Page 17 of Leaving the Station
“So,” he said as he sat at his desk chair with a thermos. “I’m glad you found your way to the greenhouse. You seem to have a real interest in it.”
“Yeah,” I told him, sipping the tea and letting it sit on my tongue. The flavors were potent and aromatic. “I guess so.”
“Good,” he said, though I could tell there was more he wanted to say.
I hoped desperately that he wouldn’t bring up my future or “career paths” or anything of the sort, because the greenhouse was the one place where I didn’t have to think about any of that.
Randall sipped his tea, then stood up. “Well, let’s get back to work, shall we?”
I nodded. Maybe he could tell that was what I needed to do, or maybe he had been in my position once, a kid on the precipice of something beyond them, wanting nothing more than to be surrounded by plants.
“Let’s end the night with the sounds of the stars,” Rex said into the mic at the student radio station. “So sit back, relax, and try not tothink about the impending heat death of the universe.”
They hit a button on the soundboard, and chill radio static filled the room.
“You’re about to give the whole campus an existential crisis,” Autumn told them as she spun around in a rolling chair—her curls were glowing under the color-changing LED lights of the studio.
Rex shook their head. “No one actually listens to this shit.”
They moved from their position in front of the microphone down onto the floor, where Shelly and I were sitting cross-legged, eating tortilla chips out of a bag that was so large my entire arm fit inside.
I was itching to text Alden, but I didn’t want to seem too eager to hang out again.
“We’re going to Wegmans after this, right?” Autumn asked as they grabbed a handful of chips.
Everyone else agreed that the late-night diner was a good idea, but I was staring at my phone, willing Alden’s name to appear.
“You okay?” Autumn asked.
“Definitely,” I told them, putting my phone away.
I tried to push Alden out of my brain, but I couldn’t do it. I thought about him all the time. Not about anything in particular, justhim.
“Wouldn’t it be fun if we all lived together next year?” Rex asked as they bit into a chip.
“One of the sophomores in Fabrics lives in Loving House,” Shelly began, “the queer res house.”
“We should apply!”
I wanted to be as excited as them, but the more they talked about it, the more I felt like I was an inconvenience, like I was tagging along on their big plans.
I’d been so sure of my identity as a lesbian in high school. Girls were pretty, and I liked them and wanted to kiss them, but I never had the chance to actuallydothat.
But now, when I thought of kissing someone, the only person who popped into my head was Alden.
It clicked then, in a way it hadn’t before: IlikedAlden. The feeling of wanting to be around him all the time—that was a crush.
A crush on a boy.
Monday, 9:30 p.m., Somewhere in Ohio
“All right, folks, just a reminder that it’s lights-out in coach at ten p.m. So get all your rustling and fussing out of the way now.”
I haven’t been back to my seat since I dropped the pretzels off, partly because I don’t want to deal with Guy Fieri, but also because I can roam free in the café car. The coach seats are spacious enough, but I’d rather not annoy my seatmates by getting up to stretch my legs every five minutes.
The sun set hours ago, and now the only view through the large window is my own face reflected back at me.
Before I went through puberty, I liked the way I looked. People would compliment my long straight-ish brown hair, my rosy cheeks, my quiet but polite little-kid demeanor. But then I turned twelve and my hair curled, my cheeks became a breeding groundfor angry red pockets of acne, and my mood soured.
