Page 12 of The Getaway List
“You killed me with a world-ending comet. It’s a cop-out if you literally destroy the known universe.”
“Fine. I’ll rewrite it. The comet bypasses earth, but you die valiantly saving orphaned kittens from a fire.”
“Slightly better.”
“Thing is, you got all the kittens out but then as soon as you hit the sidewalk you slipped on a banana peel, right back into the flames—”
“All right, all right. Save it for your first novel,” says Tom.
It’s a joke but something in my chest goes warm at the idea of it anyway. I haven’t thought of myself as a writer in ages—I’ve felt so crammed into the present of my life that there hasn’t been any room left to think about the future. Even just in the past few hours it feels like that future is expanding to new possibilities, or maybe that I’m starting to open myself up to them.
“You know, it’s funny,” I say. “We only wanted to take that class because of Tides of Time, but I think it might just be the first class I’ve actually liked in like—possibly ever?”
“See?” says Tom, ribbing me. “I knew the nerds would get you eventually. Learning can be fun.”
I use the ribbing as an excuse to lean into him as we stop outside of the deli he was leading us to. Tom’s always had a way of drawing people in like this. A quiet magnetism. One that anyone else might use for their own sake, but Tom’s only ever used for the sake of others.
But that ease repelled me so much at the start that I have to think it was the so-called nerdiness that got me in the end. The way he earnestly, unabashedly loves to learn—about everything from what makes people tick to how the universe works. He throws himself so wholeheartedly into books and research that I could never help but want to feel the fringes of that passion, to go on adventures with him because half the fun was watching him thrill at learning something new.
Which is why something that’s been tugging at the edge of my thoughts for a while finally gives itself a voice.
“Hey,” I say quietly. “You never told me why you’re taking a gap year.”
Tom stares at our sneakers for a moment. “I guess because I feel the same as you? Like it’s been four years and I just want to try something new.”
This answer is satisfyingly Tom-esque enough that it eases some of the worry.
“So what are you planning to do with it?” I ask.
“Plan?” says Tom, scrunching his nose in distaste. “I’ll just do it the Riley way. Unmitigated chaos.”
His voice is teasing, drawing a warmth in me that’s almost immediately tainted with something else. That’s not you, Riley. The fact is you and Tom bring out the worst in each other. Always have and always will.
Tom’s gone quiet next to me, too, like we’re both somewhere deep in our own heads right now even though I’m still pressed against his side. We’re creating a small traffic jam on the sidewalk, one that I’m too selfish to correct, because for a moment I can’t pull myself away. Like if we just stay here in this little island of ourselves, maybe we can pretend the forces about to pull us apart again don’t exist.
Naturally both of our phones buzz with texts at the same time. Mine is a text from Jesse, who must have seen my Instagram story.
You’re in NYC???????? You gotta come to our show tonight! 8pm at the milkshake club! Make tom come too!!!
“Oh shit. The Walking JED is playing in the city tonight.”
It’s got to be kismet or destiny or some other grand universal happening, because the one other thing I was certain we wouldn’t be able to do on the list—at least not in this weekend, anyway—was see a Walking JED show. The first time around Tom was going to come down from New York, but at the last minute Vanessa’s filming schedule changed and Tom had to go with her. We’ll never be able to see the specific one that Tom was supposed to see with our friends back in Falls Creek, their first big gig opening for a touring band the winter break of sophomore year, but I have to figure their big-city debut still counts for our purposes.
Tom winces and it feels like a needle popping my figurative balloon before I even know what the wince is for. I’ve been here long enough to know that Tom and I are not quite the people we were when we left each other last—that he’s more reserved than I ever remember him being, and I’m probably a whole lot more existentially confused—but we’ve been sidestepping it easily enough that it was probably only a matter of time before we tripped on it.
“But we don’t have to go,” I say quickly, not wanting to dampen the mood. “I mean—there are a whole bunch of other things we can do on the Getaway List.”
“No, no, it’s not that, it’s—” Tom sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “Jesse texted a few times to say he was moving up here and I’m just realizing I didn’t text him back.”
“Why not?”
“I just—I feel bad. I forgot is all,” says Tom. “He’s probably pissed.”
“Not at all,” I say, showing him Jesse’s text. “But seriously. We don’t have to. We checked one thing off the list already and that’s a damn miracle.”
Tom looks so visibly relieved that I can’t help the itch to dig in a little deeper. Over the last few months Tom’s texts got so sparse you’d think they were intercontinental letters, but I never thought too much about it because he’s always right there if I ever really need him. It didn’t occur to me that he might be so bad at keeping in touch that he’d dismiss texts about Jesse’s entire human form moving to Manhattan.
But I can tell from Tom’s tone he doesn’t want me to dig, and selfishly, I’m not sure if I want to—it’s been so long since I’ve seen him, and who even knows how long until I see him again. The uncomfortable questions can wait.
