Page 82 of Leaving the Station

“I’m gonna go.”

I pushed my seat back and the legs scraped against the floor with a terrible sound that paused most of the other conversations in the room.

None of my actions or thoughts aligned. I had left, but I wanted Autumn to come after me. She didn’t, which was more than fair.

I couldn’t stop running away—from diners, dorms, and well-meaning people.

It was useless, though, because I was really trying to run away from myself.

Out of habit, or as a distraction, I glanced down at my phone.

I had eleven missed calls from Alden. The most recent one was from thirty minutes ago.

I ignored those in favor of my dad’s text, which meant my situation was extremely dire. It was late in Seattle, though not as late as here, and he was asking for my flight information.

I didn’t have any.

I’d meant to book a flight home for Thanksgiving break, but like with everything else, I’d dropped the ball.

I told him I’d send the information the next day, though I never did.

I walked slowly back to my dorm, fighting the discomfort between my legs. I’d just had sex for the first time.

It was a new identity to add to the growing list of ones that felt wrong in my body.

Wednesday, 6 p.m., near Shelby, MT

Aya stares at us with her mouth open in a perfectO.

“Is this all for me?” she asks, wandering around the observation car and gazing in awe at the—maybe excessive—decorations that Oakley and I had bought.

“It is,” Jeff tells her. He nods over to where Oakley and I are still crouched. “Your friends wanted to make your birthday extraspecial.”

We both stand up, though my thoughts are still on the gross Amtrak floor with Oakley.

Aya smiles even wider when she sees us, and runs to give us a huge hug.

Someone who’s staying in the sleeper compartment next to Aya’s brought a speaker, and they start the music the moment Aya releases us.

Aya runs around the observation car like she owns the place, talking to Clint and Virginia; to Elaine, who’s here with Alberto/Bert strapped to her chest. They all came here just for her. Well, maybe notjustfor her.

It’s also an excuse to stretch our legs, to chat with people on the train who we haven’t spoken to before. I have a conversation with someone who’s afraid of planes but wants to meet her new grandbaby who lives all the way across the country. I talk to a woman who just quit her job and is finally doing all of the things she’s wanted to do but couldn’t, like seeing Olympic National Park out in Washington, and someone who doesn’t have any form of ID but wants to get to Portland for their childhood best friend’s wedding.

All the while, I keep glancing back at Oakley, who’s also bouncing around, making conversation. When she meets my eye, she smiles shyly.

I smile back, then turn away. It’s a secret that only the two of us know, a language shared through a glance.

“ATTENTION EVERYONE!” Aya shouts after an hour or so of intense partying. She’s standing on one of the tables at the far end of the observation car, and we quiet down and turn to her.

“Thank you,” she says when the room’s attention is on her. “I just wanted to say that this has been the best birthday party I’ve ever had. I was scared about my last year before I turned double digits, but after talking to you all I know that being nine is actually really fun. Um, yeah. That’s it!”

Everyone claps like she just won an Academy Award, and a few people rush forward to help her down from the table.

Aya then requests that the person with the speakers play what she calls her “favorite song,” which turns out to be “Vengabus.”It’s the song where a bunch of Dutch Eurodance singers repeat the phrasewe like to partyover and over again.

“They played it at Rachel’s birthday,” Aya informs us. “And everybody danced.”

The moment the song starts, the same thing that happened at Rachel’s banger of a party happens here, and we all run to the center of the train car, jumping up and down and singing along.