Page 63 of Leaving the Station
“Sounds good,” I tell her, and we put on our shoes—she wearsher slippers and I throw on the same sneakers I’ve worn for the entire trip—and make our way to the observation car.
“Hi!” Aya says, sitting with her legs crossed in one of the chairs.
Oakley glances at me, and I try not to make my face too obvious. Our dinner with Nanami was only a few hours ago, but it feels like an eternity has passed since then.
It’s the first time we’ve seen Aya since we were instructed to lie to her.
Oakley checks the time on her phone. “Dude, it’s four a.m. What are you doing here?”
“I know what time it is,” Aya says, pointing to her bright pink watch. She holds the Percy Jackson book she’s reading out for Oakley to see. “I made it to the fourth one, and my mom didn’t want to keep the light on for me to read so she told me I could come out here.”
I can’t speak. If I do, I’ll tell Aya everything.
But I don’t have to say anything because Oakley takes charge.
“What part are you up to?” she asks as she sits next to Aya.
“They found out there’s an entrance to the labyrinth at camp!” Aya tells her, eyes lighting up.
Oakley gasps. “Just wait; it getssogood.”
“You said that yesterday!” she tells Oakley. “That’s why I’m reading it so fast, because I want to be able to talk about it with you!”
Oakley was pissed about Nanami lying, but none of that anger was ever directed at Aya. Maybe the best thing we can do is show her a good time while she’s not yet burdened by the truth.
Oakley turns to me, and I hope she’s thinking the same thing.
It’s apparently common train knowledge that if you book a ticket in coach, you can sleep on the dirty floor of the observation car instead of in your seat, and some people are doing that now. They all seem to be deeply asleep—or they could be dead; we can figure that out in the morning—so no one’s bothered by the noise of our conversation.
Oakley asks Aya to read to us, then pats the seat next to her so I can join the two of them.
I settle in, closing my eyes and getting into the story. Aya’s great at reading aloud, and when she stumbles over a word, Oakley has her sound it out and then corrects her if she’s too far off. (“It’s ancient Greek, you get a pass here,” she tells Aya a number of times.)
After a few minutes, Oakley reaches back and grabs my hand in the space between our chairs, rubbing her thumb against the skin of my palm. This girl who made out with me and spooned me and laughed into my ear is here, helping an elementary schooler sound out the big words in a book they both love.
And I can’thelpbut feel... things.
She’s so good with Aya; she’s kind when she wants to be and protective when sheneedsto be. She’s so much more than I could’ve known when I met her on Monday. (How was that onlyMonday?)
“Are you even listening?” Aya asks.
I open my eyes and spring to attention. “What? Yes, of course,” I say, even though I have a sneaking suspicion that I’ve been asleep for a while.
“Good,” she says, then continues reading.
Oakley must’ve fallen asleep too because she doesn’t stir as I half listen to Aya’s words.
A few chapters later, the conductor announces the next stop in North Dakota, bringing us closer to sunrise on day three of this trip.
A trip that will end tomorrow, whether I want it to or not.
Two Months and Change into College
I hadn’t been to class in a week. In high school I would have stress dreams about showing up fifteen minutes late. I’d cry into my pillow with relief when I realized I’d been asleep, that I still had hours before school started.
Not anymore.
That dream became real, and nothing happened. Professors kept lecturing; they continued administering tests and assigning readings. School went on without me, and no one cared.
