Chapter Thirty June 9
Chapter Thirty
I am moments away from boarding the bus, and my parents are clinging to me as if this is the last time we’ll ever see each other.
So many lectures and reminders to call. To text with Georgie because she’ll relay all messages and pictures to my parents (that’s comforting).
Mom keeps asking if I have everything I need, as if I won’t be able to purchase any forgotten toiletries in New York City.
Then there’s Dad reminding me to keep my eyes and ears open.
Insisting I don’t wear my headphones while I’m walking around, and “For God’s sake, listen to the teachers and stay close to them. ”
The bus doors open and Mrs. Morales and Mr. Chang, the Art department head, step outside the bus.
Finally.
“You have everything?” Mom asks again, her hands wrapped around my arms, grasping me in these final moments before I’m free. Free from their constant supervision, but never quite free of their voices in my head. No. They succeeded at acquiring a permanent spot there.
“Yes. And I’ll text Georgie and call you once a day, even though it will be long-distance.”
Dad waves off the extra charges to my phone bill.
My life sometimes feels like a conflict of privilege.
An abundance of riches on one end—custom-built home, a debit card that gets refilled weekly to pay for school lunches and anything else I might want to treat myself to, expensive family vacations—paired with a life of microaggressions, unconscious biases, and claustrophobic limitations on who I am and who I want to be on the other.
I hug my parents once more before giving Mr. Chang my bag to load in the undercarriage. My backpack, which I’m allowed to bring on the bus, is filled with necessities like chargers and snacks, my passport, cash, credit card, a notebook, and, of course, books.
Once inside, I pick a seat in the middle of the bus.
That’s always been my preference. The back is too noisy and tends to be reserved for a certain kind of student.
One of those unspoken rules. The front is too close to the teachers.
Plus, I often catch myself watching the road closely when the windshield is in plain sight.
Anxiety. Another thing I’ve inherited from my father.
As well as being a very real side effect of autism.
As the bus fills, I glance out the window to find my parents still hanging around, even though everyone else’s parents have left. I wave at them through the slightly tinted window, urging them with my eyes to leave.
The bus engine finally turns, and I watch as my dad takes my mother’s hand in his, guiding her to the parking lot. I wanted this so badly, but watching them walk away kind of makes my chest tighten.
I’m sure I’ll get over it.
I pull out my earbuds and place my backpack on the empty seat to my left.
Maybe it’s rude but there’s no one on this trip I care enough about to spend over ten hours sitting next to.
There’s a buzz on the bus already. People filming videos and taking pictures.
I message Andie that I really wish she were coming.
There’s something so incredibly depressing when you’re reminded, once again, how few friends you have.
The driver, a native New Yorker, closes the door, and I sink into my seat, shutting my eyes.
The bus is finally in motion, but for only a few seconds before it makes a sudden stop.
I remove one earbud and crank my head slightly to see what’s going on, holding my breath.
I wouldn’t put it past either of my parents to come racing to the bus, declaring they’ve changed their minds.
The door opens and I overhear Mrs. Morales say, “I’m so glad you decided to come.”
I sit up and my lips part as I lock eyes with John at the front of the bus. Swear to god, I don’t think I’ve ever experienced this many feelings at once. Relief. Excitement. Anticipation. Happiness. Instinctively, I remove my backpack and nod to my seat as he walks down the aisle.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” I say as he slides into the space next to me.
“Do you mind?”
“Yes. I mean, no. I mean…I want you to sit here.”
“Good.” He grins, placing his backpack between his legs. “I want to sit here too.”
I force myself to restrain my smile, offering him just a small one instead, as I also jam my backpack between my legs.
“I signed up for the scholarship,” he says, reading my mind. “I didn’t get it, at first, but then the person who did had to opt out because of a family emergency or something, so it defaulted to me.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah,” he says, running his hands through his hair. It’s grown out, and I ache at the thought of running my own fingers through it. “It was all last minute. Otherwise, I would have warned you.”
“No.” I shake my head. “It was a nice surprise.”
“Yeah?” he asks, a smile tugging at his lips.
“Yeah.”
We’re both jolted back slightly as the driver turns out of our school parking lot. I take out my other earbud, put it into its case, and stuff that into the pocket of the seat in front of me.
“You can listen to your music. I don’t mind.”
“I will,” I say, choosing my words and actions carefully.
We haven’t spoken in almost half a year.
For all I know he could have completely moved on.
Perhaps with someone else. I really hope not.
“How have you been?” It’s a wildly generic question for someone I’ve shared some of my most intimate moments and thoughts with, but when time stretches two people apart, you need to start somewhere safe. Somewhere broad.
He nods slowly, his eyes to the floor. It’s as if he’s really thinking about what he wants his response to be.
“I have to tell you something,” he says, shifting slightly, his arm bumping mine.
He leaves it pressed against my bare skin.
He is warmth personified. And he smells like the late-afternoon air of Halloween—sweet and crisp.
I’ve tried so hard to push him and the idea of us out of my mind, but in this moment, I can’t for the life of me remember why I ever needed to.
Not when being around him fills in all the cracks left behind by others.
“What is it?” I ask, staring deep into his eyes. I can’t help but let the smile escape my lips.
John pulls back slightly, studying my face. “I didn’t want to bring up—” He stops to clear his throat before leaning in. “We have a long drive ahead of us, and maybe it would be easier if we ignored the elephant on the bus, but I don’t want to do that.”
“Okay.” I nod, my eyes glued to his.
“It’s been really hard not talking to you.
And I guess…” He stalls again, releasing a breath.
“A lot has happened, and in a way, the break was good for me. It gave me time to figure out things that I really needed to figure out. Even though I saw glimpses of you at school, I missed you. I had to stop myself so many times from coming up to you at your locker or sending you a text.”
“I missed you too.”
There’s a lot more I wish I could say to him, but that’s about as honest as I can let myself be in this moment.
Because while the space might have been healthy, even productive, it didn’t change things.
It doesn’t change who my dad is. What he expects.
It won’t erase the false first impression my father has of John.
So maybe we leave it at that. For now. He missed me.
I missed him. And now we’re on a bus together for the next ten hours.
“It’s kind of funny,” I say. “We met on a bus, and here we are again, on a bus.”
His lips offer a soft, genuine smile. “I’m always infringing on your personal space, aren’t I?”
“Maybe that first time. But not today. I’m really happy you’re here,” I admit.
He looks down, then back up at me, smiling. “So am I.”
It would be so easy to slip into old patterns and take his hand in mine, but I fight the urge. Just because he’s happy to be here with me doesn’t mean he wants to try again.
John nods to my earbud case. “What were you listening to? Or are you not going to tell me, like when we first met?”
“I never did tell you what song it was, did I?” I ask, grinning.
“No. In fact, you said, and I quote, that you don’t share secrets with people who cut in line.”
“Cut any lines lately?”
“Nope.” He smiles. “I earned my spot here today.”
I open my music app, searching for the song from that first bus ride together, and pass my phone to him. There’s something so intimate about giving someone else access to your phone. A palm-sized device that is basically your brain, downloaded.
“ ‘Keep On Loving You,’ ” he reads. “REO Speedwagon?”
I shrug. “It’s a classic. It’s catchy, too. Probably why I absentmindedly started singing out loud.”
“So you admit it, then?” he says, his mouth pulling up into a cute smirk.
“I admit nothing.”
“And what books did you bring?” he asks, as he passes my phone back to me.
Our fingertips find each other like magnets, but only for a second.
My mind flashes back to that New Year’s Eve party at Theo’s.
Me and John on Theo’s bed. John’s fingers exploring parts of me no one else ever had.
An electrical current pulses through me and I beg my heart to regulate itself.
“I thought you’d never ask.” I reach into my bag to pull out the four books I carefully curated to join me on this trip. He immediately picks up the last one.
“The Sun Also Rises,” he reads. “Ernest Hemingway. Fancy.”
“Actually, not at all. It’s super accessible. And it’s one of my favorites.”
“Why?” he asks.
“Read it and find out for yourself.”
“Okay,” he says, glancing at what’s written on the back cover. “I will.”
I select my book, a young adult romance, and we lean into our seats, reading, bumping elbows, sharing snacks and earbuds for most of the ride.
There’s so much I want to say to him but there’s no rush.
For the first time ever, I don’t feel like there’s a ticking clock hanging over our heads.
We have five whole days and an entire city to explore.
A fresh start. A new beginning.
I can’t wait.