Page 55 of Wish Lists and Road Trips

It wasn’t Darla’s fault. She was right about hitting the storm if we’d driven straight through from Houston. With our route, we missed the worst of it. But what Darla couldn’t have foreseen was that the damage from the storm would still be screwing with travel plans even after the last snowflake had fallen. In this case, the freezing cold temperatures had turned the thirteen inches of new snow into ice. The weight of it had taken down an enormous pine over the tracks somewhere in Northern Virginia and the engine had plowed right into it. No one had been hurt, but the impact was probably what had stirred Brit awake.

Long story short, we weren’t going anywhere until they could clear it. We were less than eight hours from New York City by car, but we were stuck in the middle of a forest on a broken-down train.

Brit had climbed down from her bunk and was sitting on my bed now, her thumbnail between her teeth. She’d put a sweatshirt on, but her feet were still bare and dangling from the side of the mattress. She was taking this a lot harder than when we’d been left in a foreign country with just the clothes on our backs.

“What does this mean?” she asked.

I scrubbed a hand over my emerging beard. “It means for the third time in three days, we’re fucked.”

“Did they say how long it would take to move the tree?”

“They said to settle in. To me, that didn’t sound like a quick job.”

She rolled onto her back and covered her face with her elbow.

“Hey.” I sat on the edge of the bed and picked up her foot, setting it in my lap. “It’s going to be okay.”

She gave me a look like I had two heads. Okay, so stressing was kind of my job, and I could feel the anxiety needling me. I knew I already had voicemails from my dad and uncle about this project—probably the source of the “bank in my underwear” dream—but for some reason, my first thought hadn’t been what my dad would do without me, or how tonight would probably be a bad night for my mom once I told her I wouldn’t be home on time. Or that I still hadn’t completed the last item on Alex’s list, and I had no idea how I would.

Instead, when the conductor broke the news, the whole of my thoughts were focused on the fact that if this train hadn’t plowed into a tree, I’d be saying goodbye to Brit in a couple of hours.

My first reaction was relief.

The train was creepy when it wasn’t moving. The lights were still dimmed since some of the passengers had attempted to go back to sleep. It being the middle of the night and all, it made sense, but I couldn’t sleep. I had too many signs to decipher.

I walked down the hall to a tiny staircase that led to the second level, wondering if I’d see anyone else at this hour. I’d left Nick in the room, claiming I was going to explore. He’d given me his usual litany of warnings with a side of stern look, but I needed a few minutes to sort this out, to figure out what all of these feelings were that vied for my attention.

Today was the auction. I was supposed to use every cent I owned to buy the beginning of my new life. I’d been planning this for months. My heart started to pick up speed in my chest. What if I didn’t make it? What if I should have been taking these delays more seriously instead of relishing the adventure and the distance from my parents? I’d just assumed it would all work out, but I was inching closer to crisis territory.

More disturbingly? Even knowing that this latest setback could be catastrophic, the auction wasn’t where my thoughts went first. When Nick told me what had happened, and I realized that I’d just been granted a precious few more hours with him, a whole bunch of tension I didn’t know I’d been holding was released. Like a bus had been hurtling in my direction and I’d dodged it at the last second.

How could I ignore the way fate seemed intent on keeping us together, scribbling messages on the wall at every turn? But on the other hand,what the hell was I talking about?It was just a storm.Right?I tossed between committing my life to this sign and starting a YouTube channel dedicated to debunking my own ridiculous conspiracy theories.

Nick and I had been doing this weird dance between friendship and longing stares since Houston. But I knew myself. I had a habit of throwing myself on top of a spark with the hope that it would catch fire and consume me. More often than not, I just ended up smothering it or getting severely burned.

We had one moment in the hotel. One concrete thing that had almost happened. The rest—the way he’d let me in at the park, the way he touched me now—it could be friendship. God knows I didn’t have a ton of experience with friends. Or it could be my mind wanting something and making it so. It was the thought of never finding out that made me fidgety and scared.

I checked the time. If the train got back on track in the next three hours, I’d make it home in time. There was still a chance, but it was narrowing every minute this pile of metal stayed stationary.

Maybe I should tell my parents about the house and ask them to send someone to the auction to bid for me. My dad was a signer on my account but there was no guarantee they’d agree. They had never approved of a single dream of mine before, and they were very, very angry with me.

Meri and Justin had said they’d be available for crises and being stuck on a train certainly seemed like one, but I honestly didn’t know how it worked. Could she bid for me? How would I get her the money from here? I felt so naive all of a sudden. So unprepared.

A woman appeared in the doorway, dressed in pajama pants and a cardigan, and she startled when she saw me sitting there in the dark. “Oh. Sorry, I didn’t think anyone else would be up here.”

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be.” I shrugged. “But what are they going to do, kick us off the train?”

She laughed and sat down two seats away. “I’m Annie.”

“Brit.”

“So this sucks, huh? Are you heading home or away?”

Ha!Good question,Annie. There wasn’t an answer that fit completely either way. I was headed back to where I came from, but home didn’t feel entirely accurate since the place I lived was, at best, a temporary shelter. When my father had called me and demanded to know when I’d be home, my first inclination was to tell him I had no idea where that was these days.

As far as my chance to get away from all of that? It was hanging by a thread.

“I’m headed to another stop on the way,” I answered.

---