The Chaos of Standing Still Page 12

  “Exit here for all A gates.”

  The doors open and I scoop up my backpack.

  “No!” Xander protests. “Just one more stop.”

  “But the next stop is baggage claim.”

  “The train has to turn around again, right? We’ll just ride it back to the A gates. Plus, you still have two hours before your flight.”

  “The doors are closing. Please keep clear and hold on for departure to terminal, ground transportation, and baggage claim.”

  With a sigh I set my bag down at my feet. “Okay, one more stop.”

  Lottie ended up winning over six hundred dollars that night. It turned out she was a natural at poker. Not that I was surprised. Lottie was a natural at most things. It also probably didn’t hurt that she blatantly flirted with every guy she was in a hand with. I watched her convince a six-foot-four dude with multiple piercings that her crappy two-seven offsuit was something to be afraid of simply by the way she pursed her lips as she bluffed up the pot.

  It seemed like regardless of which cards she was dealt—rags, pocket aces, high kickers, low kickers—it never mattered. She always won.

  Just like in life.

  I sat behind her for three hours while she robbed every single person at that table of their hard earned cash, including a CEO type in an expensive-looking suit. Some of them griped and complained, some of them were just too enamored to be upset.

  When she finally decided she’d had her fill, she scooted ceremoniously back from the table and announced, “Well, boys. This was fun. Next time bring more money, okay?”

  I cringed at the jab. Even though I had come to relax somewhat since we’d arrived—convincing myself that no one was actually going to die here—I still didn’t think it was a good idea to outwardly insult this lot.

  But I was also overjoyed to be leaving.

  Her departure was met by a chorus of protests and grumbles. I couldn’t quite figure out if they wanted her to stay so they’d have a chance to win their money back, or because Lottie was infinitely nicer to look at than the rest of the players.

  Probably a little of both.

  “Sorry,” she offered with a playful cock of her head. “But I have to get up really early tomorrow.” She faked a yawn. “And I need my beauty sleep if I’m going to look this good for you next time.”

  Their grumbles quickly morphed into appreciative chuckles.

  The single rack of chips she’d sat down with had multiplied by three. She could barely even carry them all. She handed one to me and we took them to the cashier.

  “You did good, princess,” he said, counting out Lottie’s chips. “Beginner’s luck?”

  Lottie just winked at him. He laughed and counted out eleven crisp hundred dollar bills, sliding them across the table in the same way Lottie had done just hours ago.

  Lottie smiled, folded the stack twice, and stuffed it into her bra.

  “See you boys next time!” she called out as we headed for the door. But before we could reach it, one of the players—an early-twentysomething guy with light brown hair and matching facial scruff—gently caught Lottie by the hand.

  “Hey,” he said as he pushed his dark sunglasses onto his head. Underneath, his small green eyes sparkled the way only Lottie could make eyes do. “That was impressive.”

  She raised her eyebrows cockily. “Thanks.”

  “I was thinking you could probably teach me a few things.”

  Lottie didn’t miss a beat. “I probably could.”

  “Do you offer private lessons?”

  She twirled a lock of hair around her finger. That was her move. Her signature move. The flirting, the eye batting, the winking, the lip biting, those were just everyday Lottie. She used those on everyone. But this. This she reserved for only the boys she was interested in.

  My gaze darted suspiciously back to the boy. I took in his short hair with the tiny gelled spikes in the front, his thick eyebrows, his black-and-white-checkered shirt with black skinny tie. He was certainly more innocuous-looking than the rest of these guys, but that didn’t make me distrust him any less. Don’t all the best wolves know to dress in sheep’s clothing?

  “I might have time to give you a private lesson,” Lottie replied suggestively.

  The boy smiled. A devilishly handsome grin. Even with the dim lighting of the room, I could see his incisors flash.

  “Give me your phone,” she commanded.

  He reached into the pocket of his skinny jeans and produced an oversize, top-of-the-line, latest-model device. Lottie grabbed it, swiped it on, and began typing furiously. She handed it back to him. “There you go.”

  Then she turned to leave. And I went with her.

  “Wait,” the guy said, running to catch up with us in the hallway. “What’s your name?”

  “Where’s the fun in telling you that?” Lottie said.

  “But how will I know which number is yours?”

  She continued walking. Without turning around, she called over her shoulder, “I’m the only girl in your phone that you haven’t slept with yet.”

  I didn’t miss her addition of the word “yet.” And I doubt he did either. It filled me with a sense of dread as I followed my best friend past the towering bouncer and into the street.

  “Wanna hear something crazy?” Lottie asked giddily as she danced and twirled down the alley toward the train station.

  “Always,” I muttered with a sigh.

  “I just won six hundred dollars playing poker!”

  “Lottie,” I said, nervously clenching and unclenching my fists.

  She stopped dancing and looped her arm through mine. “Yeah?”

  “Promise me you won’t see that guy.”

  She played innocent. “What guy?”

  “The one you just gave your number to. I have a really bad feeling about him.”

  It was the truth. I did have a bad feeling about the guy. But I had a worse feeling about Lottie. And the kind of trouble she was capable of getting into. Especially with a guy who hangs out in seedy underground poker clubs.

  “He was harmless,” Lottie said with a giggle. “You just don’t understand how these things work. Police officers and lawyers play in these kinds of games. None of those guys were dangerous.”

  But I wasn’t comforted. “Just promise me you won’t see him.”

  She rested her head on my shoulder as we walked. “Oh, Ryn. You know I never make promises I can’t keep.”

  Thirty minutes later Xander and I have surfed the Denver International Airport train route—from baggage claim to C gates—four times. We’ve started to memorize every twist and turn, every piece of uneven track, every programmed acceleration and deceleration, shifting our bodies to compensate for them as easily as a real surfer reads the waves. Neither of us has touched a handrail in two complete loops, despite our mutual efforts to throw the other person off-balance.

  My legs are beginning to ache from all the crouching. My back is sore from all the leaning. But I’m having too much fun to stop. Plus, if I give up now, I lose.

  As we approach the B gates for the fifth time that day, through the windows, I can see two people waiting on the platform outside. The doors open, and I nudge Xander, motioning toward them. He turns, and I immediately see the recognition on his face.

  It’s the same couple we saw earlier in the shopping rotunda. The one that was in the middle of that huge fight over a back massager. Or maybe it was over the girl selling the back massager. Regardless, the fight seems to be just about the last thing on the couple’s mind now.

  The doors open and they stumble inside, kissing and groping each other with the eagerness of two teenagers whose parents just left for the weekend. They seem to be completely oblivious to the fact that there are other passengers on this train. The man slams the woman up against the far window, pushing his whole body into her and running his hand up and down her side.

  So much for Jimmy’s bingo card.

  Xander and I exchange a flabb
ergasted look. Both of us completely unsure what to do. Should we change cars to give them some privacy? What if they start having full-on sex right here? I guess that’s one way to pass the time.

  How many babies are born nine and a half months after historic snowstorms?

  The musical interlude plays over the speaker, pulling both of our focuses toward the ceiling. “The doors are closing. This train is departing. Please keep clear and hold on for departure to all A gates.”

  The woman lets out a gasp in response. When I look over, her head is tipped back and the man has his face buried in her neck.

  Xander covers his mouth, trying not to laugh aloud for fear of interrupting them. But seeing him fight so hard is making it even harder for me. I bite my lip, but it’s not working. The uncontrollable giggles are building up. Xander shoots me a warning look.

  Don’t do it, his eyes plead. If you lose it, I’ll lose it.

  The first snicker erupts, pushing its way out of my clenched jaw in the form of a ridiculous-sounding snort. Xander lunges at me, pressing his hand against my mouth, trapping the laughter inside.

  Meanwhile, on the other side of the train, the couple is kissing again, moaning so loudly, it’s echoing in my ears.

  Xander and I are both so focused on not breaking into fits of uncontrollable laughter, that neither one of us is prepared for the train’s next shift. The one we both know so well by now.

  The automated brakes kick in, lurching the train back, and both of us forward. Then suddenly, we’re flying, out of control, foot over useless stumbling foot, heading right toward the kissing couple.

  “Please hold on. This train is approaching the A gates.”

  The woman lets out another ridiculously loud gasp.

  At the exact same moment, Xander and I both reach for the nearest handrail, admitting mutual defeat, but stopping ourselves just short of a very awkward collision.

  We breathe out a synchronized sigh of relief just as the doors open and two uniformed police officers step inside.

  We Go Down Together

  The officers who board the train look more like a comedy duo than authority figures. One of them is tall and skinny with a slight comb-over, and the other is short and stout with unidentified crumbs on the front of his shirt. Their uniforms say AIRPORT POLICE over the breast pocket.

  What’s the difference between airport police and regular police?

  I run my fingertips over the outline of the phone in my back pocket, vowing to wait until the police have arrested the gyrating couple before I get an answer to my question.

  “All right, you two,” the tall, skinny officer says. “You’ve had your fun. Time to come with us.”

  I watch the couple for a reaction. They’ve thankfully stopped molesting each other and are now standing side by side, hands clasped tightly like they’re holding on to each other for support. I fully expect to see shame reflected all over their faces and remorse in their eyes. Being busted for getting it on in an airport train must be embarrassing.

  I’m surprised, however, to see their heads are not bent in disgrace. They’re not resigning to their fate. They’re actually looking at me. But I can’t, for the life of me, figure out why.

  The tall officer takes another step into the almost empty train. Then another. I watch dumbfounded as he walks right past the couple and heads in our direction.

  “Run!” Xander yells before scooping up his bag from the floor and darting out of the still-open train doors. One of the officers—the pudgy one—takes off after him.

  Run?

  What is he talking about?

  What is happening?

  “I think you’re getting arrested,” Lottie says unhelpfully.

  Just then a cold hand wraps around my arm. The tall officer roughly grabs both of my wrists and secures them together in front of me with a plastic zip tie.

  “Oh, don’t worry. I know how to get out of those,” Lottie says.

  “I think there’s been some kind of mistake!” I blurt out to the officer, my first words since he boarded the train. “I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear!”

  The officer points to a tiny black ball affixed to the ceiling of the train. “Cameras don’t make mistakes. You’ve been riding this train for almost an hour. That’s what the boss calls ‘suspicious activity.’ ”

  My eyes dart to the couple. They’ve fled the scene. Were they out of the camera’s range? Did the police not get a good look at what was happening? I simply can’t bring myself to believe that I am the bigger criminal in this scenario.

  I look to the place where Xander once stood. Or rather, surfed. He’s, of course, gone too. A current of rage streams through me. I can’t believe he just left me! I can’t believe he just abandoned me to take the rap for his stupid game. It wasn’t even my idea. I didn’t even want to do it! I was peer-pressured into it.

  “I don’t think you can consider it peer pressure if I’m dead,” Lottie argues.

  It’s the third remark of hers that I’ve refused to answer. Because the truth is, I’m pissed at her, too.

  Lottie and her fucking bravery. Lottie and her fucking sense of adventure.

  She was always trying to get me to do things I didn’t want to do. She was always trying to convince me to join her crazy schemes. And this is the very reason I always refused.

  Rules are made for a reason. Automated recordings telling you to get off trains are recorded for a reason!

  Xander and Lottie are exactly the same. They both tried to push me out of my comfort zone. And then, once I was standing on the other size of that line, freezing and scared to death, they both abandoned me.

  Well, fuck them.

  “Ryn Ryn,” Lottie tries gently, but I slam a mental door on her face.

  The officer gives me a tug and beckons for me to follow him out of the train.

  “That’s my bag,” I say quietly, remarking at how tiny my voice sounds. It’s a wonder he can even hear it at all, but he bends down and grabs my backpack from the floor before nudging me in the back.

  I walk out of the train with my head bent low. Ironically, the very same look I searched for on the faces of that couple is now plastered on my own features.

  Shame.

  We ride the escalator up to the A terminal. I almost have to laugh. I finally made it back to the A gates. I just didn’t expect to be in chains when I got here.

  When we reach the concourse level, the second officer appears next to us, huffing and puffing. “Couldn’t catch the other one,” he wheezes. I scan the crowd for Xander, but it’s like trying to find a single snowflake in a drift.

  The officers escort me up another escalator until we’re on that upper level that overlooks the concourse. They walk me to an awaiting golf cart and seat me on the backward-facing bench. As we drive, the human river miraculously parts to make room for us. The two pseudocops and their teenage delinquent. The world passes by me in reverse, making me feel like my life is playing on rewind. Journeying back to the beginning of this day.

  Oh, how many things I would do differently.

  I wonder where they’re taking me. Are they kicking me out into the snow? Are they tossing me into airport jail and throwing away the key?

  Do airports have jails?

  I’ve never craved the touch of my phone as badly as I do right now. If my hands weren’t zip tied I would reach into my back pocket and rip it out. I would type and type and type until this nasty, sick feeling in my stomach subsides.

  I would answer every question in the universe until there were no questions left.

  Until I reached the end of the Internet.

  Until I had all the answers.

  Until I could finally understand why everyone abandons me. Why, no matter what happens, in the end it’s always me left alone to fend for myself.

  “I’m not going to abandon you,” Lottie said to me for the fifth time. “I’m going to be here the whole time.”

  “What if I get caught?” I asked, eyeing the
tube of lip gloss in my hands. It wasn’t even a shade I would wear. What was the point of stealing something if you were never actually going to use it?

  “Then we go down together,” Lottie vowed. “You’re my best friend. I would never leave you high and dry.”

  I rolled the tube back and forth between my fingers, feeling every groove, every curve of its surface. “I don’t understand,” I told her. “It’s only five dollars. If you want me to have it so badly, I’ll just buy it.”

  Lottie sighed. “That’s not the point, Ryn.”

  “What is the point, then?” I was really hoping she would tell me. I was really hoping she could finally make me understand why I was standing in the middle of a drugstore aisle, preparing to stuff a tube of lip gloss down my pants.

  “The point is, it’s exhilarating! The point is, it makes you feel alive!”

  “I already feel alive.”

  Lottie shook her head definitively. “No, you don’t.”

  “How do you know how I feel?”

  “Because I know you, Ryn. You’ve never done anything exciting in your entire life.”

  “I hang out with you.”

  She gave her scarlet hair a playful toss. “Well, that’s true.”

  For a moment I forgot why we were here, what I was about to do. For a moment I got sucked into Lottie’s sparkling atmosphere. Where everything glows. Where no one gets in trouble. Where the world is tinted pink.

  I felt my face break into a smile.

  “So,” she said, regaining her seriousness. “Let’s go over the plan again.”

  “I know the plan.”

  She crossed her arms like she didn’t believe me. “Tell me, then.”

  “You’re going to distract the cashier—”

  “The cute cashier,” she corrected.

  I shot her a look. “You’re going to distract the cashier. When I hear you say the magic words, I’m going to stuff the lip gloss down my pants, go to the register to purchase a pack of gum, and then meet you outside.”

  I waited for her approval. She appeared satisfied with my account of her Great Lip Gloss Heist. “Good.”