The Chaos of Standing Still Page 27

  Nothing.

  I make my way to the opposite side of the party to check the other bed, resigning it to the same chaotic fate, but there’s still no sign of my phone.

  Anxiety tickles the pit of my stomach, and my anger toward Siri comes rushing back.

  I search the rest of the room, opening desk drawers, throwing back the shower curtain, crawling on my hands and knees through the mob, my fingers scouring the dirty carpet. I’m getting all sorts of strange looks, and a few people yell things when they trip over me, but I ignore them.

  I have to find my phone.

  I have to.

  The thought of losing it . . .

  I can’t even go there.

  “Has anyone seen a phone?” I shout, but my voice gets swallowed up by the party. I try again a little louder, eliciting a few pathetic headshakes in response.

  My anger expands, spreading across the room like a blanket of fire. Why won’t these people help me? Why don’t they care?

  I consider calling the airport police and giving them an anonymous tip about the disruptive party on the ninth floor of the hotel. I want these people to all to suffer the way I’m suffering right now.

  “Maybe you dropped it somewhere in the airport,” Jimmy suggests, bending down to talk to me while I’m stretched out on my belly with one hand under the bed. “Why don’t you try Lost and Found?”

  “I didn’t drop it!” I snap, causing him to startle and back away. I immediately feel bad. It’s not his fault Siri is a stupid, stupid drunk.

  Although he does give me an idea.

  Maybe Siri did lose it. Maybe it fell out of her jacket pocket at some point during the night, and someone turned it in to Lost and Found.

  I jump to my feet and sprint out of the room. I remember seeing the Lost and Found office on the opposite side of the concourse while I was following Siri around the airport. It was just next to the international arrivals area.

  By the time I get there, I’m completely out of breath. Panting, I pull on the glass door, but it doesn’t open. I cup my hands over my eyes and attempt to peer inside. There’s no one there.

  My heart is pounding in my ears. I bang violently on the door. I’m about to completely lose it. Actually, I think I might have already lost it. I bounce on my toes as I glance around the empty concourse for anyone who looks official. That’s when I notice the small sign hanging next to the door.

  TO INQUIRE ABOUT LOST ITEMS AFTER BUSINESS HOURS, PLEASE CALL 888-555-2070.

  I open my mouth and let out a silent, desperate scream.

  How am I supposed to call the fucking number without a fucking phone?

  What if it’s not even in there? What if someone stole it from the party? What if they sell it on the black market? They’ll wipe it clean. They’ll erase everything. My apps, my pictures, my messages.

  Lottie’s words.

  Forever unread.

  Forever gone.

  I drop my bag at my feet, turn my back to the door, and slide all the way down to the cold, hard floor. My butt smacks against the tile as I bury face in my hands.

  This is all Siri’s fault. If she hadn’t stolen my phone, this never would have happened.

  No, it’s all my fault. I should have stood up for myself. I should have demanded she give me my phone back hours ago. I should have tackled her to the ground and pried it from her skinny fingers.

  I should have . . .

  “You should have read my message,” Lottie finishes in a whisper.

  I feel tears welling up in my eyes. I close them tight, shoving fists into the sockets. Then I let out a shuddering sigh that shakes my whole body.

  “I should have read your message,” I agree aloud.

  Between Lost and Found

  I don’t know how long I sit there, crouched in a tiny ball outside the Lost and Found office, but at some point, in the darkness of my thoughts, I hear a click clacking sound on the tile.

  I pull my heavy eyes open and see a pair of shoes approaching. They slow to a stop right in front of me, and I squint up into the bright fluorescent lights.

  “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Xander says.

  I can’t quite explain how it feels to see him there. To know he didn’t give up on me. It’s like discovering something you never realized was gone.

  It’s like finding something you never knew you lost.

  And then Xander reaches into his pocket and pulls out two identical phones in two identical cases. He holds them side by side, lining them up so perfectly, it almost looks like I’m seeing double.

  “I thought you might want this back,” he says with a smirk.

  I instinctively reach for the one on the right. I don’t know how, I just know that it’s mine. It’s the one with one unread message. It’s the one that vibrates with Lottie’s energy. Lottie’s words.

  When my fingers wrap around the familiar case, I expect the very touch of it to bring me comfort. To lighten me. The way it’s done for almost a year now.

  But the device feels heavy. Daunting. Like it’s an anchor. Not a life raft.

  I swipe on the phone. I hold my breath. I see the little red number hovering above the app.

  One unread message.

  I quietly exhale. But for once it’s not relief that floods through me. It’s dread. It’s knowing that something has to be dealt with. An unpleasant task you’ve put off for almost a year.

  Xander lowers to the floor next to me and leans back against the door with a sigh. “Did you ever stop to think what the odds are that two people in this airport would have the exact same phone with the exact same case?”

  “I did.”

  “That’s one hell of a coincidence.”

  I nod. “It is.”

  But actually, it feels like so much more than just a coincidence.

  It feels like a conspiracy.

  “Did you also stop to think that if we hadn’t had the same phone case, we wouldn’t be here right now?”

  I nod again, but this time, I stay silent. As I stare down at the blue Tardis peeking out between my fingers, I understand exactly what he’s saying, and, more important, what he isn’t saying.

  If Lottie hadn’t given me that phone case for my birthday, I never would have mistaken his phone for mine when we collided. He never would have texted me to exchange them. He never would have invited me to have burgers with him. I never would have said yes. We never would have surfed in train cars. I never would have been arrested by the airport police. Xander never would have come to rescue me. I never would have tried to run into the snowstorm. We never would have bumped into Siri and Jimmy planning a New Year’s Eve party. I never would have seen that redheaded flight attendant and her two-timing married boyfriend and run from the party. Xander and I never would have played poker. I never would have told him about Lottie. He never would have told me about his parents and his expulsion. We never would have almost kissed.

  A chill runs through me as I turn my head to look at him. He’s already there. His eyes are already waiting to catch mine. To hold mine.

  His lips say, “I’m sorry.”

  His powerful, silent gaze says everything else:

  “I wanted to kiss you.”

  “I understand you.”

  “I need saving just as much as you do.”

  My breathing has slowed to a calm, even rhythm but my heart is still racing.

  “Me too,” I whisper.

  “Do you wanna go somewhere?” he asks, his eyes never leaving mine.

  I nod one more time. “Yes.”

  He stands and offers his hand to me, pulling me up. He helps me loop my arms through the straps of my backpack. Then he slides his hand into mine, weaving our fingers together, holding on tight.

  We start to walk. I don’t know where. But I know it doesn’t matter.

  I think about that night in the tree house when Lottie gave me the phone case. It was the night of my seventeenth birthday. When she dressed up like a Twister board and
I dressed up like a hippie. I think about the way she laughed at my reaction when I opened her gift. She was so pleased with herself. So amused by her own lame joke.

  I think about the day of her funeral. When I slipped the case on for the first time. When I vowed I would keep it on forever.

  To remember her.

  To honor her.

  To grieve her.

  If Lottie hadn’t died, I never would have known Xander.

  Then You Come and Ease the Pain

  “Countries and R,” I say, taking a sip of soda.

  We found a McDonald’s that was still open in the A terminal and are sitting in the food court with a tray of fast food.

  “Russia,” Xander says, taking a bite of his chicken sandwich.

  “Romania.”

  “Rhode Island.”

  “BZZZZ!” I make a buzzer sound. “Rhode Island is not a country.”

  “Have you been there?”

  “No.”

  He smirks. “Then how do you know?”

  I shoot him a look.

  “Fine,” he surrenders. “Your point. New category.”

  Just then we hear a woman’s voice yelling from the other side of the food court, and we both look up to see the couple from the train. Apparently, they’re on the outs again.

  “I’m not eating McDonald’s!” the woman is screeching.

  “Jesus, Miranda,” the man following after her gripes. “One tiny hamburger is not going to kill you.”

  “Oh, so now you’re a doctor?” Miranda asks, throwing up her hands. “First he’s a shrink and now he’s a doctor.”

  “You know I hate it when you speak about me in the third person.”

  “And a grammar teacher.”

  Xander and I turn back to each other and then burst into laughter at the same time.

  “You should tell Jimmy that we found his winning bingo square,” he says.

  I giggle and reach for my phone, before quickly remembering that I don’t have his number. Nor Siri’s. Nor anyone’s from the party.

  A shadow of sadness momentarily passes over me.

  Is that it? Will I never see those people again?

  Despite the fact that Siri pretty much tormented me the entire night. Called me names. Stole my phone. Forced me to go to a stupid party, I think I might actually miss her, believe it or not.

  “Your turn to pick the category,” Xander reminds me.

  I pull a fry from our shared cup on the table and stuff it into my mouth. “Okay. Musical artists and B.”

  “Musical artists like bands or like solo artists?”

  I shrug. “Either.”

  “Bon Jovi.”

  “The Beatles.”

  “Billy Idol.”

  “Bobby Brown.”

  “Bruce Springsteen.”

  I take another sip of my Coke. “The B-52s.”

  “The Bangles!” he says with way too much enthusiasm.

  I nearly shoot soda through my nose. “Are you a fan?”

  Xander nabs a fry. “So what if I am?”

  “They’re a little girly.”

  “ ‘Eternal Flame’ is a classic.”

  “You’re so full of it.”

  “You don’t believe that I’m a huge fan of the Bangles?”

  I shake my head. “Nope.”

  He looks insulted. “I’m the hugest fan of the Bangles.”

  I roll my eyes. “Sure you are.”

  “How much do you want to bet that I know every single lyric of ‘Eternal Flame’?”

  “All the money in my wallet.”

  He regards me suspiciously. “I’m not falling for that.”

  “What do you want to bet, then?” I grab another fry.

  “A kiss,” he says automatically.

  I choke on the fry. “What?”

  “You heard me.”

  “I—” I bumble for words. “You . . . you can’t bet something like that.”

  He shrugs. “I think I just did.”

  “B-b-but,” I stammer, feeling my stomach clench. “That’s ridiculous.”

  Xander bows his head, and I’m pretty sure he’s about to shamefully admit that I’m right. That it is ridiculous. And he’s sorry he even brought it up.

  But instead, he opens his mouth and starts singing.

  Right smack-dab in the middle of the A terminal food court.

  “Close your eyes. Give me your hand . . .” He lifts his head and looks at me with dramatically intense eyes. “Darling.”

  I choke on a nervous laugh.

  He stands and grabs my hand, placing it against his chest as he croons, “Do you feel my heart beating? Do you understand? Do you feel the same?”

  A few tired diners have stopped eating and are looking over at us. My whole body flushes with embarrassment and I bow my head.

  Xander tugs on my hand. “Sing with me.”

  “What?” I cry. “No! You’re crazy!”

  “C’mon. You surfed in a train. You can sing in an airport food court.”

  I rip my hand from his grasp. “I don’t sing.”

  “Then I’ll have to sing loud enough for both of us.” Xander steps onto his chair and continues his serenade. “Am I only dreaming? Is this burning an eternal flame?”

  I glance around anxiously. People are definitely watching now. And smiling. Even some of the employees at the McDonald’s are leaning over the counter to get a peek. If I weren’t so humiliated right now, I would admit that I’m impressed by Xander’s singing voice. It’s actually really good.

  Xander looks down from atop his “stage,” making googly eyes at me. “I believe, it’s meant to be . . .” He drops his voice a whole octave as he adds, “Darling.”

  “I can’t believe how insane you are,” I say. “Get down!”

  “I watch you when you are sleeping,” he sings on in response. Then he turns his gaze on his newfound audience and shouts the next lyric. “She belongs with me!”

  A few of our fellow diners let out a cheer. I sink farther into my chair.

  “Do you feel the same?” he sings passionately, his face scrunching up like he’s in a bad music video.

  “No,” I say. “Definitely not.”

  “Am I only dreaming?” Xander sings loudly.

  “Yes!” I shout back.

  The diners “boo” me. Then a few of them actually start singing with Xander, obviously grateful to have something else to do besides gripe about being stuck in the airport.

  “Or is this burning an eternal flame?”

  My whole body has gone numb. I turn in my chair to see at least a third of the diners join in on the next verse.

  “Say my name! Sun shines through the rain!” they sing in surprising unison, like they’ve been practicing this for months. “A whole life so lonely . . .”

  Xander lowers his gaze back to me. There’s something less silly and grandiose about the way he sings the next line. Like he’s really saying it. Not just making a fool out of himself. “And then you come and ease the pain.”

  I blink up at him, feeling my heart swell. He’s so stupid. And crazy. And fearless. And messy. And beautiful.

  And I want to kiss him.

  We never actually agreed on the bet, but I don’t care.

  I want to kiss him so badly it hurts to breathe.

  “I don’t want to lose this feeling,” he sings as he steps down from his chair and reaches for my hand. This time I let him take it without a fight. He pulls me to my feet.

  “Close your eyes,” he croons with his backup singers. “Give me your hand, darling. Do you feel my heart beating?”

  He places my hand on his chest again. And I actually can feel his heart pounding wildly beneath his Muppet shirt. Like it’s trying to break right out of its ribbed cage.

  Is he nervous?

  Or just hopped up on performance adrenaline? He takes a step closer to me. I can feel his breath on my face.

  “Do you understand?” he sings, his voice growing quieter. His ba
ckup singers follow his lead, winding down to a soft, yet powerful finale. “Do you feel the same? Am I only dreaming?”

  I glance around the food court again. Outside the windows, snow is still falling like New Year’s confetti. Inside, passersby have slowed to watch the impromptu show. The fighting couple is sitting at a nearby table making out again. I turn back to Xander and smile.

  “Or is this burning?” he asks quietly.

  For the very last line, I let my lips part, and I let the lyrics sigh out of me.

  “An eternal flame.”

  My voice is lost inside the food court choir, but Xander hears it. And it inspires the most adorable, delicious, smug grin I’ve ever seen.

  Then he looks at me. Into me. Through me. He still hasn’t let go of my hand on his chest.

  His body leans toward me, and at that very moment I want nothing more than to feel his lips against mine. To inhale some of that amazing, infectious energy he seems to take with him everywhere. Like a carry-on bag.

  His palm rests on my cheek as he steers my mouth to his.

  Our lips brush ever so slightly, sending a thousand bolts of lightning through me at once. My kneecaps liquefy. My body shudders.

  The entire food court breaks into applause.

  And I’m reminded of where we are. What we are. How we ended up here. And every single pair of eyes watching us. My cheeks warm with heat. My stomach tightens with fear. And for the second time that night, I pull away from Xander’s searching, questioning kiss.

  “Beyoncé,” I whisper, stiffening and averting my eyes from his confused expression.

  Xander stammers for a moment, obviously trying to figure out what just happened and how my body language changed so quickly. “Huh?”

  “Another musical artist that starts with B.”

  He rubs his chin, and I can’t tell if it’s out of frustration or something else. But then, just when I think he’s going to give up on me for good, he says with a chuckle. “Well, there’s no way I’m singing any of her songs.”

  “Alligator,” I say, covering my yawn as we make our now fifth loop through the A terminal.

  “Ape,” Xander says immediately. “Are you sure you’re not too tired? We can stop.”