Page 72 of Leaving the Station
We made it back to the train but just barely. The conductor gave us an admonishing look before closing the doors.
Now we’re having a Spit tournament with everyone in the observation car who wants to participate. So far, it’s just me, Oakley, Aya, and Jeff, one of the people who’s been sleeping on the floor like a dead man.
Aya is putting us all to shame.
“My grandma taught me how to play Spit,” she says as she wins yet another round. “Who wants to play me next?”
No one does, but we all want to keep her entertained, so Oakley tries her luck again. Nanami hasn’t emerged from the sleeper car, but I saw Mike sneak in that direction when he thought no one was looking.
“I’m not going to let you win this time,” Oakley tells her.
“You weren’t letting me win,” Aya says. “You made a mistake early in the game and it cost you.”
Jeff and Ioooohat that from seats opposite the two of them.
Oakley puts on her game face, squaring up against a nine-year-old. “Let’s do this.”
Aya’s and Oakley’s hands move too fast for any of us to keep track of who’s ahead, but they’re both in the zone. Aya even stands at one point for a better view.
“SPIT!” Aya calls.
Oakley throws the cards she was holding down on to the tray between them. “You don’t have to rub it in my face,” she grumbles.
I stand to create a barrier between them, ready to intervene if Oakley tries to fight this small child.
“Why don’t we go down to the snack car?” I ask Aya. “I’ll get you whatever you want.”
“I’m allergic to red dye,” she informs me.
“Okay, I’ll get you anything you want thatdoesn’thave red dye in it.”
“Deal.”
Aya turns around to stick her tongue out at Oakley, who’s cleaning the cards and sulking.
“Snack Conductor Edward!” Aya calls when we get down to the snack car.
She’s the only person I’ve heard use his “official” title, and he seems deeply pleased.
“Snack Assistant Aya!” Edward calls back. “The conductor is at your service. What snacks would you like?”
“Nothing with—” Aya starts.
“Red dye. I know,” Edward tells her.
I want to hug him for the way he’s treating her, until it hits methat this is how he treats everyone: like they’re the only person who has ever needed snacks in the history of the world.
“Hey, Edward,” I say, waving.
“You know Edward too?” Aya asks, amazed.
“Yeah, Zoe’s cool,” Edward says, and Aya nods in agreement.
I’m honored.
I buy Aya a banana, chips, apple juice, and a box of nachos that Edward reheats in the microwave. She insists on carrying all of it upstairs by herself.
“We should have a party in here tonight,” Aya says as we sit back down in the observation car and she opens the nachos. “And there should be balloons.”
