Chapter One. The Body at Baggage Claim #2
“Is that why you’re dressed like that?”
I side-eye him.
“I meant dressed up. Except your shoes.”
“What’s wrong with my shoes?” This is my nice pair of Converse. They could be less dirty, but at least they don’t have holes at the toe.
“Nothing! They’re different, is all. From the dress.”
“Do you always give fashion advice to strangers?”
“It wasn’t a criticism. I just noticed the anomaly.”
On the basis of his blush, I decide to believe him. He also looks a little fancy by Florida airport standards, but it’s not like I’m going to comment on his appearance.
“Do you want to grab a drink?”
“Uh, I don’t have an ID.” Or at least not a fake one. And I can’t imagine the two of us not getting carded.
He points at the vending machine behind us. “I was thinking water. Or Coke. The soda. Not drugs.”
“Sure,” I say, like I’m totally relaxed and not kicking myself on the inside.
There’s an awkward moment where he might be offering to pay for the orange juice I selected but I’m not 100 percent sure, so I bust out a wrinkled dollar bill like it’s a Badge of Feminism.
And then I can’t decide if it would be more progressive or less to buy his drink, so I awkwardly shuffle to the side and watch him feed quarters into the machine.
We find new seats because even the most eager beavers have given up on saving a prime spot in front of the defunct luggage carousel.
“Cheers,” he says, twisting off the cap of his water bottle. There’s an expectant pause.
“What?”
“I didn’t catch your name.”
I take a sip of orange juice to stall. “You can call me … Katie.”
“Because that’s … your name?” he asks, mimicking my hesitation.
It’s not a complete fabrication, because Katherine is my middle name.
I thought about going by Katie at school for a while, around the time the boys in my grade figured out what “virgin” meant and started pronouncing my name like it was a communicable disease.
VIRGIN-eee-uh! But then Grandma Lainey told me that one day I’d be glad to have a powerful first name, instead of sounding like a stripper, and now I’m more or less okay with it.
It’s still fun to pretend I’m someone else for a minute, especially since it’s not like I’m ever going to see Felix again.
“Are you here for work or pleasure, Katie?”
“Are those the only two options?” If so, I’m not sure how to answer.
“I guess it could be both.”
“How do you figure?”
“Theme park performer. Spreading joy to young and old.” He adds sparkle fingers, in case I need the visual aid.
“I thought you were going to say sex worker.”
Felix chokes, and water shoots out of his mouth. He looks mortified, but I’m flattered I made him do a spit take.
“I’m not really Disney princess material,” I add, while he wipes off the armrest.
“Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it. Beats working the deep fryer at Mickey D’s.”
“Is that what the cool kids call it?”
“Mickey D’s. BK Lounge. The Bell.” His poker face is excellent. Even Grandma Lainey would approve.
“Nobody calls it ‘The Bell.’”
He grins at my look of disgust. “Maybe you need to get out more, Katie. Where are you from?”
“I’m not sure I should tell you.”
“Why, is it the challenge question for your online banking? Let me guess. Peoria? Charlotte? Gary, Indiana?”
“No, no, and no.” So much for this lipstick giving off cosmopolitan vibes. “Where are you from?”
“Atlanta.” His grin is unexpectedly cute. “See? Sharing is caring.”
“I’ll remember that when I steal your identity.”
“Nice. I’m here visiting my grandfather, by the way. Not that you asked.”
My nod is distracted. Is he flirting or killing time? I wish I had the nerve to come right out and ask, but there’s only so much confidence I can fake.
The luggage carousel emits a metallic screech before jerking into motion. Crap. I don’t want Felix to know I still use the cosmic kittens suitcase Grandma Lainey bought me when I was seven. I stand, shouldering my backpack. “Well. Thanks for—” I break off, remembering he didn’t buy my drink.
“Spitting on you?”
“I was going to say, ‘being rude about my clothes.’”
“Any time.”
“Unlikely.” Before he can respond, I slip behind a couple pushing a loaded cart. It would have been a slick move if this airport had more than one baggage carousel. Thirty seconds later, Felix nods at me from the other side of the conveyor belt.
New plan: I’ll ignore my suitcase until he leaves. There it goes now, trundling past me in all its hot pink glory. I deliberately look away, staring at the succession of black and silver bags. When I check to see whether Felix has his luggage, he’s gone.
“Good,” I say under my breath, ignoring the twinge of disappointment. I can grab my suitcase and go find my ride. They’re probably all waiting for me to arrive.
When I turn around, space cats in hand, Felix is standing right there. His eyes widen when he gets a load of my hot pink bag.
“That is—wow.” He shakes his head, clearly at a loss for words.
“Go ahead.” I sigh. “Get it all out.”
“Meow or later?”
“You’re just jealous.” I glance longingly at his navy duffel bag.
He raises a hand like he’s taking an oath. “Guilty.”
“Okay, well, I better go.” I start for the door marked GROUND TRANSPORTATION.
“Are you headed downtown?” he asks, catching up to me in a few long strides.
“Maybe.”
“We could ride together.”
I stop walking.
“What?” He swipes at his face, like there’s a blob of something on his cheek. “Why are you squinting at me?”
“I’m doing a gut check.”
“I get that. You have to ask yourself, ‘Do I or do I not like musicals?’ Because I will sing along to the radio. It’s my toxic trait.” He pauses like he’s running that answer past a polygraph. “One of them, anyway.”
“I’m more concerned with stranger danger. Abduction, murder, whatnot.”
He fake whistles. “That’s a very dark attitude. I’d expect more optimism from someone who believes cats can go to space.”
“It’s also possible I could stab you.” My index finger stops just shy of poking him in the chest. He looks down at my hand and then at my face, like he’s delighted by the attention.
“I’d like to note that although I am male-identifying and a stranger, I’m also in high school.”
“What’s your point?”
“Seems young to kick off a killing spree.”
“Everybody has to start somewhere.”
Felix sighs, like I’ve got him there. “Tricky to get an internship.”
“They never come to career day.” I’m trying not to smile, but I know the twitching of my lips betrays me.
I’m not used to this kind of back-and-forth.
My sort-of ex liked to keep things pragmatic.
His idea of a romantic text was, Do the extra credit on the quiz in gov. You get points even if it’s wrong.
Swoon!
Felix reaches into his jacket and pulls out a notebook and ballpoint, scrawling something on a blank page.
After adding a few more slashes of ink near the bottom, he tears out the paper and offers it to me.
“This is my number. I’ll be around for a while if you want to hang out.
In a totally non-creepy way,” he adds when I hesitate.
“Brightly lit public place. No duct tape.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Pretend I didn’t mention the duct tape.”
“Classic blunder.”
“It’s surprisingly hard not to monologue about your evil plans. It slips out.”
I pluck the paper out of his hand. “No promises.”
He nods, watching me slide on my sunglasses.
“Okay, then. I’m going.” I don’t move.
“I’ll let you get a head start.”
“Good.” I’m not sure what else to say, so I jerk my chin at him then head for the exit.
“Hey, Katie,” Felix calls as the doors slide open in front of me. I glance back at him. “Claw me, maybe?” He paws at the air like he’s starring in a no-budget production of CATS, minus the leotard.
I shake my head, but I’m grinning as I step outside.