14. Dare to Dream, Red
DARE TO DREAM, RED
BEFORE
Lucas gets progressively quieter, the closer we get to the airport.
Brody, with his Rimowa luggage, light-blocking silk sleeping mask, we-must-Uber-Premium because I’m-not-built-for-public-transit, and top-tier noise-canceling Bose headphones, doesn’t notice that the closer we get to LAX, the more catatonic our prize programmer becomes.
Instead, after using his TSA PreCheck, Brody waits impatiently on the other side of the retractable belt barriers.
While I still have TSA PreCheck from when my father would fly me out for luncheons that were really tests, I can’t bear to leave Lucas on his own when he’s examining the carpeted floor as if it’ll unlock the secrets of Fermat’s Last Theorem.
I try to catch Brody’s eye. “We’ll catch up.”
Brody’s brows crinkle when he sees the way Lucas is hunched over. “Dude. You nervous about nationals?”
Because I’m not sure Lucas is even registering the question, I answer for both of us. “I know I am.”
I raise large eyes to Brody, who isn’t stupid, just (sometimes) painfully slow. He keeps his voice light and gives me the barest of nods. “The mile-high club only counts if you’re in the air.”
Since Lucas still isn’t replying, Brody gives me an exaggerated wink before gesturing to the Delta Sky Club sign. I sigh internally; Brody’s parents upgraded our tickets, and I’d been looking forward to relaxing in the relative opulence of first-class life.
As soon as Brody’s out of earshot, I ask, “This is your first flight?”
Lucas’s head goes up and down in a labored way. His voice is wheezy. “It’s not a heights thing. You know I work as an electrician, and I’m fine twenty, thirty stories in the air because I have harnesses and lanyards, ropes and safety belts.”
Lucas places his hands on his thighs and is crouched over as though in pain. I pull him a little to the side, so the people in back of us can pass by more easily.
“Do you want to put your head between your knees?”
He nods at me and proceeds to do just that, squatting down and letting his still longish hair hang between his spread legs.
One of the TSA guards looks over, eyebrows raised, but luckily for us, Lucas looks more like a nerd who can’t deal than a .
. . terrorist. The TSA guys smirks and carries on, wandering to another section of the security area.
“There will be airbags and flotation devices.”
“We’ll be flying over land. Arkansas and New Mexico. Texas oil fields. How will a flotation device help?”
Aurora was like this. Our father flew her out once, deemed her a disappointment, never giving her a second chance.
She was near tears by the time we boarded the plane, openly crying by takeoff.
It took all of my patience to settle her before we landed.
What I more remembered was that facts didn’t matter.
Aurora didn’t care about how safe modern aviation was, in theory.
“Will statistics help? Or is this an illogical, nothing-I-say-will-help thing?”
“This is an absolutely logical fear based on the fact that a 747 weighs 180 tons.” He brings his head up briefly, hazel eyes wide, glasses askew. “That’s when the plane’s empty.”
“I had a very light breakfast.” I smile, but Lucas doesn’t notice.
“That’s the weight of forty elephants. We’re going to be forty thousand feet in the air, ten thousand feet higher than the top of Mount Everest, but strapped into an aluminum canister weighing forty elephants while being told that flotation devices will help if we crash-land over New Mexico.
I know this isn’t a normal way of thinking, but—”
I bend until he’s forced to look at me. “Normal is a distribution.”
He huffs out a reluctant laugh, and several long breaths later, he allows me to pull him up. Still, he doesn’t move to rejoin the line.
Instead, his hands find and grip mine almost painfully.
“We could take a train.”
“From LA to Boston?”
“Or we could rent a car. Road trip. Everyone does a road trip in college, right? My mother will happily make and pack enough pasta and granola to—”
“We’d arrive late and exhausted.”
He lets go of my hands to take his phone out, barely listening to me. He’s already scrolling through car rentals. “My mother’s car isn’t reliable enough, but with three of us driving a rental and splitting the costs—”
I tug his T-shirt with one hand while my other comes up to cup his face and then I kiss him.
I can feel the breath he sucks in as our lips meet, that moment of hesitation before his lips press into mine.
We’re in the middle of the TSA line and everything smells like stale coffee and commercial-grade cleaners, and yet for a moment, none of that matters.
Lucas’s lips are on mine, firm and warm, and the faint stubble of his beard scratches against my delicate skin in the best way.
I register a brief clatter of something, which I’m guessing is Lucas’s phone, as both his arms go around me.
He helps arch my body into his, to better compensate for the height difference, and it is glorious.
I close my eyes as he deepens the kiss. My lips part of their own volition, and our tongues are a delicious tangle that—
“Ahem.”
My eyes fly open, and I push against Lucas’s chest, as if I wasn’t the one who initiated our embrace.
“So sorry,” I stammer, turning to face the middle-aged couple directly behind us.
“Plenty of time for that later,” the woman says, pointing at the gap in the line we hadn’t meant to rejoin. My cheeks are burning, and I can’t even look at Lucas as we both politely speedwalk to close the gap.
It’s not until after we’re through the machines and almost at the sky lounge when Lucas leans in. “Remind me to get anxious more often, if that’s how you help me relax.”
“We haven’t even gone on a real date yet.” I bite the inside of my lip as soon as the words are out, because it sounds like I’m complaining.
“You keep accepting my mother’s invitations to dinner.”
“I like Delilah. And the twins.” We’re almost at the lounge check-in. My lips still tingle from our kiss, and I’m smiling at the attendant, handing over my ID when I say, “And you keep coming to teach Aurora—”
“She has real potential.”
“She’s ten.”
“The twins were never interested. If I had started programming at ten—”
“And you’re always reading to the girls.”
Lucas, who has been half fighting with his younger brothers via text all week, rolls his eyes. “I’d trade Levi and Leno for your little sisters any day of the week.”
“I’m telling them you said that.”
I step to the side because it’s Lucas’s turn to check in. He’s giving me that small ghost-smile when he says, “I’m sorry it’s taking so long to plan our ten-dollar date.”
There’s no guile in his words. Lucas means well.
But my reaction is immediate. My cheeks flame, because this is the first-class airport lounge—where even though not everyone is wearing Balenciaga sneakers, very few people are dressed solely via Walmart’s on-sale rack.
And it’s just not . . . where I’d like to be openly discussing financial constraints.
“Sorry,” Lucas mouths, seeing my face.
I shake my head, because really, what does it matter? Why have I internalized my parents’ standards to judge Lucas? Why do I care what my father would say?
Lucas takes his ID back from the attendant and grabs my hand, as if he has every right to do so, as if this isn’t the first time he’s initiated physical contact.
He’s still holding my hand when we find Brody, camped out in a corner of the lounge, his items spread out across three chairs.
Though Brody gives us his patented eyebrow lift, Lucas doesn’t deign to explain.
I’m the one who breaks the silence. “Hopefully, you’re okay with this—”
Brody barks out a laugh. “Like you’d stop if I had a problem with it.”
“True, but—”
“You nerds know I’m ecstatic about this. Team Lukeali.” He adjusts his headphones and points toward the snack bar. “The meal options are limited, so you guys should probably fill up on snacks.”
Brody gestures lazily toward the free hors d’oeuvres, the all-you-can-eat hot/cold buffets that are standard, and I can see the way Lucas’s eyes go wide.
I squeeze his hand a little, to redirect his attention, hating the flicker of annoyance that I can practically hear my father lecturing me when I stared, wide-eyed, at the first formal function he brought me to: Reacting makes you seem poor.
“It looks great, doesn’t it?” My voice is extra chipper, to punish myself for even silently judging him.
Lucas, as usual, is completely without guile. “I wish I could take some back for the twins.”
He makes no effort to keep his voice low, and even though one of the other patrons looks over, I return the gaze with my chin lifted.
I’m making eye contact with a woman who’s the same age as my mother, who’s giving me the same level of judgment, even as I try to keep my voice light.
“Can you imagine the day when, after we’ve won ICPC and are entertaining competing job offers from multiple hedge funds, we’ll be too rich to care about free appetizers? ”
“Or the day we’ll be the ones providing the appetizers.”
I laugh. “So ambitious.”
“Dare to dream, Red.”
We sample every single dish in the buffet before finally convincing Brody to practice with us.
It’s not until we’re waiting to board that Lucas’s anxiety resurfaces.
He grips my hand and leans against the inside of the airplane after just one step in, and I’m afraid, for a moment, that he’s going to back out.
But he takes a deep breath and follows me, listening to me chatter about the orange juice we’ll be offered, the container of warmed nuts.
“There’s no reason for almonds to taste better because they’re warmed and presented in a glass container.” Lucas is chewing methodically, as if it’s a complicated process that requires all of his attention. I push my container toward him. “It’s so stupid,” he says.