by Box Set
“Let me see your boarding pass.”
He grinned and pulled a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket. 18B. I double-checked mine. 18C. Of all the bad luck.
“What’s the matter? Do I smell?”
I gawked at him. “No.” He actually smelled pretty good, a fresh arctic scent. Which was worse.
He folded his arms. “Sorry to disappoint you, but here I am.”
I yawned. “I’m not… whatever.”
“Did you get my message?”
“What? You mean the lips?”
He laughed. “So you did get it.” Then he puckered. “I’m ready when you are.”
I punched him in the arm, which seemed to please him more than I would’ve liked.
I double-checked my seatbelt and thoroughly reviewed the In-Case-of-Emergency card, which was all drawings and no words.
“See this,” Austin said. “If there’s an unlikely loss of cabin pressure—” He changed his voice to sound happy and automated. “I, as the adult, will put my mask on first and then help you, the child.”
I shot him a dirty look and decided to pretend he was a complete stranger who spoke a language I couldn’t understand. I searched for the emergency exits and wondered briefly how I’d manage to find my way to one and actually hop out as breezily as the cartoon lady if I were in a drug-induced stupor. I caught Artimisha’s eye two seats in front of me. She was checking out where everyone was sitting and she frowned when her gaze landed on me. Maybe because she had to sit next to Mr. Ryerson. I didn’t think anything would be worse than sitting next to Austin King, but that would be worse.
The airplane moved, and a little yelp escaped my lips. I gripped the armrests and took a deep breath. Austin broke out in a hearty chuckle. “We’re just taxying the runway, Donovan. Not much can go wrong yet.”
“Leave me alone.”
“Sorry, no can do. In fact…” He nudged my arm off the single arm rest between us. “That’s mine, too.”
“Fine.” I pulled my arm in around my chest. I decided to keep my eyes focused out the window. The flight attendants did the safety demonstration and I double-checked my seat belt and counted the rows to the nearest exit. I leaned forward to check for the life jacket that was apparently tucked under my seat.
“What are you doing?” Austin asked.
“Checking for my life jacket.”
Amusement flashed across his face. “We’re flying over continental USA.”
“Well… we might… there’s the Mississippi. Or… why do they have life jackets then?”
“In case we get hijacked and are forced to fly over the Atlantic to Africa.”
“What? Does that happen?”
Austin almost looked remorseful. “I’m just teasing you, Donovan. It’s just normal aviation regulations.”
I closed my eyes and prayed Mom’s pills would kick in soon. Thankfully, I was starting to get really drowsy and I recalled what Tim had said about having a strong person to help me out. Austin was a strong person. He’d do. My eyes drifted closed. I meant to lean in against the window, but I suspected the opposite happened. I felt my cheek press against Austin’s large bicep. It was the last thing I remembered before landing in LA.
Chapter Seven
The next thing I knew, someone with minty breath was shaking my arm and speaking into my face. “Donovan! Wake up!”
My eyes fluttered open, and I squinted confusedly at Austin’s face. What was he doing in my room? Then my mind finally clicked in and registered where I was. Row 18 seat C.
I mumbled in response. “We’re here?”
Austin nodded. “California dreaming.”
“We’re here!” Yay! I’d made it without spiraling to my death over Nebraska!
“You’re pretty excited for someone who slept through the whole thing,” he said with a glint in his eye. “Did anyone ever tell you that you snore?”
What? I looked at him aghast, then covered my mouth, which was not so minty. Then my gaze landed on a damp spot on Austin’s shoulder, a darker blue splotch on his light blue T-shirt.
Oh, God. I’d drooled on Austin King’s shoulder! I wanted to die! Why hadn’t I hurled to my death in Nebraska??
I dug through my purse in search of a mint or a piece of gum and hurriedly popped a stray cherry lifesaver in my mouth. Then I busied myself by looking out the window as the aircraft taxied to the terminal. The sun shone brightly in the sky, too bright for early evening, I thought, but then I remembered the time change. We gained three hours, so it was only late-afternoon here. I checked my phone and noted how it had automatically adjusted the time to Pacific Standard.
The plane stopped, and everyone stood and gathered their belongings, but the flight attendants took their time to open the doors, so we all just stood there, some of us more disheveled than others, and tried not to get caught staring.
Austin was the exception. He made no effort to keep me from catching him from staring. Plus he was blocking my way to the aisle, and because of my height, I couldn’t stand straight under the console above, so I shrunk back into my seat. Just as well. I still felt kind of woozy.
“What did you take anyway?” Austin said.
“What?”
“To make you sleep. Sure knocked you out. Why’d you do it? You afraid of flying?”
“No.”
His lip pulled out like he’d caught me in a lie. It wasn’t a lie. I wasn’t afraid of flying. I was afraid of, you know, Nebraska.
I used the time to text my parents and Tim and Lucinda, to let them know I’d arrived safely. Lucinda sent me an animated emoticon showing intense relief. My heart squeezed as I thought of Nate. I shot him a two-word text. Made it. I hoped it didn’t cost him too much to receive it.
I just couldn’t believe he’d forgotten to change his phone plan! I had to give him the benefit of the doubt. He didn’t do it on purpose so he’d have an excuse not to contact me. He was a really busy guy. He just forgot.
I felt myself growing angry about it anyway.
Finally, the bodies started to move and I dragged my carry-on awkwardly through the narrow aisles, the wheels of my small suitcase catching on one of every three seats.
Mr. Ryerson led the way to the baggage claim area and our group corralled around him.
“There’s a bus waiting for us outside to take us to the hostel,” Mr. Ryerson said. “We’ll spend the night there, get our bearings, and in the morning join Ms. Bianco’s creative writing class in the auditorium of Hollywood High.”
Our bags inched their way out of a chute and onto a conveyor belt like a suitcase assembly line. I spotted mine with the purple animal stripes and squeezed through the crowd to pluck it off.
The first thing I noticed as we exited the glass doors on the ground floor of LAX was the warm dry air. I breathed it in—a mix of flowers and exhaust. This was great! I tugged my winter jacket off, the lightest one I owned, and tucked it under my arm.
All around us, up and down the shuttle bus lane, were tall palm trees. More than one convertible zoomed by and onto the exit that led into LA. I felt like I’d flown to a different country, not just a different state.
I craned my neck, looking out the bus window, taking it all in. For someone who’d travel far into the past, I’d never actually traveled anywhere in my own timeline. My parents were busy with their jobs, and there was school, plus the whole marital breakup that had lasted for over a year put a wrench in family vacation planning.
I sat beside Artimisha on the bus, grateful that Austin King hadn’t snagged the seat.
I glanced around, curious as to where Austin had landed. Which other hapless girl had to put up with his egotistical passes? He sat next to Spike, an Asian guy with cool hipster glasses. Austin caught me looking at him and winked.
Winked! I was appalled. I quickly averted my eyes.
“Have you been to California before, Artimisha?” I asked.
“Call me Misha, and yes,” she said, pushing up her glasses. “We
lived in California when I was a kid. My parents were struggling artists, once upon a time, before they moved to the east coast.”
“Oh,” I responded politely.
“I was three when my dad got a “real” job in Boston, so I don’t remember California much. My grandparents live in Ohio, so that’s where we go on vacation.”
“Are you glad to be back here?”
Her eyes rolled back dreamily. “Yes. I’m going to UCLA in the fall. I’ve already been accepted.”
“That’s cool.” I felt a weird and unwelcome sense of jealousy. I’d already been accepted in the BFA program at Boston University. It was what I wanted. To be with Nate and to study writing.
It was what I wanted.
We drove along a busy freeway, not as fast as you would think due to major gridlock, and eventually headed into Hollywood.
“There’s the sign!” someone shouted.
It was visible from the other side of the bus and I had to crane my head down and over to see it through an opposite window.
The big white letters, H-O-L-L-Y-W-O-O-D, sat crookedly propped up on the side of Mount Lee. It originally read Hollywoodland, I did a bit of research, and was only supposed to be a temporary sign to help promote a new real-estate development. Apparently, the development went under, but the sign was such a big draw, the community leaders decided to leave it. The “land” portion was removed because they wanted the sign to represent the whole area, not just the development property.
“So cool,” Misha whispered. I agreed.
The bus turned down iconic roads like Sunset Boulevard and through the intersection of Hollywood and Vine. Palm trees lined every street. People walked around in light and loose clothing like it was the middle of summer. Graffiti tagged many of the businesses and kiosks. There were street musicians and costumed entertainers mixed with a multi-cultural crowd. So different than the serious, darkly-clothed, grown-up vibe of Cambridge!
The bus pulled to the curb in front of our hostel, which was close to the center of Hollywood, and we tumbled out with new world excitement. I practically floated away with glee—I was here! I’d traveled to the west coast and lived to tell about it! I was ecstatic!
“Reign it in, Donovan.” Austin King’s eyes twinkled as he grinned at me. “Your joyful enthusiasm is making the rest of us look like ungrateful snobs.”
I felt my excitement seep out of me. “Am I embarrassing you?” I asked.
“Hardly. I find you incredibly amusing.”
Any remnant of a smile left on my face dropped off at his comment. “So happy to entertain you.”
“Now you’re talking!”
“I was being sarcastic!”
“I know. The amusement never ends!”
I huffed and stormed away, and found a spot behind Mr. Ryerson. He was telling us the schedule for the rest of the evening, something about settling into our rooms, going to a nearby food court for supper and having an early night—but I could hardly concentrate. My mind furiously rewound the pseudo-conversation I’d just had with Austin King. Why did he rile me up so badly? Why couldn’t I just ignore him?
I checked my phone and found messages there from Mom and Luce. Nothing from Nate. He’d been gone for two days and three nights and besides those first texts, I hadn’t heard anything. We’d never gone this long before without some kind of communication. It was like he’d gone to the moon instead of to Europe.
Mr. Ryerson checked us in and handed out the room numbers. I was pleased I was rooming with Misha. She was quiet and level-headed and promised a drama-free experience. And I could re-assure her if need be that I was most definitely not interested in Austin King.
We ate supper at the food court, then our group walked around Hollywood at twilight, and because of the time change, we were ready to hit the hay at a decent hour.
I glanced in Austin’s direction as we approached the entrance of our hostel, and he blew me a kiss. I rolled my eyes, even though I could feel my cheeks flushing. I checked my phone again, as if a message from Nate would magically appear. If only Nate would put in as much effort to get my attention as Austin did. I’d be happy with even a fraction of that.
Chapter Eight
The next morning, after a complimentary breakfast and coffee, we walked to Hollywood High. I hadn’t realized how central the school was or how close it was to our hostel. I wore a denim skirt with a lacy white blouse and strappy sandals. Misha and I had taken some time the night before to paint our toenails and mine were a happy fuchsia. The morning was warming up nicely and I was glad I’d pulled my long dark curls into a high ponytail.
Austin had whistled at me when I stepped into view in the breakfast room. I pretended not to hear him and sat with Misha.
Misha grimaced. “What was that all about?”
“I honestly don’t know. It’s like some kind of switch went off in his brain when I signed up for this trip. He’s been a hound dog ever since.”
“He must like you,” she said wistfully. “Maybe he was waiting for an opportunity to get you away from Nate.”
I frowned at that. “Not possible.”
Misha looked at me with swoony eyes. “It must be so nice to be in love. And,” she added, “Nate Mackenzie is really cute.”
I smiled knowingly. “Yes, it is. And he is.”
Misha sat up straight and blinked at me. “How’d you do it?”
“Do what?”
“Snag an older guy.”
“I didn’t snag him. We… worked on a project together and became friends.”
Misha eyed me as she sipped her orange juice. “Don’t you worry about him being away in college? All those mature and experienced girls. As they say, ‘when the cat’s away the mouse will play.’ I would go nuts. College/high-school relationships never last.”
I was stunned by her sudden verbal diarrhea. My face heated with alarm. My chest tightened and I felt the need to breathe into my napkin. Oh my God. She was right! College/high-school relationships never do last.
No, some must. Surely, some must.
I choked the words out. “Some must.”
Misha swallowed a spoon of cereal before looking me in the eye and finally seeing my torment.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, Casey. I didn’t mean to be so insensitive. You have to excuse me. I don’t have a filter.”
“It’s okay. You have a point. But Nate and I are different. We’re soul mates.”
Misha hummed. “Of course.”
My appetite had taken flight with Misha’s proclamations, but I forced myself to eat anyway. Last thing I needed was to faint in public due to low blood sugar.
Mr. Ryerson stood and clapped his pale, vein-lined hands. “Listen up Cambridge. Time to finish here and get ready to leave.”
* * *
We approached Hollywood High from the north, passing stores that were just lifting their window cages and pulling wares to the sidewalk, and souvenir and ticket hawkers that sought out tourists like us. Mr. Ryerson told us all to decline politely and to keep up. We came to the corner of Highland and Hawthorn and were awed by the famous mural of movie and TV stars who had graduated from this school. A gigantic John Ritter, and others including Laurence Fishburne, Cher and Bruce Lee. It was just so exciting to be here. I shifted my shoulder bag that contained my laptop, phone and personal items, and followed my class inside.
The theater was dimly lit and we shuffled down the slope of the aisle claiming empty seats. Mr. Ryerson went to the bottom of the stairs in front of the stage and greeted a woman I assumed was Ms. Bianco. My eyes adjusted to the dim light and I found myself searching the faces of the students who were lucky enough to go to school here full time. They were dressed more casually than we were and their skin had a sun-kissed glow whereas our group looked ghostly pale from months of winter. Even mine, and I had a slight natural tan.
My eyes locked onto the eyes of a blond girl from their group who studied me as well. I felt like I knew her, but how was that possible? Her ey
es also flashed with recognition, and suddenly I remembered. It’d been a couple years since I’d noticed her in a Cambridge convenience store.
It was when I thought Nate was going to end our friendship after I’d accidentally taken him back to 1860. That would freak anyone out and I wouldn’t have blamed him for saying adios and hightailing it as far away from me as possible. It had been a hot late-spring afternoon and I’d stopped at the corner store for something cold to drink. A girl with a long blond ponytail who was dressed like Sandy from Grease (before she totally changed who she was just to get the guy) had reached for a soda at the same time I did. I remembered she had worn a bracelet with her name. Adeline.
I stared at her profile from across the auditorium. Her face had matured, thinner with higher cheekbones, and her hair was cut shorter and bleached lighter.
I missed the name of the guest pro scriptwriter who was introduced, but he must’ve been well known in LA because a huge hoot went up from the Hollywood High kids.
The man was in his mid-thirties with a slightly receding hairline. He wore a tight, black graphic T-shirt and had tattoos running from elbow to wrist. “Thanks for having me,” he said without smiling. “Let’s get started. Today we’re going to breakdown the classic time travel comedy, Back to the Future.”
I shot a look across the room to Adeline. Her neck craned to look back at me. Had she recognized me, too? Her lips pulled up into a knowing smile. I grinned back.
I refocused on the scriptwriter. “ …The inciting incident, also called the catalyst, is when Marty McFly meets up with Doc Brown in an empty mall parking lot to experiment with a souped-up DeLorean. When the car suddenly disappears leaving only a track of flames, Marty learns the doc was experimenting with time travel.”
His Power Point flipped to the next plot point. “Can anyone tell me what plot event happens to catapult the story into the second act?”
* * *
After the lecture, there was time to mingle and Adeline and I both inched our way in the direction of the other.
