Layoverland

by Gabby Noone

  Why?

  Because he told me I was beautiful and almost kissed me in a virtual-reality version of a freezer aisle?

  I squeeze my eyes shut, but the image of Sadie suddenly pops into my head, an angel on my shoulder nagging me to do the right thing.

  The one piece of information that I want to keep buried, that Caleb killed me, is the thing that will free her to live her destiny. When he realizes the truth, he will be ready to move on, and so can she. Even if her destiny is something as silly as re-creating a Barbie Dreamhouse, it’s still hers.

  Panic pokes at my chest.

  There’s no way I’ll get any rest tonight.

  Emmy used to tell me that if I couldn’t fall asleep, I should get out of bed and do something else until I tired out again so my brain wouldn’t start associating being awake with being physically in bed, thus making me unable to fall asleep in it every night after. She’d heard the tip on some bogus wellness podcast and I’d blown it off, but now feels like as good a time as any to try it.

  Hopping out of bed, I wonder if it’s inappropriate to go walking around in my pajamas. Maybe it’s not inappropriate, but the more apt question is: Do I want anyone to see me walking around in my pajamas?

  Instead I change into the cropped fuzzy black sweater and jeans I arrived in. I’ve been storing them in the empty dresser under our TV, which serves no real purpose other than being the place where I sometimes hide Jenna’s stuffed poodle when she’s not in the room and it’s freaking me out. Since it’s the middle of the night, I figure I won’t get in trouble for being out of uniform.

  I walk down the hall to the elevator bank, and when I mash the up button, an elevator arrives in seconds. It’s empty, so I press the button for the very top level and sit down on the floor, clutching my knees to my chest, hoping that the up-and-down motion will eventually make me sleepy again.

  The elevator keeps going and going, until it stops at the twenty-second floor. The two orange doors split open, revealing Caleb like he’s a game-show prize.

  “Bea?” he says, raising his eyebrows. “What are you doing down there?”

  I stare up at him from the elevator floor and blink several times.

  “I couldn’t sleep.”

  A smile tugs at his lips. I try to keep my face stoic, but I can’t help but smile back.

  “What are you doing up there?” I say from my spot.

  “Couldn’t sleep either.”

  As the doors are about to close, he clutches one with his hand to stop it and steps inside. He sits down next to me. The elevator continues going up.

  “You’re wearing normal clothes,” Caleb says.

  “You’re very observant,” I say with a sidelong glance.

  We sit in awkward silence as we pass two more floors. The energy between us isn’t as easy as when we were in the imaginary supermarket.

  “You know how it sucks that you died wearing basketball shorts and socks with sandals because you never actually really wore them?” I say at last. “Or so you claim.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I get what that must feel like. These are my least favorite jeans. I died on laundry day, wearing the pair of pants that I hate the most. It sucks.”

  Caleb chuckles.

  “They look nice, though,” he says shyly.

  “They make me look like someone’s mom.”

  “I mean, do moms even wear ‘mom jeans’ anymore?” he asks. “I feel like their culture has been appropriated by hot teenage girls.”

  I turn and stare at him incredulously.

  “Are you implying that you think I’m a ‘hot teenage girl’?”

  He gulps once. “Yeah,” he says.

  “Hm. Interesting.”

  “Sorry. Is that weird?”

  “No, it’s okay. You’re allowed to think that I’m hot.”

  “Oh, well, in that case, thank you for your permission.”

  I smile at the elevator doors in front of me.

  “Hey, thanks for bailing me out earlier,” he says, tapping my arm with his knuckles.

  “You were trying to cover for me, so . . .”

  “Well, it was my idea to sneak into the hangar in the first place.”

  “True,” I say.

  The air feels heavy between us, and all I can hear is the rattle of the elevator climbing its way up.

  “Caleb, can I ask you something?”

  “Sure. Anything.”

  That “anything” gets me. He’s too trusting. He doesn’t deserve this.

  “Do you . . . um . . .”

  Do you remember if you hit someone with your car the night you died? Do you remember who it was? More specifically, do you remember that it was me?

  He holds my gaze. His eyes are like two sparkling brown gemstones. Or probably not. I don’t know. They’re probably just two normal eyeballs. Surely the only way to explain that I’m even capable of thinking of a metaphor like that is I’ve had a brain transplant of which I was unaware. Maybe at the hospital where I was pronounced dead, my brain was swapped with that of a horny romance novelist.

  “Do you wanna make out?” I blurt.

  “Yes.”

  This time I make the first move. I lean toward Caleb’s face and he closes his eyes and I just . . . go for it. First, it’s weird, like my lips are two rubber erasers mashing up against another pair of rubber erasers. I don’t how else to describe it.

  Then the kiss just turns good weird. New and strange, but I want to keep going. And going. Then it just feels so good that my brain shuts down and I stop analyzing how it feels at all.

  And after what feels at once like a really long but way too short amount of time, Caleb pulls back.

  “I, um, I . . .” he stammers.

  I place my pointer finger on his lips to signify that he should be quiet. He smiles beneath it.

  Our lips meet again, but now they just feel like they’re made of soft petals (really, where is this coming from?) and move in rhythm. I reach up for Caleb’s neck, then he tentatively puts his hands around my waist, where my sweater crops. He pauses and opens his eyes, startled that he’s touching skin and not the sweater.

  “Is this okay?” he whispers.

  “Yeah,” I say impatiently, then go back to kissing him.

  I slip my tongue inside his mouth. It tastes like industrial-grade mouthwash. But somehow combined with the natural taste of his mouth, it’s not just the same mouthwash I use in my hotel bathroom. It’s delicious. Better tasting than anything I’ve eaten since I arrived here. I kiss him urgently, like I can’t get enough.

  I tug at his T-shirt, exposing his perfectly average abs, and pull him closer toward me and he complies, pushing me closer to the elevator wall in turn. He groans, low and soft. He actually groans. I feel like I’m screaming internally.

  This is so ridiculous.

  This is absurd.

  This is not a thing that happens to me.

  Caleb’s hands travel up my back, under my shirt, and suddenly he’s near my bra. He touches the back straps gently and pauses.

  “Is this okay?” he whispers again.

  “Yeah,” I say, this time slightly nervous.

  I try to remember what bra I died in and fail, even though I’ve been wearing it under my uniform for weeks now. I hope it was a cute one. I’d always imagined the inaugural time my boobs would be touched to be different. For one thing, I wouldn’t have eternally unwashed hair and smeared makeup. I wouldn’t be wearing my least favorite jeans. And I wouldn’t be sitting in a stale-smelling elevator. And I’d be alive.

  Then again, what does it even matter?

  But before Caleb can move his hands any farther, the elevators doors open with a loud ding! and we quickly pull our intertwined bodies apart.

  Standing before us is an old woman
in a tattered nightgown and long, matted gray hair down to her waist. Gladys.

  She makes one sustained wailing noise like an alarm and doesn’t pause to take a breath. I could not pick a more effective sound to pull me out of this moment of passion if I tried.

  “Uh, um, uhhh,” Caleb mumbles, suddenly crossing his arms over his basketball shorts.

  Oh my god. Oh my god.

  My heart sinks. My body’s elusive flight-or-fight response activates again. It chooses flight.

  “I have to go,” I blurt, my voice throaty.

  Just as the doors are about to close, I stand and push myself into the hallway. Caleb calls out after me, but then the doors cut him off and, for the second time in twenty-four hours, I’m running away from him, and my problems.

  33

  Back in bed, I’m exhausted. Again. And the prospect of falling asleep seems even more impossible than before. On top of everything I was already feeling, now I’m full of even more shame and regret and guilt. I watch the sunrise through the hotel room window and think about how if Gladys hadn’t interrupted us, maybe Caleb and I would’ve kept kissing all night, until now, and we could’ve watched this sunrise together like two incredibly insufferable, yet totally normal, seventeen-year-olds. Maybe it wasn’t even Gladys’s fault that we stopped. Maybe she was just a physical embodiment of my own guilty conscience.

  Before my alarm clock even goes off, I get up and change out of my real-life clothes, folding the jeans with a newfound gentleness like they’re a beloved family heirloom. I slip back into my orange uniform and look over at Jenna, still sleeping soundly in bed just as I’d left her the night before.

  On my way to breakfast, I pause by the elevator bank, but choose to take the stairs instead. It’s really what I should be doing anyway since my room is only on the third floor. And maybe part of me wants to preserve my memory of last night, even if it ended up being super embarrassing. Like if I never ride that elevator again, then the doors will seal shut and an alternate reality where Caleb and I keep making out will exist forever.

  Since it’s still so early, the food court is deserted. Breakfast isn’t set out yet, save for a massive tray of coffee cubes. I scoop up a bowlful and take a seat near the window, staring outside and bracing myself for what lies ahead of me.

  Today is the day I come clean to Caleb.

  I swear.

  I swear.

  “BEA?” I HEAR a voice ask.

  I open my eyes and look up at Caleb in front of me, out of breath like he ran here. My cheek is on the plastic tabletop and I can feel a pool of drool next to my mouth. I look around. Food is being served and people are sitting at tables all around us. I had to have been out for over an hour.

  “You all right?” he asks.

  “I still couldn’t sleep.” I sit up and wipe the spit off my face with the back of my glove. “So then I came down here and, I guess, finally fell asleep.”

  “I couldn’t either,” Caleb says with a small smile. “I went to your room just now, looking for you, but Jenna said she hadn’t seen you all night.”

  “Look, Caleb. Last night was . . . fun,” I say. His eyes brighten. “But . . .”

  “But . . .” he echoes, his face falling.

  “We need to focus on your memories right now. No distractions.”

  “That’s exactly why I came looking for you,” he says, a pained look flashing across his face. “Don’t get me wrong. I thought last night was amazing. Even with the interruptions from the suit guy who lives in the air traffic control tower and the old lady screaming at us. But the reason I came looking for you this morning is because, well, I think I just had some kind of epiphany. I remembered something about the night I died. I need to show you as soon as we can get out to the hangar.”

  I stare up at the clock hanging over the center of the food court. It’s 7:45. Fifteen minutes before the lottery. Todd and Sadie are in the morning staff meeting. She’s still supposed to be monitoring my sessions with Caleb, but I don’t know if I can handle an audience during what I suspect he’s about to show me.

  I reach for my train case and look inside. The keys I stole last night are still in there. After all that, Todd didn’t even remember to collect them from me.

  “Let’s go,” I say, grabbing his hand. “Right now.”

  CALEB AND I run straight to the hangar, without even pausing for a golf cart. I know I can’t put this off much longer. I squeeze his hand one last time, knowing that after what he’s about to realize, he won’t ever want to touch me again.

  When we get inside Caleb’s memory, we’re in his car and ahead of us is an expanse of road, surrounded by trees, where his headlights are the only source of light.

  “So I’d left my dad’s house,” he explains, “and I was driving to the hospital in Northwood where they’d rushed my grandma after she fell.”

  My heart sinks at the mention of Northwood.

  That’s my town.

  “And then, this is the thing I just remembered. There was this group of boys . . . and I think . . . I might’ve hurt . . .”

  Suddenly, in the road, as Caleb drives down a hill, a small group of kids who look about thirteen or fourteen appears. One boy has his shirt off even though it’s December and another is drinking out of a gallon-size plastic bottle of iced tea. They look so stupidly fearless, yet so vulnerable. I wish I could reach out and just shake their stupid pubescent bodies and scream at them to not be so confident, especially in the middle of the road.

  They begin to scatter and move toward the trees at the sight of Caleb’s headlights, but the boy with the iced tea just takes another swig from the bottle, casually standing in the middle of the street.

  To avoid hitting him, Caleb has no choice but to swerve into the other lane. But he loses control, the road wet from melting snow, and nearly hits a pine tree, so to avoid it, he swerves again. And again. And again. A stupid luxury SUV-shaped bowling pin sliding down a slippery road. And this is when he swerves right into the middle of the intersection of Huntingdon Pike and Susquehanna Road, where I happen to be driving.

  It was an accident, in the truest sense of the word.

  I have always believed the concept of an out-of-body experience to be complete nonsense, but here, watching myself from the perspective of the driver who killed me, I finally get it. The girl in the car opposite Caleb is me, there’s no doubt about it, but it’s like looking at an unflattering candid photo of yourself that you didn’t know someone had taken. It makes you question everything you thought you knew. Like, I’d always assumed I was an ugly crier. But seeing myself behind the steering wheel, weeping over Emmy, not knowing I’m about to die, my face is the spitting image of a newborn baby.

  I wince into my shoulder, because I know what’s to come.

  My head will make its way through the window and, eventually, I will die.

  Yet, when I see Caleb go headfirst into his own steering wheel, his fancy car’s airbags nowhere to be found, hear the sound of him moaning in pain, I’m not prepared. Not at all.

  I don’t understand how I watched myself die and yet this sight is just as gut-wrenching.

  Even though I knew it to be true, I think a tiny part of me was still secretly holding on to the hope that this was all just a mere coincidence. I look around, desperate for a third, unknown driver who we could project the blame onto, but there’s no one else around.

  I turn toward Caleb. He’s clawing at his mouth with his hand and tears are streaming down his face. He looks like he might be in as much pain as he is in the memory.

  “No” is all he says.

  I open my mouth to say something, but no words come out.

  “No. This doesn’t make sense. I must be getting my memories confused,” Caleb manages to choke out. “Why would you be . . .”

  He blinks back tears and his memory moves in reverse.


  There I am again.

  Past Me, right across from us, my eyes widening at the sight of Caleb’s headlights, staring straight into his eyes and, possibly, his soul.

  34

  Emmy bolted out of the bathroom as soon as the bell rang. I guess she wouldn’t even let the most devastating of personal crises mess up her perfect attendance record. Or, more likely, she just couldn’t stand to look at me for a second longer.

  I started to run after her, but I knew it was pointless. Out of the probably thousands of times I’d pissed her off in her lifetime, she would always end up forgiving me. This time, when she told me she wished she could never see me again, I knew she meant it.

  In the hallway, everyone was staring at her as they walked past. A quiet chorus of whispers traveled along with them.

  At the end of the hallway, Emmy practically ran into Skyler’s arms, but he crossed them before she could. He just stared up at the ceiling, refusing to even make eye contact. She tried to explain, but he just kept on walking. Asshole.

  “Emmy!” I yelled futilely for what felt like the millionth time.

  I thought maybe she would come around then. That she’d realize I was right about Skyler all along and that this whole thing would blow over and she would be okay. We would go home, but not before stopping at the store to buy cheese puffs and sour gummies and all the other nutritionally deficient foods we would fill ourselves with when we were sad. Even though they had no vitamins, they would have made her stronger and she would have recovered from this. Everything would go back to normal as soon someone else’s shiny new personal scandal made its way through the school.

  But Emmy didn’t come around. She just turned, looked at me, and shook her head one last time, vanishing toward the science wing.

  I didn’t run after her a third time. She needed space from me. Maybe for forever.

  So I stormed off, back into the cafeteria, where I’d left my backpack with my keys inside it, and then I ran outside, too determined for any hall aide or security guard to stop me. I got into my car, but I couldn’t make myself drive.

  I just sat there all day, until school let out. Until everyone leisurely got into their cars, laughing and joking with one another, not a care in the world as they blared bad Top 40 songs out of their stereo systems and sped out of the parking lot to go home or to get their nails done before the dance or to just go loiter in a different parking lot.