I have to be out of my room at noon, but no one ever said anything about being out of the hotel, now, did they? My plan is to sit in the lobby with my computer, Googling and researching until I figure out some kind of plan.
If worse comes to worst, I might have to call Courtney or Brooklyn and ask them to wire me some money. Although I probably won’t have to do that until I get to North Carolina. I mean, I should have enough for a bus ticket, at least. On the East Coast, you can get a bus ticket from New York to Boston for, like, nineteen dollars. Nineteen dollars! And it seems like prices are definitely a lot lower in the South.
When I get back to my room with the cart, I load it up and then slide it out into the hall. Jace might have been right when he called me high maintenance. Why the hell am I bringing all this stuff to North Carolina? Did I really think I was going to wear all of it? Not to mention that all these bags make it super inconvenient to travel.
Of course, I couldn’t have foreseen the way things turned out—I thought I was going to be driving in a car with Brooklyn, not having to carry all this stuff onto a bus.
But still. I really did not need all this junk, I think, as I make my way to the lobby, carefully pushing the cart in front of me. I didn’t need the matching shoes and earrings for each outfit, I didn’t need all those different colors of nail polish and all those different summer dresses. I could have packed a bunch of shorts and tank tops, which would have fit nicely into one bag. Where the hell did I think I was going for the summer anyway, the Riviera?
The thought is actually kind of disturbing—that I might be the type of girl who has to bring all her stupid, overpriced designer clothes with her everywhere she goes. I don’t even like half of these clothes, and only wear them because it’s what my mom wants me to wear. And I’m not actually even sure if she likes them, or if she just thinks she should like them because they’re expensive.
I push the cart angrily into the lobby as fast as I can, hating the idea that I might be like my mom in any way.
“Whoa,” Mia, the girl from the front desk, says when she sees me coming. “Do you need any help with that?” She doesn’t wait for my answer, just comes over and starts helping me steer the cart into the lounge.
“Thanks,” I say.
“Are you checking out?” she asks. “Because if you are, you can take the cart outside, you know.”
“I am checking out,” I say, pushing a strand of hair out of my face. “But I thought maybe I’d hang out in the lounge here for a little bit, just do some work on my computer before I get on the road.” Hopefully, she can’t tell that I’m going to be spending that time figuring out exactly how I’m going to be getting on the road.
“That’s cool,” she says, shrugging. “Stay as long as you want.” She hesitates a second, then leans in close to me. “Did, uh, everything work out? With that woman?”
“That woman?”
“Yeah, your friend’s mom? She seemed a little worked up. I’m sorry I gave out your room numbers like that, but she said she was going to call the police.”
I smile. “No, it’s fine. You did the right thing.”
She smiles. “Good. Do you want any breakfast? It’s free.”
“Sure,” I say nonchalantly.
She waves at the buffet—it’s small, just some bagels, coffee, and cereal, but still. It’s food. And it’s free.
“I’ll check you out, and just let me know if you need any help with your bags.” She grins again. “We can get one of the guys to do it for you next time.”
She starts walking back toward the front desk, then stops and turns around. “Is your friend checking out too?”
“My friend?”
“Yeah, the guy you were with. The hot one.”
“Oh,” I say. “Yeah, he’s checking out, too.”
I almost say he checked out last night, but then I catch myself. Probably doesn’t give the best impression if I checked in with a guy, and then he left in the middle of the night. I mean, talk about sketchy. She’ll probably think I’m some kind of prostitute or something. I’m not even sure they have those in the South. Isn’t it all religious and conservative down here?
She disappears back behind the front desk, and I sit down and open my laptop.
After about twenty minutes, I’m starting to feel a little bit defeated. Yes, there are some cheap bus tickets, but the next two buses aren’t leaving the station until three o’clock. Which means I’ll have to find something to do here for the next four hours.
And then I’ll have to figure out a way to lug my bags all the way to the bus station. Either that or spend money on a cab.
And then, when I get to the bus station in North Carolina, I’ll still be thirty minutes away from my apartment in Creve Coeur. Which means another taxi. Not to mention that the bus doesn’t get to North Carolina until nine o’clock tonight, and I can only pick up the keys to my apartment at the rental office between eight and eight. Which means I’m going to have to find a place to stay in North Carolina for the night. Which means I might have to sleep in the bus station.
I take a deep breath in, then search some different bus lines, but it’s all the same story. Okay, I think. I can sleep in the bus station. It’s not that horrible, when you really think about it. People do it all the time. And who says I actually have to sleep? I could just stay up all night, read a book or something. Not that I have a book. Why didn’t I bring a book? And of course I don’t have a phone, so if there were some kind of emergency, I’d be in trouble.
But I’m sure they have pay phones there. Maybe I could call Brooklyn or something, and get her to call me right back. Then we could stay up all night talking. I should probably call Brooklyn anyway. She’s got to be worried about me. She’s probably tried calling me like three million times by now.
Okay. I can do this. It’s really just about changing your mind set, about not looking at the negative side of things. When you think about it, is a day or so of travel challenges really going to make me scrap my whole plan? I’ve come so far already. I just need to figure out the safest way to do things without spending a lot of money.
Just take it a step at a time, I tell myself.
Okay.
Step One.
Get from here to the bus station.
I could take a cab, but that definitely wouldn’t save money.
And then I have a brilliant idea. Why not take a bus to the bus station? There has to be a city bus that goes there, right?
I Google the Savannah city bus schedule, my fingers flying over the keys. The nearest bus stop is about half a mile away. And the next bus to the Greyhound station comes in twenty-five minutes. Not bad. So I can walk the half mile to the bus stop, take the bus to the bus station, then hang out there until it’s time to go to North Carolina. Of course, I have all my bags. And it’s like, almost ninety degrees out.
But whatever. How bad can it really be? A little exercise will invigorate me!
Cheered by my new plan, I grab a bagel from the restaurant, and slather it with peanut butter. While I’m eating it, I take two cartons of orange juice and put them in my purse. I’m going to need the hydration.
“Bye!” Mia says as I wheel my stuff through the lobby. She’s smiling, but her face turns doubtful as she looks at the big pile of suitcases I have. “You need some help?”
“No thanks!” I say brightly, and continue wheeling. I don’t want her to ask any questions. The last thing I need is for her to figure out that I’m going to be wheeling my bags half a mile in this heat. She’d probably think I’m crazy.
“Okay,” she says. “Well, thanks for staying with us! Good luck on the rest of your trip!”
“Thanks,” I say, wondering if she’d still be wishing me luck if she knew I was going to be stealing this luggage cart so that I can wheel my stuff to the bus stop.
Probably not, but I decide to pretend she still would. If there’s one thing I’m going to need, it’s luck.
Sunday, June 27, 11:37 a
.m.
Savannah, Georgia
I’m trying my best not to speed. I really am. The last thing I want is to get a speeding ticket or get into an accident. But I’m so anxious to get back to Peyton that I can’t help it. I keep the car at five miles over the speed limit, reminding myself that speeding isn’t going to get me there that much faster, and that if I get pulled over, it’s going to take even longer to get back to Savannah.
By the time I pull into the parking lot of the Residence Inn, it’s all I can do to keep from jumping out of my skin. Checkout isn’t until noon. So I’m betting she’s still here. Where else would she be? She has to still be here.
The thought that I’m going to miss her sends me into a panic, and I run from the parking lot and across the street to the hotel, jumping up onto the curb, rushing through the automatic doors and down the hall to Peyton’s room. But when I get there, the door is open, and two women in maid uniforms are stripping the bed.
“Can I help you?” one of them asks, turning around and looking at me.
“Um, no,” I say. I head back down the hallway and into the lobby, looking around. Think, I tell myself. Where would she have gone? To the airport? The bus station?
“Hey!” the girl at the front desk says. Mia, I think her name is. “You’re back!”
“Yes,” I say. “I’m back. I’m, um, I’m looking for my friend.”
“The girl you were with?” she says. “She left about half an hour ago.”
“She left?” My heart sinks. “She didn’t . . . I mean, did she tell you where she was going?”
Mia shakes her head. “No. But she stole one of our luggage carts. I don’t care or anything, I mean, I’m sure she had her reasons. But just to let you know if she doesn’t return it, they’re going to charge your credit card three hundred dollars.”
“Thanks,” I say, my mind racing.
If Peyton took one of the luggage carts, it means that she’s probably walking somewhere. But where would she go?
“How far away is the bus station?” I ask Mia.
“Five miles, maybe?” she says. I guess Peyton could have tried to walk five miles, if she was desperate. “But there’s a bus stop about half a mile from here.”
“Can you tell me how to get there?”
She pulls a piece of paper out from behind the desk and draws me a little map, giving me directions to both the bus stop and the bus station itself.
“Thanks,” I say. “I owe you one.”
“No problem,” she says. “Good luck.”
I’m going to need it.
• • •
I’m back to my car in a flash. Hector’s sitting in the front seat now, his ears perked up like he knows something’s going on.
“We’re going to find her, boy,” I say as I put on my seat belt. “Don’t worry.”
I pull out onto the street and head for the bus stop. It’s relatively easy to find, although a lot of the way is uphill. I can’t imagine how hard it would be to push a whole cartful of suitcases in this heat.
I see the bus stop sign at the end of the street.
But when I get there, there’s no sign of Peyton.
I park the car and get out, looking up and down the street, searching for any sign of her. But there’s nothing. I walk into the two cafes that are on that road, scanning the tables for Peyton. But she’s not there.
I get back in the car and lean my head against the seat.
Hector does a little whine next to me, and I reach over and scratch his ears. “What do you think?” I ask him. “Where’s Peyton?”
He wags his tail at the mention of her name.
I sigh.
I don’t know what else to do. Maybe I should call Courtney. Or Peyton’s parents. Maybe I should drive to the airport. Or the bus station.
I put my car into drive and start to head toward the bus station. But I don’t have far to go.
Because a few blocks over, I find Peyton.
She’s sitting on the curb, crying.
Sunday, June 27, 11:49 a.m.
Savannah, Georgia
I missed the bus. I walked all the way here, pushing that stupid cart that I stole, and when I turned the corner, I saw the bus pulling away from the station.
I was so far down the street that I couldn’t even run after it. It was kicking up dust, groaning on its wheels and emitting exhaust into the June heat. I stopped pushing. I leaned my head against the cool metal of the luggage cart.
Then I pushed it to the side of the street, walked into the café that was on the road, and bought a bottled water. I wanted to sit inside for a little while, because I was hot from the walk, and the air conditioning felt nice. But I was afraid someone was going to steal the stuff on my luggage cart. I’d already seen a few people pass by on the street, and look it up and down, like maybe they were thinking of waltzing off with it. And the stupid thing was too big to bring in with me.
So I headed back outside to guard my stuff. No one seemed to know when the next bus was coming, but they did tell me where the bus station was.
So I decided to walk.
I got about three blocks before I realized it was time to sit down and have a good cry.
And so now here I am. Sitting here. Having a good cry. I told myself it was only going to be for a few minutes, but I think I’ve definitely been here for at least ten or so.
There’s the sound of a car pulling up to the curb, and I look up, half expecting to see a cop or a meter maid or someone standing there, telling me to get the hell off the street.
But it’s not a cop.
And it’s not a meter maid.
It’s Jace.
He’s stepping out of his car and walking toward me. His hair is all rumpled and he’s wearing the same T-shirt and track pants he had on last night and there’s a little bit of stubble darkening his cheeks. He looks, as always, amazing.
“What are you—” I start.
“Stop,” he says, and shakes his head. “Don’t talk.” He sits down on the curb next to me.
“Don’t talk?” I repeat dumbly, even though he just told me not to.
“No. I mean, yeah, you can talk, but—” He shakes his head again like he’s trying to clear his thoughts, and then he stares down at the pavement. He’s so close that our knees are touching. “I need to say some things,” he says, moving his eyes up so that he’s looking right at me. “And I don’t want you to say anything until I’m done.”
My pulse starts to quicken. “Right,” I say. “Now you want to talk and I’m just supposed to—”
“Peyton,” he says, putting a finger on my lips. “Please.” His eyes are on mine, and he’s looking at me so longingly, like he really needs to say what he came here to say. So after a second, even though I’m mad, I nod.
“I should have never stopped talking to you the way I did,” he says. “It was stupid. I was stupid. I found out that you hadn’t told me about your parents, and I freaked out.” He sighs. “It was my stupid pride. I let it get in the way, and I’ve been paying for it ever since.”
“Why?” I ask.
“Why what?”
“Why did you freak out?”
He hesitates for a second, and I hold my breath, praying he’s going to say what I want him to say. “Because I was falling in love with you.”
Electricity zings through me, and my heart leaps. “If you were falling in love with me, then why did you stop talking to me?”
“I told you. It was my stupid pride. I . . . I was afraid.” His eyes are still on mine, and whatever’s passing between us is so intense I’m having a hard time looking at him. “I was afraid that maybe it was real. And I was looking for any excuse for it not to be. And so as soon as I found an out, I just took it.”
“Why, though?” I ask. “Why didn’t you just ask me about it?”
“Why didn’t you just tell me?”
I think about it. Really think about it. “Because saying it out loud would have made it true,” I say. “An
d then I’d have to think about all kinds of other fucked up stuff, like my mom’s issues with money and how my parents were still both living in the same house, not even thinking about how that might effect me.”
He nods, then finally pulls his gaze from mine. He looks down at the ground. Tears fill my eyes, remembering the betrayal, remembering how much I did—do—love him. I want him to tell me we can forget it, that we can move on, that we can just be together. But I know it’s not that easy.
“We can’t do that to each other,” he says finally. “We can’t go around keeping secrets like that.”
“I know,” I say. “I think . . . I mean, I’ve always known that. I think that’s maybe why I told you about my mom and the whole credit card thing.”
He nods, then kicks at some gravel on the road with his shoe. “So now what?”
“I don’t know.” I shake my head. “It’s too . . . it just seems like every time we’re together, everything gets so complicated.”
He takes a deep breath. “So the question is, can you deal with complicated?”
“We live so far away,” I say. I feel the familiar twinge of hope stirring in my chest, and my first instinct is to squash it, to tell him that there’s no way we can work out, that we don’t make sense, that we’ve screwed everything up way too much to ever go back.
I look away, squinting in the sun. I take a deep breath in. And then I remember something. Something I haven’t told Jace. “I wasn’t really going home,” I say. “I was going to trick you into taking me to North Carolina.”
His eyes widen in shock, and then he nods. “It’s that bad at home, huh?”
I nod.
“So maybe . . . maybe you can stay in Florida for the summer,” he says.
“Right,” I say. “Like my parents are going to go for that.”
“How can they really stop you?” he asks.
“Where would I stay? I have no money, no job . . . ”
“Well, you could maybe stay with me,” he says slowly. “Or Courtney. You know her dad is going away for the whole summer on his honeymoon.” He gets a thoughtful look on his face as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his phone.