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21. Ticking Away

2/17/11

TODAY WAS MOMENTOUS. Declan asked me to shadow him while he edited a photo spread of Moscow! We didn’t speak much, but I learned things. I got to watch how he used their software to craft things together for the next printed installment of
Packed! For Travel!
They release new articles weekly on the site, but only publish a hard-copy issue once a month.

And then
 … wait for it: A fancy guest photographer called Lacey Willows came into
Packed!
for a meeting with Wendy and Donna about a new piece on Istanbul, and Wendy invited me to listen in on the meeting. I sat there smiling like an eager beaver throughout the entire thing.

In other news, the flat is preparing to go their separate ways for break, which starts tomorrow. I couldn’t bring myself to book
a trip alone, so I’ll be here. Everyone at work today wished me an amazing spring break. I kind of wish we didn’t have a spring break.

In other, other news, this all-consuming crush for Pilot Penn has come to a crux. I think I need to tell him because this unrequited thing isn’t working for me. I hate missing him all the time. I miss him, and I feel like an idiot. He’s so obviously been avoiding
me. He materializes in passing from time to time, and it’s like catching sight of a ghost or finding yourself in reach of a butterfly. I step toward him, and he floats out of reach again—he’s on the way to class; going to meet with the guys down the hall; just “headed out.”

2/26/11

THINGS I DID ON SPRING BREAK 2/18–2/25: A HIGHLIGHTS REEL

Went out and bought
The Poet
by Michael Connelly.

Read
The Poet
by Michael Connelly.

Watched
Ratatouille
.

Got shawarma on Shwednesday.

Stared into space for long periods of time, imagining what everyone else was doing.

Tried to start my book but kept getting distracted by thoughts of what everyone else might be doing and second guessing every word I put on the page.

Started a
Lost
rewatch (got to mid-season two).

Skyped with the parents
more about working in an imaginary doctor’s office.

2/27/11 11:20 p.m.

Everyone got back today, thank god. I gave Babe a giant welcome-back hug and gushed with her about all her adventures, trying to live vicariously through them. When Atticus got back, we spent a beautiful thirty minutes digging into
The Poet
. He said he’s going to check out the Mortal Instruments series. I’m so excited! I
have a reader friend now! Sahra showed me all the stunning pictures she took in Spain and told me she’s in the middle of reading
The Da Vinci Code
on my recommendation, and she’s tearing through it. Can you believe it? Sahra trusted my judgment. Smart, independent, wise Sahra!

I stayed in the kitchen all day on Sawyer, going back and forth between character bios, the blank document that is my
book, and Twitter—while waiting for everyone’s return.

After Sahra, I waited for Pilot because it’s time to have the scary talk, so I can stop being sad with every passing day that we don’t interact. He never came.

Now I’m in bed with Sawyer—it’s 11:30 p.m. We have class in the morning, and there he is through the window. In the kitchen with his computer. Skyping with Amy again! Is that all
he does now? Must he do it in the kitchen?

February 28, 2011

Mom and Dad,

Last week was spring break. I spent it alone. I think it’s the loneliest I’ve ever felt. I miss our house. I miss Mom’s perfume. I miss Dad’s milkshakes. I miss Aunt Marie. I miss my obnoxious cousins. Who do they make fun of when I’m not around? I miss having a variety of sauces to choose from when I make pasta. I miss
telling you guys everything.

It’s time to start our writing prompt for the day. Is it weird that I spend the weekends looking forward to this class?

XO,

Shane

22. I Must Dream of the Things I Am Seeking

The Tube is packed with people today. I’m smooshed up against the rear wall, but I can’t bring myself to care because I had the most wonderful day at work. Honestly, it’s been amazing these past two weeks. I finally feel like things are clicking! Everyone said they missed me when I came back last Tuesday after break, and I’ve been shadowing people
every day since. Today, Donna asked if I’d like to sit with her as she organized a piece about Rio. She walked me through her process, and she talked to me like I’m part of the team, not just
the intern.
She asked me for opinions!

I step off the train at the South Kensington stop today. It’s Thursday, not Wednesday, but today calls for a celebratory shawarma.
Donna cared what I thought about
her piece!
As I close in on Beirut Express, I throw myself into a little happy twirl, landing with my hand on the door and yanking it open.

Inside the restaurant, I take a seat at the bar. There’s no one manning the area right now, so I dig Horcrux Nine from my bag, eager to document the day.

I’m clicking on my pen when I hear someone swish back in behind the counter. “What are we having today,
doll?”

“Oh, I’ll have—” Before me is the copper-haired woman from the plane and Starbucks and Paris. I almost slide off the stool. I drop the pen, grasping at the table so I don’t fall over. “Jesus Christ! Are you stalking me? What’s happening?”

“How’s it going?” she asks casually.

I’m so confused. I look behind me and then back at her to make sure I’m not hallucinating. Now she’s holding my
notebook.

“Oh my god, give that back!” She’s riffling through it. “What are you doing?” I throw my hands up in frustration, trying to make eye contact with anyone else in the vicinity, but no one looks at me. She wraps the cover around to a certain page and drops it back on the bar in front of me.

1/1/11

COLLEGE, TAKE TWO: STUDY ABROAD GOALS

1) Kick ass at internship—turn it into a paid summer
job.

2) Make friends you like to hang out with and who like to hang out with you.

3) Kiss a boy you like. Stop kiss-blocking self.

4) Have adventures in the city you’re in. You’ve done nothing in New York City during the 2.5 years you’ve been there, you idiot.

5) Maybe try getting a little bit drunk. Don’t black out or anything, but find out what it’s like in a controlled, self-aware environment.
You’re legally allowed to in the UK!

6) Start your great American novel. You’ve spent an absurd amount of time trying to think of the perfect first sentence. Stop it. Just write.

I blink at the list.

“How’s the internship?”

I struggle for words, flabbergasted. “Fine. Great!”

“Friends?”

I roll my eyes. “I have them!”

“Have you kissed that boy you like?” She winks.

“Stop winking at me!”

“Well, have you?”

“Well, no!”

“Your novel?”

“I’m trying.”

I drop my head into my hands.
What’s going on? Am I hallucinating, for real?

I look back up. “Why are you following me?” I growl slowly, enunciating each word as if she doesn’t speak English.

“Get on it, darling. Steer the raft.”

I shake my head. “Who are you? How did you—? Did you just read that in my—?” I hop off the stool, swipe
the notebook off the counter, and sprint out into the street.

I’m out of breath, freaked out, starving, and shawarma-less when I throw open the door to the blue kitchen back at the Karlston.
Who do I tell about this? Do I tell people about this … or will that make people think I’m insane?

“Hey, Shane!”

I jump, whirling to my right to find Atticus and Babe seated on the couch in front of a laptop,
laughing.

“Holy crap. I didn’t see you guys there.”

“We’re about to watch
Glee
. Want to join us?”

“I…” I breathe in and out a few times, calming my heart.

“What, did you run home?” Atticus chuckles.

I shake my head and make a dismissive motion with the hand that’s not white-knuckling Horcrux Nine. “No, I, nothing, okay.” I walk over and flop down next to Babe.

On
Glee
, Mr. Schue’s class
is prancing around and singing “Blame It on the Alcohol.” Babe and Atticus are singing along. I can’t stop thinking about the lady.
How does she know where I’m going to be? Did someone hire her? Could my parents have arranged for a babysitter? Has she been mere steps away this entire time?

The door to the kitchen swings open, and Babe and Atticus seize up mid-note. I look up from the screen as
Pilot walks through the door with a girl.

You’ve got to be shitting me.

A slim girl with long, brunette locks tags behind him. It’s her. She’s smiling up at him. I still haven’t talked to him. Atticus pauses
Glee
.

Guilt seeps into my cheeks.
But I didn’t do anything! I haven’t done anything!

“Hey,” Pilot says, as the door thunks closed. They stand facing us. Amy only glances over before fixing
her stare at the floor and positioning herself mostly behind Pilot.

“Hey,” we answer in chorus.

“This is Amy,” he says quickly. Dread builds in my chest at the thought of conversing with Amy.
I can’t talk to Amy. I can’t.

“Hi!” I throw up my hand up in a nervous wave.

“Hi, Amy!” Babe says enthusiastically.

“Hey, nice to meet you!” Atticus exclaims.

Amy makes a face almost like a smile, but
it doesn’t quite get there. She doesn’t say anything. Is she anxious? She’s wearing tight, skillfully ripped skinny jeans and a white sweater, and she’s naturally pretty in that way that makes me feel insecure about the fact that I feel the need to wear makeup.

Pilot moves, walking over to the sink, and Amy shuffles up right behind him, grabbing his hand as he fills up a clean glass with water.
She leans into his ear and talks softly so none of us can hear. I stare blatantly. I don’t want to stare. But I can’t
not
stare. Pilot chugs his water and places the glass down in the sink.

This silence is deafening.

“Okay.” He turns to look at us again. “I’m off to go show her the—” He’s cut off by an obnoxiously loud rapping at the door. As one, all five of our heads whip toward the sound.

I leap off the couch like a spooked gazelle at the sight of my dad’s face in the window.

23. Thunderbolt and Lightning

Is this a nightmare? Am I asleep? I walk slack-jawed toward the door and open it. My parents spill into the kitchen. My parents are in our kitchen. My feet glue themselves to this spot on the floor. Mom’s in a stylish black jacket, her hair a blaze of bronze waves around her face. Dad’s in slacks and a button-up shirt, dark hair slicked back.

“Hi, sweetheart!”
He sweeps me into a hug.

When he releases me, Mom swoops in. “Shane, surprise!”

I say nothing. Have I lost the ability to speak? Mom pulls away. I glance about the room. My flatmates and Amy watch us, unsure of what to do with themselves. Pilot and I make eye contact for a second, and I watch as understanding dawns in his expression.

A nauseating panic courses through my veins.
This is too
much right now. This is too much.

“Shane, who is everyone? Aren’t you gonna introduce us?” Dad throws up a hand and gestures around the room.

I swallow hard, vocal cords jolting to life at his command. “I, um, um, yeah, um, that’s um…” I glance over at the couch. “These are my parents.” I gesture to my mom and dad.

“Hey!” my father’s voice booms.

“Nice to meet you all,” adds my mother pleasantly.

“This is Atticus, and Babe … and…” I swivel to face Pilot and his girlfriend.
Dear lord
. “This is Pilot and Amy…”

My flatmates chorus a round of greetings.

“Great!” my dad announces. “We’re taking you all out to dinner right now. No exceptions. Let’s head out. Is anyone missing?”

Oh no, we can’t go to dinner. No no no no. It’s late, 7:00 p.m. It’s … no.

“Ahhhut,” is all I manage to get out.
I just stand. Rooted to the floor. Gagging on protests. The flatmates remain silent.

“Shane? I asked you a question,” prods my father.

My brain switches to autopilot. “Sahra’s not here…”

“Text her and tell her to meet us— Where are we going, honey?” He looks over at Mom.

“The Covent Garden Tube stop.”

He turns to me. “Tell her to meet us at the Covent Garden Tube stop.” He looks pointedly
around the room with raised eyebrows. “Everyone ready?”

Pilot glances from Amy to me to my father. “Uh, well, sir, we actually had plans to go to dinner.”

“Great, come on. My treat!” he responds.

“But we’re kind of—” Pilot starts again.

“You don’t want a free dinner? Come on!” he insists. Loudly.

I meet Pilot’s eyes with an expression of extreme desperation and/or embarrassment. There’s no
mirror in the kitchen, so I can’t be completely sure, and I’m currently drowning in both. I drop my gaze to the ground.

“I won’t take no for an answer. It’s gonna be fun, let’s go,” Dad bellows again. He pivots and holds open the door. Mom looks at me expectantly. My flatmates hold still, like somebody hit the pause button on time.

Babe breaks the spell and hops off the couch. “Thanks, Mr. Primaveri!”

We’re corralled out of the kitchen. I do as I’m told and text Sahra.

“So all of you been traveling every weekend, huh?” my father asks as he drops his glass back to the table. I wince at the small
boom
that reverberates when it makes contact. We’re seated at a large circular table at Delia’s, the
Italian restaurant my mother led us to. Me, my parents, four flatmates, and Pilot’s girlfriend.

“Oh my gosh, we’ve been following all your Facebook posts. The pictures have been beautiful. It looks like you’re all having so much fun.” Mom smiles.

Babe answers with over-the-top enthusiasm. “Yeah! Paris and Rome were amazing, and I was in Ireland last week. I went by myself on a kind of an epic journey of self-discovery!”

She’s taken up the role of me for the time being, since I’ve become
almost mute, uttering one- or two-word answers, if any, before descending back into my cone of anxiety.

“Yeah, um, I was all over Europe last week for spring break,” Pilot pipes in.

“How exciting! I know Shane was in Paris with you a couple weeks back, right?” Mom looks over at me with wide eyes, trying to drag me into conversation.

“Yeah, she told me about Paris!” Atticus answers. He starts
retelling a story I shared with him about a little crepe shop we ate at. He doesn’t know what’s wrong, but he’s trying to help. And Babe’s trying to help. Pilot’s trying to help. Sahra injects words every so often when she feels they’re necessary. She wasn’t there when they walked in, and she seems a little confused. I’m surprised she even made it. They’ve all been struggling to engage my parents
in conversation for the last half an hour, while I sit in silence, quietly trying to master the art of teleportation.

Why’d they have to come? They never leave the country. They barely leave New York.

“We’ve never even been to Europe! But we’re so proud of our genius girl here.” Mom gestures to me sitting next to her. Heat floods up my neck. “We had to come see her here in her element!” She
laughs lightheartedly. “How about we play a game and go around the table and everyone shares where they’ve traveled since they got here and how they liked it?” Mom suggests. “Atticus, kick us off!” She grins and tucks a wavy chunk of hair behind her ear.

I feel like an anvil’s floating over my head, and I can’t get out from
under it. Like Wile E. Coyote. I wipe my sweaty palms over the napkin
in my lap.
Keep it together, or they’ll know something’s wrong. You’ve made it this far. You can lie if they ask. You’re just trying to follow your dreams. There’s nothing wrong with that.

I don’t know how to lie to their faces like this. I’ve never kept anything from them. I’ve never had to.

Conversation comes to a screeching halt when Mom’s where-have-you-traveled game hits Amy. There’s a
long pause while my parents wait expectantly for her to speak.

“I, um…” she sputters.
Come on, Amy, say something. Keep the focus on travel.
She shakes her head slightly. My feet bounce against the floor. Too long. She’s taking too long. Dad’s uncomfortable with long silences. He’s going to change the subject!

“London?” she offers just as Dad jumps in with, “Everyone’s working! Is it going well?”

I’ll stay silent. I can’t raise suspicions if I never speak.

I pull out my brick phone and fiddle with it absently. I’m busy. I’m not suspicious. I’m phone.

“Yeah! I’m working in the West End, and I’ve seen so many plays. It’s been such a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity,” Atticus shares.

“I work at Disney headquarters here! And it’s so much fun. I can’t wait to actually work for the company
someday,” Babe adds.

“Wow, great.” Dad’s head swings from me to Sahra. “Sahra, you work with Shane at the health clinic, right?” I put down the phone.

If I were a mute cartoon character, I’d hold up my sign for the audience—
Help!
I find myself looking at Pilot.

Before Sahra can answer, Pilot abruptly offers his own response, “I’m actually working for an accounting office. Are you interested
in accounting, Mr. Primaveri? You do something in finance, right?”

Did I tell him that? I must have. Dad’s expression scrunches into one of distaste. I’m immediately nervous for Pilot.

Dad shakes it off. “What? I was talking to Sahra,” he says dismissively. He brings his attention back to Sahra. “Sahra, I was sayin’, how’s it workin’ at the health clinic with Shane?”

“I don’t—” Sahra starts.

Pilot speaks over her. “Sorry, sir, I was, accounting’s really interesting, and I thought—” he interjects again.

“Excuse me, would you stop—I’m talking to Sahra.” Dad shakes his head in disbelief. “Sahra—”

I would smile if I wasn’t already busy being terrified.

“Yeah, I actually work at a la—” Sahra insists.

Her words are muffled as Pilot continues to loudly babble: “Sir, I’m sorry. I didn’t
mean to interrupt. I know Sahra’s tired, and I was just excited to talk about accounting…”

“Pilot, what the hell?” Sahra exclaims.

Dad swivels his gaze back to Pilot. “What’s your name again? Pilosh?” he bellows.

“Pilot, sir.”

“Wouldja shut up for just second and let me talk to Sahra, please? You can talk next.” He uses his angry-joking voice.

Pilot swallows visibly. He catches my eye as
he surrenders, shoulders sagging. “Yes, sir. Of course.”

Dad huffs. “Now I’m gonna say this one more time,
Sahra
.” He widens his eyes at Pilot and turns to Sahra. “How’s it been at the health clinic with Shane? You enjoying it?”

Sahra’s eyebrows pull together. “Yeah, I work at a law office…”

I squeeze my eyes shut. Open them.

Dad’s looking at me. “What?”

“Yeah, I work at the law office of
Millard J. Robinson and Associates,” I hear Sahra continue. Dad’s eyebrows draw together as he holds my gaze. My lips flop up and down, but nothing comes out.

The conversation descends into chaos.

“Uh, Sahra must have gotten conf—” Pilot starts.

“Our mistake, sweetie. For some reason Shane told us you worked with her at the clinic.”

“I don’t understand. Why are you working at a law office
if you’re premed?” my dad booms at Sahra. “They’re allowed to give you an irrelevant internship? That’s not right!”

“Shane, how’d you confuse that, sweetie?” my mom coos.

“I’m not premed. I’m prelaw,” Sahra explains.

“Prelaw?” echoes Mom.

“What?” My father’s face flushes a bright shiny red, and he turns his attention back to me.

This is bad. This is bad.

“She means premed!” Pilot exclaims
from across the table, but Dad’s done listening to him.

Sahra turns to Pilot. “What are you talking about? I don’t even think there is a premed track in London.”

Dad’s glare hardens. “What?”

I stare at the tablecloth and start hyperventilating.

“Oh, that can’t be. Shane is in that program, Sahra, there’s a whole brochure,” my mother starts to explain.

“Well, maybe there … is a premed program?”
Atticus adds.

“Shane’s in the creative writing program,” Sahra states with oblivious nonchalance.

“Sahra,” Pilot scolds through his teeth.

“I’m not sure what’s going on—” Babe interjects.

“What do you mean creative writing? She’s premed.” Dad’s voice is low and furious.

Babe blurts, “She’s premed?”

“Shane,” Dad demands.

Scalding hot tears materialize without warning as I raise my gaze.

“Shane, what’s going on?” Mom’s concerned blue eyes lock onto mine. My heart constricts.


Is there no premed program here?
” Dad’s voice explodes to fill the room. I shrink down an inch in my seat.

“I, uh, no, not technically, but.”

“YOU LITTLE SHIT.”

Those three words knock the wind from my lungs.

Mom gasps, “Sal!”

Shit. I’ve heard Uncle Dan call Leo a little shit. I’ve never been a little
shit. Dad called me a little shit.

I heave oxygen into my chest. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to. It was an accident—”


An accident?
” His hand slams on the table. “Where did that brochure come from?”

I am shit. “I, I made it,” I whisper.

“You. You made it?” Dad’s eyes bulge as he sucks in a new breath. “You conned us?” He turns to Mom, “
Do you hear this, our daughter fuckin’ conned us!

People
can probably hear him in space. Mom’s eyes have glazed over.

Dad’s gaze returns to me. “You’ve lost an entire semester of required courses, Shane! How are you going to catch up?”

“What about the MCATs?” Mom sounds heartbroken.

“I’m sorry. I was just trying … I just wanted to try—”

“I can’t believe this. I can’t believe what I’m hearing! Number one:
What about the MCATs
?” Dad snarls. “Number
two: I’m home working my ass off, shelling out thousands of dollars for your education, and you’re out here completely disrespecting me and your mother! Lying to our faces! Repeatedly!
Who the hell do you think you are
?”

“Dad, I’m sorry! Mom, I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry! I just wanted to—”

I watch his eyes drop to my phone on the table. He snatches it up and jerks out of his chair. Stands. Drops
the phone to the floor and violently brings down his foot. The gasps of my flatmates echo around the table as the plastic smashes to pieces.

My lungs spasm. Oxygen. I need oxygen. The shame is suffocating. The air is too thick. I can’t. Breathe.

“Sal,” Mom scolds softly.

He looks me up and down with—with disgust. “You’re done, and you’re on the next flight back to New York.”

“No! Please! Dad,
please!” My voice rises. “I just want to finish the semester. I … I’ll take classes, please! I’ll make up the classes over summer! I’ll do summer classes! And I’ll work at your office! I’ll make it up. I’ll be ready for the MCATs. I’ll do it. I can do it! I’m sorry! Please, please let me finish this up, please.”

I am snot and tears and desperation. He stares me down, fury billowing
off him, before
he digs out his wallet and drops a few hundred pounds in the center of the table. “End of semester, the second you’re home, you start work at my office. Don’t call us for money. Don’t call us for anything. You’re on your own.”

He stalks out of the restaurant.

Don’t call them? What?

My mother’s studying her still-pristine dinner plate. We didn’t even make it to appetizers. She looks up. “I’m
so sorry, everyone. Please, enjoy dinner on us.” She meets my eyes. Shakes her head in disappointment. “Shane, what were you thinking?”

She strides out after my father, leaving us in absolute silence. I’m standing up. When did I stand up? My ears are ringing. I glance around. The entire place is watching me, plus my four flatmates and Pilot’s fucking girlfriend.

I stare at the door.

Activity
starts up again at other tables. Not mine. We hold onto the silence. I can’t look at anyone. Numbly, I sit back into my seat and drop my forehead to the table.
What now?
We’ve gone a whole two minutes before I feel a hand fall onto my arm.

“Shane…” Babe starts sympathetically. I wait for more, but she doesn’t continue because what does she say? What do you say when you witness something like
that?

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