Page 15 of The Amazing Date

“Head east and take the 10,” he starts.

“I’ve done the research. The 210 is closer and more direct.” I start the SUV.

“And I live here. UCLA is playing at the Rose Bowl. There will be close to a hundred thousand people headed to the area. Trust me, you don’t want to be anywhere near there. Do I have to remind you about the film shoot from yesterday?”

“Touché.” I nod and twist the wheel, pointing east.

“There’s only so much you can get from books and online searches. Sometimes you just need to roll down your window and see things for yourself.” Once again, he channels Zion, and I wonder if the two of them are secretly communicating. “What are we going to do to celebrate crushing that?”

He’s right. We don’t need to argue, especially since we are in first place. I lift my hand toward him, and he gives me a high five. “There you go. Now, let’s shift toward the next task. When we get to the airport, we must park in the designated spots in the Avis lot, take the shuttle bus to the terminal, and secure our seats. We’ll need to request one as close to the front of the plane as possible so that we can exit quickly. Then I’ll look at your backpack…” I’m rambling with excitement, and his hand on my bare leg causes me to pause.

I look across at him as I turn the SUV onto the 10 entrance. He’s smirking in my direction with a silly glow.

“Rylee, you may be the most driven woman I’ve ever met not named Gabriella.” I push my back into the tall leather seat and enjoy his compliment. Anytime I’m included in a reference to his sister, it’s considered high praise. “But like her, you suck at celebrating.”

The smile stays on his face, but the words still sting. We slapped hands—what more of a celebration is called for? We have too much left to be stopping and celebrating each step. If we did that, we’d still be back at the puzzle board humming tunes at one another.

I think back to the old couple at the board, the look of contentment and joy in just being on the adventure with their partner. Their faces looked nothing like the game face I’ve had plastered on mine.

I shake my head and feel a need to address his comment. “When we win the one hundred thousand dollars, I’ll show you I know how to celebrate. I’ll start to plan a proper one at our next layover.”

He chuckles to himself and leans back in the chair. He lifts his legs onto the dashboard, reclining his chair back, gaze out the window. “The best moments in life aren’t planned. I thought we had covered that a long time ago.”

He pulls out his phone and connects it to the car’s Bluetooth. A reggaeton song I don’t recognize streams through the speakers. I let him stare out the window and sing. It’s too early to celebrate. At least one of us has to think about what lies ahead.

The road to success is paved for those who read the directions. How he and Gabby grew up in the same household and came out so differently is one of life’s biggest mysteries. It doesn’t matter. He may not be a planner; most people aren’t. I’ve done enough research for the both of us.

We are the Checklists, and we are working through our plan. And at least for hour one, we are checking off every box.

Chapter 10

Roberto

She has no clue how to relax. We were the first team to check in at the Delta counter, yet she grilled the poor person at the counter.

Is that the closest to the front doors you can seat us? Where are the other teams sitting? What gate will the plane be arriving at? Are there any big events going on in San Francisco this afternoon?

Normally I would sit back and hop on my phone to catch up on social media, but our phones, per race instructions, are turned off. Our accounts are monitored, and we are forbidden to use them for GPS, internet, or other online activities during race hours. We are allowed to use our personal phones only after checking in at the end of the day. The organizers of the race have provided us with a non-internet-enabled prepaid phone with a handful of our contacts programmed in case of emergency.

I pull Rylee away from the counter, only to watch her race to the airport bookstore and purchase a guidebook for San Francisco. Finally, we make our way to the waiting area, another thirty minutes until boarding.

She slaps the guidebook on my lap and pulls a Nike windbreaker hoodie from her thin backpack. “Read this while I go through your monstrous luggage. You pack like a girl.”

I kick her red backpack between her legs. “And you pack like a refugee.”

She squats in front of me, facing me, head down and focused on my backpack. I straighten, sitting back in the chair to create space. She flattens the backpack onto its side and rips open the zipper, exposing everything. I will myself not to look down at her because at this angle with her head down between my legs, a wave of dirty thoughts floats through my mind. I flip open the guidebook and attempt to focus on the Golden Gate Bridge.

“Really, you packed a hair dryer?” Her voice fills with irritation, a common sound when she is in my presence.

“You think I just wake up looking this gorgeous?” My hand frames my hair, which I’m sure has seen better days since our mad sprint to the car. My voice causes her to glance up from the ground, her legs spread wide in a squat between mine. I lower the guidebook to my lap and reach down to hide the twitch in my pants. “Can I have that? My brush and the conditioner too. I think I have time for a touch-up.”

She digs into the bag and pulls out a series of bottles. “Here, take all this and leave it in the bathroom when you are done. They aren’t coming with us.” A small pile of my clothes end up in another pile, which I’m sure she’s marked for the incinerator. “Oh my god, did you not read a thing? You brought a sweater, six T-shirts, and three pair of pants. We’re not going away for a month.”

Her cheeks expand, and she releases a loud sigh. Her cute butt plops down on the dirty airport floor, and she reaches over to her backpack. She pulls a white drawstring plastic garbage bag from an outer pocket.

“What are you doing?”

She begins to stuff most of my clothes and toiletries, including my brush and hair dryer, into the bag. Her hand freezes when she notices the next item—a black-and-brown teddy bear.

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