Page 111 of Pick Me Up On Tuesdays

I tried to breathe in, but my lungs felt stuck. I exhaled instead—quiet, controlled. Not a sigh. A choice.

Ethan didn’t speak again. Neither did I. The ocean handled that part—lapping against the pier with soft, rhythmic hushes. It was easier, somehow, to be quiet with him than to talk to anyone else.

So, I didn’t run. I didn’t panic.

I let him stay.

Chapter 31: A Cancelled Journey, A New Destination

We returned to the motel at dawn, the soft hum of the early morning settling over us. The air was cold, the sky tinted in pale pink and gold, but whatever peace the dawn brought did not last long. The exhaustion of the night bore down on us, but a strange, fleeting sense of accomplishment flickered beneath the exhaustion.

The moment we arrived at the motel, we saw the rest of the group standing outside. All of them had drawn expressions, a mix of confusion, frustration, and something else—anticipation? Uncertainty? Whatever it was, it wasn't positive. Mr. Dax stood at the front, his usual commanding presence even more so than usual. He was stiffer than usual, his lips pulled into a thin, expressionless line. His fingers drummed impatiently on his arm, a sure sign he wasn't interested in messing around.

Something was wrong.

Ethan and I exchanged a glance before I stepped in closer to Joy, nudging her with my elbow. "What's up?" I whispered, my voice quiet.

She gave a dramatic sigh, rolling her eyes as she folded her arms. "Oh, you know. The universe finally decided it hates us."

Not the answer I'd wished for, but typical Joy.

I frowned. "Come on, Joy, be serious."

She sighed. "Okay. Mrs. Catherine called. Something about 'budget constraints' and 'reallocating resources.'" She did theair quotes, her annoyance clear. "Which, in other words, means we're screwed.".

Before I could press for additional details, Mr. Dax cleared his throat, and the murmuring crowd fell silent. His expression was stoic, but there was a gravity to it—like whatever he was about to say was going to crush what little hope we had remaining.

"I know this isn't what any of you want to hear," he began, his voice authoritative but somber, "but the trip has been canceled."

The words hit harder than they should have. My stomach twisted, my jaw tightened as if bracing for a punch. A shockwave ran through the team, followed by a low rumble of protests. The reaction was instantaneous.

"What?!" someone cried out.

"You can't be serious!" another joined in.

Joy’s arms dropped to her sides, her expression darkening. Shun stood stiffly beside her, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in thought. Ethan exhaled sharply beside me, shaking his head. His fists clenched, but he said nothing.

Mr. Dax held up a hand for silence, his expression firm, unbending. "Mrs. Catherine made the decision early this morning. She went through our budget and realized it would be a loss to carry on with this trip. We were short of money as it was, and with the other school team getting more ground than us, she doesn't think it's worth our while to continue."

A heavy silence followed. It stretched long, uncomfortable, thick with the weight of disappointment.

My chest tightened. That was it? Just like that, everything we’d worked for was gone? No warning, no alternatives—just over? All the planning, all the late nights spent mapping out locations, all the effort—wasted. The realization sank in slowly, a creeping dread that made my pulse thrum uncomfortably in my ears.

I did not know what bothered me more—that the trip had ended or that it had ended because of something as… bureaucratic as money. Money—the very reason we started doing the documentary in the first place. To fix Ethan's car.

Ethan exhaled loudly beside me, saying, “figures."

I darted a glance at him, expecting some kind of reaction, but his face was perfectly neutral. Too neutral. His hands clenched slightly at his sides, and I knew then—he wasn't frustrated. He was angry.

Mr. Dax allowed us a moment before he spoke again. "We'll be heading back immediately. Pack your things and be ready to leave within the hour."

And with that, the meeting was dismissed.

People began to disperse, but no one appeared happy about it. Disappointment, frustration, and—at least on my part—dumbfounded incredulity hung in the air. Some kids grumbled under their breaths as they made their way towards the motel, shoulders slumped. Others lingered, refusing to move just yet, as if staying put might somehow undo what had just been done.

That was it. The trip was off.

What hurt most wasn’t just that we couldn’t afford to fix the car—it was the quiet, gnawing truth that I’d dragged everyone into this and still failed to make it right.

---