Page 35 of Things I Overshared

You’re at The Pancras?

Yeah

And it really is very Instagrammable

Also, can jet lag make you high?

Asking for a friend.

Just stay there.

I sit for fifteen minutes, texting my sisters and calming my pulse with deep breaths. At the start, it felt like a real panic attack might settle in, and flashes of the taxi and images of my mother’s accident kept pressing into my thoughts. But the throb in my leg and the pings on my phone help me relax. I look up for Charlie’s Mercedes every few minutes.

“Miss Canton,” I hear. Emerson is getting out of a taxi and heading toward me.

“Where’s Charlie?”

“Can you walk?”

“Yeah, yeah, I can.” He looks beyond worried as he watches me take a few steps. “What are you doing here?”

“The taxi was closer than Charlie.” He gestures back toward the car with one hand.

“Okay, but I’m fine, really. You didn’t need to come.”

He sighs again.

“Right. Not getting nicked.” I climb into the back of a car identical to the one that almost smushed me like a bug.

“You’re shaking,” Emerson observes. I’m not sure if he’s asking for more information, because the words sound like a command. I explain anyway.

“I wasn’t looking at that corner. I-I st-stepped out in front of a taxi.” He starts to say something, but I cut him off. “I just kicked a trash can, though. I jumped back kinda crazy and lost my balance and fell into the metal trash can.” He is still glaring at me and gives one of his frustrated exhales. “You didn’t need to come get me. I was just exhausted and not paying attention.”

He inhales an exaggerated breath before responding to me. “You do realize you didn’t need to see the whole of London on your first day?”

I scrunch up my face and imitate him. “The whooole of Lundun on ya fehst day.”

“Your accent is rubbish.”

I can see he’s about to crack, so I push.

“It’sfantastic.”

“Utter garbage.”

“It’s the best British accent you’ve ever heard in your life! You love it! You can’t get enough. Your absolutebloodyfavor— AHH! Ah ha ha ha!” I can’t help but cry out. “I saw it! You smiled!”

He did.

He smiled.

At me.

I can’t believe I saw his full smile of perfect, straight white teeth. Now I know the full extent of it, how his skin crinkles around his unbelievable eyes. His face brightens and softens all at once. It’s like a hit of oxygen when I didn’t even know I was suffocating. The triumph I feel now, the swelling under my sternum, is so powerful I actually put a hand to my chest.

“You’ve gone loony.” He looks out the window, but he’s still smiling. It’s smaller now but still there. I, meanwhile, am beaming.

“Let’s see, today’s Sunday . . . sixteen. Took sixteen days to crack Emerson Clark!” I squeal. He looks back at me with confusion. I point at his now-scowling face. “That’s the first time I’ve seen you smile.”