Page 33 of Leaving the Station
“Agreed, but I mean about what she said about us being girlfriends.”
“So?” Oakley shrugs.
“It doesn’t bother you?”
“Nope,” she says, standing up. “We’re not girlfriends; we just met. She can think what she wants.”
“I guess that’s true,” I say, and the “I guess” is doing the heavy lifting there.
She plays with the chain of her necklace. “But wecouldhang out more, you know? On the next leg of the journey.”
“You actually want to hang out with me?”
“Unless there’s someone hotter than you,” she says, not quitemeeting my eye. “Then I’ll ditch you for them.”
I nearly choke on my own saliva until Oakley adds, “Kidding, kidding.”
After a long moment I say, “Sure, Oakley. Let’s... hang out.”
She nods, and it’s settled. My train companion: a mouthy, blond ex-Mormon with too much information stored in her huge head.
Let’s see how this goes.
Seven
Tuesday, 2 p.m., Leaving Chicago, IL
It’s a completely different feeling, boarding this second train; there’s an air of excitement that wasn’t there yesterday. The train to Chicago was one night, but this leg of the journey is two nights and three days, and we’re crossing a part of the country that I’ve only ever flown over.
“I’m gonna drop my stuff off at my seat,” I tell Oakley. “I’ll see you around?”
“Sounds good,” she says. But she doesn’t move. “Oryou could drop your stuff off in my sleeper car. If you wanted.”
“It’s fine,” I tell her. “I can just—”
“Do you want someone to steal your stuff?”
“They can’t,” I tell her. “Train law.”
She rolls her eyes and walks away, giving me no choice but to follow. We head through coach, through the dining car, then into a space we didn’t have on the last train: an observation car.
It’s already popular, with people claiming seats that look out onto the landscape. The windows go from the floor all the way up to the roof of the train.
Finally, we make our way to the first of the elusive sleeper cars.
“It’s this one,” she says, as she opens the door to her bedroom.
“This is it?” The room isn’t how I expected, especially since there’s no bed. There’s a sink, a sofa, and a chair. It’s tiny, with barely enough room for me and Oakley to stand.
“Oh, this is way nicer than the room on the last train.” She shrugs off her backpack and throws it onto the sofa. There’s a chair facing it, where I put my own bag.
“Where’s the bed?” I ask, examining the small plastic door labeled “closet” that couldn’t fit a single jacket.
“There are two, actually,” Oakley says. “They fold down.” She points to the sofa. “That one’s a double bed, and then there’s a single up top.”
I nod, feeling awkward now. I’m in a girl’s bedroom.
Well, a girl’s bedroom on a train, but still.
