Page 6 of Let the Game Begin
All at once, I needed air because that anguished feeling was turning into an invisible rope, tight around my neck.
“That asshole again?!” Logan grumbled. Clearly this Carter wasn’t the kind of guy he wanted his sister seeing.
“Logan, mind your own business,” Chloe shot back, not at all intimidated by her brother’s butting in.
“Kids!” Mia scolded them.
“Okay, but when he dumps you like all the other ones, don’t come crying to me!” Logan insisted, pounding his fist on the table.
“Kids!” Mia admonished them again, but no one seemed to hear her.
“He’s not going to dump me… Carter cares about me!”
“Do what you want.” Logan gave up, though irritation was still evident on his face. His sister was a teenager, and holding back a girl at that age wasn’t easy at all. They were governed exclusively by hormones and social instincts.
Chloe hurried off, leaving the rest of us to lapse into an awkward silence. Lunch continued, albeit with discomfort that was hard to ignore.
“Is there a good bookstore nearby?” My voice cut through the tense atmosphere, drawing the eye of everyone else to me. I’d only been there for a few hours, and I already felt like I needed to be alone. I felt inappropriate; the ink splotch on a white sheet of paper, the scribble on a spotless wall, and I needed to do something comforting.
“Well, there’s one downtown, or you could go into the city. The Strand is great but…why?” Matt answered before looking at me like I’d just sprouted a horn out of the middle of my forehead.
“I can take you if you want,” Logan added, smiling, probably taking it for granted that I would accept his invitation. It was nice of him to offer, but I needed to perform my familiar ritual alone: on every trip I took, I had to buy one new book that would accompany me throughout my journey. It was a little secret of my own, a kind of good-luck charm.
“No, I can take the train, and I have Maps on my phone. I’m good.” I got up from the table and took my phone out of my pocket to illustrate my point. They looked at each other strangely, but I didn’t care. I said goodbye to them and headed for the door, planning to walk to the train station a couple of miles away.
I didn’t have a great sense of direction; I tended to get lost easily, even in places I knew very well. New York was large and fast paced, so it would be a struggle not to get lost, but I wasn’t afraid. After all, there were people I could ask for directions and a map on my phone.
In short, I had everything under control. The train ride took less than anhour and spit me out in real NYC, where I gawked like a tourist on vacation. I felt instant euphoria over the idea that I was going to attend college so close to the city. I walked around in raptures for about half an hour. From time to time, I stopped to examine the store windows, the imposing skyscrapers, and some buskers. When hunger started knocking on my stomach, I bought a hot dog at a cart.
I felt light, buoyed, and intrigued by this new reality. The weather was crisp, and strolling the streets of Manhattan turned out to be much more pleasant than I’d thought it would be. I lost track of time and only stopped when I spotted a store window with a display of books of all varieties. I drew closer to it with a dreamy look on my face and had pressed both hands to the glass before I realized that this was the exact bookstore that Matt had mentioned.
I immediately went in through the automatic doors and found myself in a magical environment. There were three floors exclusively full of books, a true reader’s paradise. The scent I was breathing in—of wood, of dreams, of imagined lives—transported me into another world. I could have spent the whole day there, forgetting everything else.
I set off, trying to keep my out-of-control enthusiasm in check and asked a sales assistant where I would find classic fiction and literature. The modern classics were my favorites, and I felt the need to start this new life with one of them. The girl directed me to the third floor, and I admired the immense size of the place as I climbed the stairs.
“Excuse me…” I passed a couple absorbed in leafing through books right in the middle of the great classics section. I smiled. It seemed I wasn’t the only person who loved them. I stroked the rows of books with my fingers, soaking in the smell of the pages as I closed my eyes. A sleepy calm came over me as it always did whenever I sought refuge in this kind of environment. The thud of something falling to the floor, however, had me on alert again.
A book lay open not far away from where I was standing. I glanced around to see who had dropped it, but the couple was gone so I assumed I must have knocked it over. I bent down to pick up the volume and saw the title:Peter and Wendy. Something about those words caught my attentionand convinced me to buy it. This would be the book that marked the start of my new journey.
I paid for the book and slipped it into my bag, politely telling the cashier goodbye. By the time I got off the train back in Bedford, it was dusk, and I had a two-and-a-half-mile walk before I got back to Matt’s home. I sighed and opened my Maps app again, typing in the address of the house. I started off and tried not to notice all the dark, deserted streets that crossed my path as I headed for my destination.
My phone indicated that the battery was running low, and I swore softly, hoping it wouldn’t die before I could navigate back.
“No, shit, no… Hold on.” I turned down the brightness and prayed that luck would be on my side, at least for another two miles or so.
I kept going, following the directions down the street until the display went black. My phone was officially dead.
“Great. Fantastic,” I grumbled, rubbing my face. I shook my phone as if to jostle it back to life, but unfortunately, it needed a charger and my pleas and curses were of no use. I didn’t even have Matt’s number memorized.
“Shit. Shit. Shit,” I burst out. I wanted to kick something. I threw my phone into my bag and just kept walking, following my instincts. I hunched my shoulders as the sun started to set and the streetlights lit up. It was the time of day when the brightness of the colors began to fade and disappear into the textured shadows of the dark. I had no idea whether my father would have been worried if I didn’t make it home for dinner. Maybe he would have just given me up for missing or—worst-case scenario—dead.
“How many times do I have to tell you about the importance of car maintenance! You’re such a dumbass!”
I stopped on the edge of the sidewalk under a streetlight and saw an old black Cadillac parked in the street with a tire that was either punctured or entirely flat—I couldn’t tell which. A guy, whose shadow looked deformed from so far away, was shouting angrily, waving his arms in the air. I frowned and stared curiously at him.
“Calm down, Luke. We’ll figure it out,” answered another guy, this one tall and slim with black hair. I couldn’t make out his features, but I could see a piercing glinting from his lower lip.
“Doubt it. How are we supposed to get home if you don’t even have a spare tire?” A girl with bizarre blue hair put her hands on her narrow hips, which were clad in a pair of black shorts with fishnets in the same color underneath. She gave her friend a snort and then crossed her arms over her chest, pushing up her small breasts. I didn’t know what these people’s deal was, but whoever they were, they didn’t inspire a lot of trust.
