Page 3 of Leaving the Station

“Are we allowed in here?” I whispered as he pulled the doors open and we began our ascent.

“Probably not,” he told me. “But we won’t get in trouble. I promise.”

For some reason, I believed him.

We were both breathing heavily as we climbed the spiral staircase to the top of the tower.

There wasn’t much to see at the lookout except for the chain-link fence enclosure, but the strong upstate wind blew in our

faces, and the lights of campus shone below. When I turned to Alden, he was smiling, his birthmark hidden in his cheek.

“I used to be afraid of heights.”

It wasn’t what I thought he’d say.

I stuck my fingers into the empty spaces of the chain-link fence. “What changed?”

He joined me, our bodies pressed against the fence, and our gazes focused only on each other.

“I realized I didn’t want to miss out on anything.”

“That’s a good reason.”

And that’s when footsteps echoed from below. Alden froze.

“We have to go,” he whispered.

“You said we were allowed to be here!” I whisper-yelled back.

He didn’t respond, just took my hand and pulled me down the stairs. Somehow, no one caught the two of us sprinting out of

the base of the tower, barely able to catch our breaths as we fell into the grass nearby.

For once, my life felt like a scene from a movie. Alden made me feel like that.

When I snuck back into my dorm, the sun was rising, and I felt invincible.

“Where were you last night?” Rex asked the morning after my unintentional all-nighter.

I was struggling not to fall asleep into my dining hall pancakes.

“What?” I shook my head, forcing myself to look into Rex’s eyes. “Nowhere.”

After almost getting busted in the clock tower, I was exhausted, but I also couldn’t stop thinking about Alden.

Autumn grinned. “Did you meet someone?”

“Oooooh,” Shelly said, leaning forward. “I bet she did.”

“So,” Autumn said. “Who is she?”

I had told them I was a lesbian when we all went to the diner. It had felt nice to come right out and say it. I hadn’t told

anyone in high school, not because I couldn’t, but because there wasn’t anyone to tell. I had friends, but none I hung out

with outside of extracurricular activities.

“It’s no one,” I told Autumn, but as I said it, heat rose in my cheeks.

And Alden really was “no one.” I hadn’t thought of him as someone I wanted to date. Just someone I wanted to know better.

If anyone at Cornell was my type, it was Autumn—they had long curly hair that they tied back with a bandanna and a seemingly

endless supply of floral dresses that were designed for frolicking in meadows of wildflowers.

But Autumn wasn’t the person I’d spent the whole night talking to.

“Oh, she definitely met someone,” Rex said. “Do tell. We all want to live vicariously through your dating escapades.”

“Speak for yourself,” Shelly said, gently shoving Rex.

I could’ve told them about Alden then and there. I could’ve said I spent all night talking to this guy and that we got along

and I could see us being friends, and none of that would’ve been a lie.

It wasn’t anything yet, between me and Alden. It was an... interest, in an interesting person.

“Seriously, it’s nothing,” I said instead. Then, to move the conversation along, I asked, “How was dinner? Was the bisque

everything you dreamt of?”

“And more!” Rex said, and we all laughed.

“Speaking of bisque—” Autumn began, but Rex interrupted her.

“I always am.”

Autumn threw a balled-up napkin at them. “ Speaking of ,” they continued. “I got a job through Cornell dining.”

“And they haven’t even said the best part,” Shelly tells me.

So Shelly already knew what Autumn was about to say. I felt yet again like I’d missed out, or maybe more like I was missing something, a crucial piece of machinery.

But that was silly to think, because they were making an effort to include me, and we’d barely hung out as a group three times.

Autumn smiled and put a palm to her cheek. “You’re looking at the newest dining hall brand ambassador.”

I told her that it sounded like the perfect job for her, and after that, we all searched the campus employment website for opportunities as good as the one Autumn had found.

“This one could be good for Zoe,” Rex said as they scrolled through their phone. “It’s for bio majors: Greenhouse attendant.”

“Wait, I love that,” Autumn said as she leaned her head on Rex’s shoulder to get a better view.

Seeing as the other potential jobs all involved calling alumni and begging for money, I agreed that it was perfect.

I applied, and I had my interview later that day.

“Why do you want to work in the greenhouse?” the manager, Randall, a man who could’ve been anywhere from fifty to one hundred

years old, asked when I arrived in his humid, damp office.

The greenhouse was across campus from my dorm, and even though it was open to the public, I’d never been before, except if

you counted the virtual tour my parents had forced me to take after I’d been accepted. The person who’d been running the tour

had shaky hands, so everything had been a green blur.

I thought about how to respond to Randall’s question, then decided to answer honestly. “I won’t have to interact with people.”

He laughed and combed his fingers through his coarse beard.

“Do you know anything about plants?”

“I mean, I like them.”

He smiled. “Do you know how to care for them, that is?”

Not a single helpful or intelligent plant fact came to me, so what I said was, “They need water and light.”

He laughed again. “How do you feel about sweeping?”

“Great,” I said quickly. “I feel great about sweeping.”

He told me I could start the next day.

“Would you like a tour?”

I nodded, and he led me around the greenhouse, explaining which plants needed special care and which had been the toughest

to acquire. It was nice to pretend I was in a jungle, to be smothered by greenery. It was raining lightly outside, and the

glass ceilings fogged as the drops pinged pleasantly.

I loved it—I felt safe there, like I was outside of my body looking in. Through the greenhouse window, I could’ve been anyone,

my figure obscured by the humid air.

“And this,” Randall said finally, “is my pride and joy.”

He pointed to a large empty pot.

“What is it?” I asked him.

“That, my friend, is an Amorphophallus titanum .” He smiled at me. “Do you speak any Latin?”

I shook my head.

“Look it up when you get back to your dorm.” He patted the side of the pot. “It’s also known as the corpse plant, and it only

flowers once in a blue moon. But when it does, it’s a sight to behold.” He grinned at the plant and his face came alive. “It’s

the largest flowering plant in the world, and it smells like a rotting corpse. Hence its nickname.”

I didn’t want to sound unenthused about this shit-smelling plant that didn’t currently exist, so I just nodded.

When I got back to my dorm, I did as he told me and looked up the definition of Amorphophallus titanum .

It means giant misshapen penis.

Monday, 11 a.m., near Rensselaer, NY

The first morning of the trip speeds by. I should be bored, staring at the overgrown shrubbery lining the tracks, but instead,

it’s almost meditative.

“We’ll be pulling into Albany in about an hour here, folks,” the conductor says over the loudspeaker sometime around eleven.

“If Albany’s your final destination, take a second to gather your belongings. We’ll have a bit of a stopover there—you’ll

have one hour to stretch, grab some lunch, and explore New York’s beautiful capital.”

The train, as it turns out, does not stop directly in Albany, but in Rensselaer, a town situated across the river from “New

York’s beautiful capital.” Rensselaer might not be the seat of the state’s government, but it is home to a large construction debris landfill, which I overheard someone in the café car tell their partner.

After this stop, the train will veer off, eventually leaving New York behind, the place where I’ve spent nearly four of the

longest months of my life.

I thought when I escaped to the opposite side of the country I would be able to change how people saw me, how I saw myself , but it only made me more confused.

When the train stops, I run to a nearby store called Daughter of Egg to grab a snack, and wind up with four family-sized bags

of pretzels. When I make it back to the station, the conductor is shouting, “All aboard,” which I thought only happened in

movies.

The train is now double the length it was when we pulled into Albany, because this is where the cars that originated in New York City and the ones that originated in Boston merge. Which also means there will be twice as many people on the train as there were before.

I drop three bags of pretzels off at my assigned seat.

“Hungry girl,” not–Guy Fieri says.

The sheer skeeviness of the comment nearly melts the flesh off my bones. “It would appear so.”

I don’t tell him I’ll see him around this time as I walk through coach to the café car with the fourth family-sized bag of

pretzels in hand.

The conductor gives his spiel to the new people who’ve joined us, then adds, “Lunch in the dining car will begin shortly.

We’ve got a great menu here, folks. Nothing quite like a meal on the train.”

I hadn’t considered eating in the dining car, but it’s something to do. So, as the attendant passes by, I flag him down.

“I’d like to make a reservation.”

He nods and smiles at me like I’ve given him a precious gift. “Are you in a sleeper car?”

“No.”

“That’s quite all right,” he says. “Only asking because meals come free with a sleeper ticket.”

“I’m in coach.”

“And that’s gorgeous,” he says. He looks down at his notepad. “How does one thirty sound?”

I check my phone—which is on but in airplane mode—as if I have anywhere else to be. “One thirty sounds great.”

He grins. “Wonderful.”

An hour and many pretzels later, the conductor announces that they’re seating 1:30 reservations. When I arrive in the dining

car, an attendant tells me I’ll be at table four. “Have fun,” she says.

“Thanks,” I tell her.

I walk past her to find tables similar to the booths in the café car, except these are covered in smooth white tablecloths.

I locate table four but stop before I get too close.

There are already three people sitting in the booth. There’s an elderly couple facing me, and they smile as I approach. “Table

four?” the woman asks.

“Yeah, sorry,” I say, turning around. “They must’ve given me the wrong number.”

“No no,” the man, broad and frowning, says. “This is how it works on the train.”

“We all sit together,” the woman adds.

I look around, and the rest of the tables are full of people from all different walks of life talking animatedly.

“Um, okay.” I step closer.

The third person sitting at the table is facing away from me, so all I can see is shiny blond hair pulled up in a high ponytail.

“I’m Virginia,” the woman says.

“Clint,” the man tells me.

“Zoe.”

“Zoe!” Virginia echoes. She points across the table. “And our new friend here is Oakley.”

Blond Ponytail—Oakley—looks up and flashes me a smile. Her teeth are perfect—neatly aligned, bright white.

She’s wearing a light pink cable-knit sweater and a gold necklace, and she’s the kind of hot that would’ve intimidated me

in high school, the kind of hot that would grant her automatic popularity regardless of her personality.

“Hi,” she says.

“Hi,” I say.

I sit down in the booth next to her.

Oakley is the exact type of person I’m trying to avoid on the train—someone around my age, someone hot and cool who probably

has specific expectations of me based on how I look. Maybe it’s the only child in me, but I’ve always been more comfortable

with adults than people my own age.

At least I have Clint and Virginia.

I take a deep breath and tell myself that it’s just lunch on a train with people I’ve never met. That it’ll all be okay.

Maybe if I keep telling myself this, it’ll be the truth.