feel like week-ate
makes more sense.”
“I guess this is the end of our first date, but we can come
back around to rating the wate as a whole, Sunday night.”
I snicker. “I’ll write up a full review for Yelp.”
Pilot makes an irritated 
tuh
sound. “Shane, you know I’m
only on Trip Advisor.”
I drop my head, cackling. “Well, our date isn’t completely
over yet.”

---

He perks up. “Oh, are we continuing it with our new
friends: forty-year-old-sleep-apnea man and random teenager
in the corner?”
“We could play a game,” I suggest.
“Are you going to wake them, or should I?” Pilot teases
with a nod toward the far-right corner.
I snort. “It’s a game just for us; we don’t need them.”
Pilot squints at me. “I’m intrigued. Tell me more.”
“The opposite game.” I smile goofily.
“The opposite game?” he repeats in an amused, ridiculous
voice.
“Yeah, the opposite game.”
“I hate the opposite game,” he says in a fervently serious
voice.
“I hate the opposite game too,” I whisper.
He smirks. “I love this pillow.”
“I love this pillow too.”
“You’re just taking all my opposite ideas. I win the game,”
he says.
“Yes, I win the game.”
Pilot snorts and I giggle deliriously.
“This isn’t the opposite game,” he retorts.
“This isn’t the opposite game!” I say cheekily.
“I like brussels sprouts.”
“I like lemons.”
“I’m from the future.”
“Ha!” I beam. “But you 
are
from the future. I think that
means I win.”
He falls onto his back, looking up at the ceiling now. I can
see the white of his smile in the dark. I fall on to my back and

---

look up at the ceiling as well. We lie there like that for a few
minutes.
“Hey,” he breaks the silence. “I really hate this situation
we’ve gotten ourselves into.”
I rotate so that most of my body is belly-down on the bed.
My arms fold under my pillow, propping up my head. “I don’t
like you,” I whisper, smiling like a five-year-old.
He rotates onto his stomach to mirror my position. “I don’t
like you either.”
I bury my face in the pillow, laughing, and pull the blanket
up over my shoulders. I’m still smiling when I close my eyes.
“Morning, Pies.”
“Good morning.”
I get up early to beat Pilot to the bathroom and get myself
sorted. I’m back waiting on my bed before he’s even opened
his eyes. I realize too late that I never did download Angry
Birds. I should have brought a book.
“Hey.” Pilot’s sleep-ridden voice stirs me from my
thoughts.
“Hey.”
Spikes of his hair stick up in weird directions. “Why are
you already ready?” he grumbles.
“I needed to beat you to the bathroom. This way you don’t
have to wait around and deal with zombie Shane.”
He smiles lazily. “Zombie Shane? I want to meet zombie
Shane.”
I scoff, “Maybe another time.”
We meet up with Babe and Chad, grab croissants from the
hostel’s built-in diner, and stroll down to the nearest Metro
station. Babe and Chad walk a few feet ahead of us. My hands
are jammed in my pockets, like Pilot’s beside me. The streets

---

are fairly empty—to be expected given that we’re in the East
Jabip sector of the city. Around the next corner, a Metropolitan
sign comes into view. The sight sends an unexpected bout of
happiness bubbling through me.
I’m on a date 
in Paris
. I smile to myself, feeling fearless as
we approach the underground. On a whim, I extricate my hand
and take hold of Pilot’s arm. Delicately, I pull it from his
pocket and slide my hand into his. Pilot looks taken off guard
for a second and then, doing his best to strangle a smile,
glances down at our now intertwined hands. Glitter pulses
through my fingers. Nerves shoot around in my stomach.
“What’s this?” he asks, amused.
I hold our hands up for inspection, squinting dramatically.
“I think this is a move.”
Pilot’s head shoots back with laughter.
“Is there some separation anxiety happening between your
hand and the inside of your pocket?” I ask.
He narrows his eyes. We’re only ten feet from the Metro
steps now. Babe and Chad are already descending. Pilot takes
an unexpected left, crossing in front of me. He leads us away
toward a brown business building. When we’re right up on it,
he swings me around so my back is to the wall, and raises our
held hands up above my head. They press against the wall as
he brings his face close to mine. My pulse shoots up.
“What’s this?” I manage to breathe. He closes the gap, and
we kiss for the first time as single humans, and it’s ridiculous
and spontaneous and—all the swoon.
I feel like I just threw back a few espresso shots when he
pulls back to meet my eyes.
“That was a move,” Pilot whispers smugly.
I push him away and step off the wall. “Show off.”
Over Pilot’s shoulder, I catch sight of Babe and Chad
standing with their arms crossed, watching.

---

“Oh my god.” I choke. My cheeks flush. Pilot follows my
gaze and laughs.
“We’ll be there in a minute!” I yell to Babe. They turn
around and go back down the Metro steps.
“Give me your hand!” I demand. “Trying to out-move me
with your movie-worthy, stupid, really great moves,” I mutter
as I snatch at his palm and drag him toward the steps.
“I’m not the one who threw down the gauntlet with the
super-intense hand-holding.”
I shake my head, giddy as we descend into the yellow-
tinted tunnels of the Metro. We find Chad and Babe waiting
for us by the turnstiles. When we get close enough, Chad looks
at Pilot and nods his head approvingly before saying,
“Duuude.”
I roll my eyes and turn to Babe. She widens her own like,
Oh my god, so now are you guys a thing?

---