Senior Class Trip
When the boat tour is over, we walk back across Westminster Bridge.
Lawrence the tour guide and the teachers say we have two hours to explore the area around Buckingham Palace and Westminster Abbey, then meet back up at the Underground to go to Covent Garden for dinner.
I cannot believe they are letting us go off by ourselves in London. We have so much more freedom now that we’re older. Not to mention, legal adults.
“Okay,” Ryan says. “Here’s the plan. We go to a pub.”
“No,” I whine. “We have to at least see Buckingham Palace. I mean, what if some hot lord’s son is there looking for a royal bride? I have to at least throw my hat in the ring.”
Alex frowns, while Ryan points at me. “You’re right. And I could meet a lord’s hot daughter.”
Grace looks doubtful.
Max is nodding. “There’s gotta be at least, like, one gay earl out there. Onward to the palace!” he says as if he’s a knight brandishing a sword.
“We’re going to Buckingham Palace and then to get a drink,” I say to the Italians. “Do you want to join us?”
Elia glances around at my circle of friends. “Yes, thank you.” He turns to the guys next to him and speaks in rapid Italian. They nod.
Buckingham Palace is only a short walk from Westminster. On our way we pass by 10 Downing Street, where the prime minister lives. It’s nothing like the White House in America, which is surrounded by fences and barriers and police with guns. I could walk right up to the front door of 10 Downing Street and knock. Not that I’m going to do that.
We continue past Churchill’s War Rooms, where Winston Churchill ran the British response to World War II underground, and find ourselves in a park.
“Where are we?” Alex asks, holding out his hand to take my guidebook.
I pull it back and open it to the map. “St. James’s Park. I’ve seen this place before on that TV show about Queen Victoria.”
A pair of joggers dart by our group, running alongside ducks waddling among a rainbow of flowers.
“This is amazing,” Grace says as we’re walking through the park. “This is where like, half the romance novels I read take place.”
“We should reenact one,” Ryan says, sweeping her into his arms from behind. “Hello, my lady,” his voice booms in that ridiculous British accent.
“Can I see the map?” Alex asks me.
“I’m using it.”
“I only need it for a second.”
“It’s my map. Why didn’t you bring one?”
“Because I figured I’d use yours.”
I shake my head at him. We bicker like this the entire way to Buckingham Palace, me aggravated that he keeps trying to use my map every two minutes.
“Just use your phone map,” I say.
“Nah, the GPS will drain my battery.”
“They’re an old married couple,” Ryan says to the Italians. A confused look crosses Elia’s face. Maybe he doesn’t know that phrase?
Then the enormous white palace comes into view. People stand in front of the gates, staring and taking photos and selfies. A flag is waving above the palace, which means the queen is home. According to my guidebook, her great-great-grandmother Victoria was the first royal to live here. A golden statue of Victoria looms above the traffic circle out front. Queen Elizabeth’s direct line goes back a thousand years. Were any of my ancestors here in England? I need to try one of those ancestry websites ASAP.
Alex and I take a selfie in front of the gates, then I peer through the bars. A smattering of cars are parked in front of the castle. Are important people here, or is that where servants park?
After visiting the outside of Buckingham Palace, which is kind of a bust because tourists are only allowed inside in August when the queen is vacationing in Scotland, we walk past the palace walls behind the royal mews in search of a pub. I peer down a side street, where a bunch of British flags hang across the intersection. What a gorgeous city.
A few blocks away from the palace near the Victoria Underground stop, we find what we’re looking for.
We enter the pub to find it mostly empty. It’s midday on a weekday, and people are probably at work. The air feels musty and damp, and nearly every surface seems to be made of wood or stained glass. It’s quintessential England. I love this place already.
The seven of us sit smushed together in a long wooden booth. Elia’s friends take the table next to ours. Marcie sits at the end of our booth, where it’s easier to stare at Elia. She’s barely spoken to him, though, which is unlike her.
There are no strawberry daiquiris on the menu, so Max and I settle for Blueberry Basil Margaritas.
“I want the biggest ale you can give me,” Ryan says to the server.
Alex studies the menu. “Is the imperial size the biggest? The twenty ounce?”
“I’ll have two of those,” Ryan says.
The waitress writes on her notepad. “Are you going to drink them quickly? Otherwise, the beer will get warm. You may want to stick to one at a time.” She smirks at Ryan, clearly flirting with him.
“He said he’ll take two,” Grace snaps.
The waitress takes the hint and moves on to take everyone else’s orders.
Once she leaves, Ryan says, “Are you jealous, Gracey?”
“Of course not.” She crosses her arms. “I want good service is all.”
“Aw, you’re jealous,” Ryan says, trying to kiss her cheek, and Grace pushes him away. They are so cute together, it hurts. It took forever for them to make it official, but now I can’t imagine them not together. Just like I can’t imagine being apart from Alex.
I sigh. Where is that waitress with my drink?
“This is so nice having drinks without worrying about the cops busting our party,” Ryan says.
“Does that happen often?” Elia asks.
“Only every weekend at Goose Pond,” Marcie says.
“You have an interesting accent,” Elia says. “Is it Southern?”
“Yes,” Marcie replies, “but I don’t hear it.”
“Neither do I,” I say, even though I know we have them. Even Cady James Morrison commented on my Southern accent.
When the server returns and passes out drinks, Max slurps down his Blueberry Basil Margarita in what seems like a few sips. He proclaims it the most glorious drink he’s ever had. “Can I get another?” he calls out to the waitress, who smiles and gives him a thumbs-up.
I tentatively take a sip of my margarita. The tequila zaps me. “Damn.”
“Good?” Alex asks, taking a drink of beer.
“I’m going to marry this drink.”
Alex elbows my side. “But what about me?”
“You’ll have to marry both of us.”
“You guys are kinky,” Ryan says sarcastically. “Hey, let’s play a game. We’ll ask each other questions, and if you don’t want to answer, you have to take a drink.”
“Okay,” Max replies. “I’ll go first. Ryan…where’s the wildest place you’ve ever had sex?”
Ryan glances to his right at Grace, who gives him a look of death. He picks up his beer and chugs.
When Ryan asks me, “Who do you like more? Grace or Max?” I take a gulp of my margarita. No way am I ruining friendships when I could take another sip of a delicious drink.
The game gets absolutely ridiculous. My head begins to cloud up. I can’t even believe the questions my friends come up with—some of them so bad—there is definitely more drinking than answering going on. Questions like: Have you ever stolen anything? Have you peed in the pool since you were a little kid? Have you ever walked in on your parents doing it?
“Max,” Ryan asks. “Where’s the wildest place you’ve had sex?”
Grinning widely, Max begins to open his mouth to speak, when Caleb elbows him. “I’m saving myself for marriage,” Max lies, which prompts Ryan to throw a peanut at his forehead.
When Max raises his arm to signal the waitress for a third margarita, I push his hand down. “Nuh-uh. You’ve had enough, bud.”
He leans against me. “But whyyy? They taste so good.”
“Because I worry about you. It’s not like you drink tequila all the time.”
“You always take care of me.”
I press my forehead to his. “I love you, bud.”
“Lu, I’m gonna miss you so much. I wish you weren’t leaving,” my best friend cries.
Alex leans around me to see Max. “What are you talking about?”
Max hiccups. “Oops.”
Alex jerks his head my way. “Lu, what’s going on?”
Grace furrows her eyebrows and Ryan sits up, his back ramrod straight.
“I’m soooo sorry,” Max says, dropping his face into his hands. “I didn’t mean to say anything.”
I look at each one of my friends and begin to shred the paper napkin in my lap. “I applied on a whim… I couldn’t believe it when I got the email. I was so surprised,” I ramble.
Alex’s eyes go wide…and frightened. “What are you talking about?” he says slowly.
“I applied to the Rhode Island School of Design. I sent Here Comes the Sun in as my application.”
“It’s one of the best art schools there is,” Max adds, swaying into me.
My boyfriend looks like he’s going to be sick. He takes a long chug of his beer. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I never thought I’d get in. Why would they accept me?”
“You got in because you’re incredible.” Alex sucks in a deep breath. “Lu, I love you. But how the hell could you keep this from me?”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I’ve been trying to figure out how to tell you.”
Alex gulps the rest of his beer, and with watery eyes, he stands and walks out of the pub.
Ryan glares at me, then abandons his almost-full beer to follow his best friend out the front door.
“Hey,” Grace calls. “Y’all can’t leave us with the bill.”
I laugh softly at my cousin’s joke, but she doesn’t look happy with me either. “I thought we told each other everything.”
“We do… I was trying to decide what to do, and when to tell everyone. I didn’t want to spoil our trip.”
“Well, you did anyway,” she says, sounding choked up, and then my cousin’s gone out the door too.
Max lurches over, holding his stomach. “Oh God, I drank too many basil thingies. I’m gonna be sick.”
I quickly stand so he can get out of the booth.
“C’mon,” Caleb replies in a sweet voice, helping his boyfriend up to go to the bathroom.
Marcie slides out of her side of the booth and circles around to sit next to me, putting an arm around me. “Are you okay?” she asks, as I’m wiping the tears away from my eyes.
“No, not really,” I say quietly. “This isn’t how I wanted everyone to find out.”
“Everybody loves you and wants what’s best for you. We just need to give them a bit of time to process the news. I’m sad too.”
Marcie is going to Middle Tennessee State, the school I’d been planning to attend. We were talking about being roommates.
That’s when I realize Elia has been watching all of this.
He picks up his beer and moves to sit across from us, watching Marcie comfort me. He gives her a small smile.
“May I speak?” he asks very formally, and I nod. “My girlfriend left for college last year. She is older.”
“Oh, so you have a girlfriend?” I ask.
“We broke up when she left. She moved to Rome.”
“Where are you going to college?”
He wraps his hand around his beer glass “I am not going to college next year. Perhaps the year after. I am moving to Switzerland for a job.”
“A job?”
“An apprenticeship at a bank.”
That sounds fancy. “I’m sorry about your girlfriend,” I say. “Were you close?”
He shakes his head. “We were not like you and Alex. Not so serious…or right for each other.”
“You can tell after knowing us for a few hours that Alex and I are right for each other?”
Elia raises a shoulder. “Yes.”
“The queen could walk by and Alex wouldn’t even notice, because he’s too busy watching you all the time,” Marcie says with a laugh, and Elia joins in.
I close my eyes. They’re right. Alex and I are right for each other. It’s going to hurt him so much when I go to Rhode Island.
If I go. Maybe I shouldn’t.
The sad expression on his face when he learned I won’t be living a short drive away… I never want to see that look again. If I go to Rhode Island, I’ll see it every time I climb on a plane to leave him behind in Tennessee. I want to stay with him more than anything, but can our relationship survive a nineteen-hour car ride? A three-hour plane flight that neither of us can afford on a regular basis?
When my literary agent suggested I seriously consider RISD, one of the first things I did was look up the Vanderbilt baseball schedule to see if Alex will be playing in New England at all. They won’t be. I knew when he agreed to play for Vanderbilt, he’d be traveling a lot for games, so it’s not like I’d see him all the time.
But he’d always come home. To me. And now I’m leaving him.
“Lu, where did you go?” Marcie asks, pulling me from my thoughts.
“I wish I could’ve told Alex about RISD myself.”
Marcie glares toward the men’s restroom. “I can’t believe Max.”
“He didn’t mean to spill,” I say. “It was that damned margarita talking.”
“You have good friends,” Elia says. He smiles at Marcie again, and she smiles back, and I giggle a little to myself, that my heartbreak might lead to Marcie—as she put it—getting a piece of the Italian hottie.
Once I’ve paid the bill—using a big chunk of my spending money—and we collect Max and Caleb from the bathroom, we leave the dark pub and emerge into blue skies again. Alex, Ryan, and Grace are sitting across the street on a bench. I let out the deep breath I was holding, relieved they didn’t leave us behind.
Marcie glances to her left, then begins to step onto the road.
“Wait, wait,” Elia says, putting out a hand to stop Marcie, pulling her against his chest. He points down at the street, where white paint spells out LOOK RIGHT. She must’ve forgotten they drive on the other side of the road here and was about to step into oncoming traffic.
She gazes up at him. “Thank you.”
He holds her hand to cross the street, and I do a little celebratory dance for my friend.
I’m about to follow them to meet up with Alex when my phone chirps. I swipe the screen on to discover a notification with Peter’s name. I quickly calculate the time difference. It’s about ten in the morning in New York.
I inhale deeply, step back from the sidewalk to lean against a building, and open the email.
Dear Lulu,
I have some news. An editor loves your book and is interested in working with you! Her name is Val Martinez and she’s a junior editor at a science fiction imprint called Apollo. Unfortunately, however, the editorial board at Apollo wants you to revise and resubmit the book before Val can make an official offer. Speaking frankly, you may choose to revise and resubmit to Val based on her feedback, and still not receive an offer. It’s a risk.
Your book is still out with ten other editors right now, and any one of them might be interested in making an offer, but they might have a different vision from Val and Apollo. I’m going to reach out to the other editors to let them know we have interest from another house, which may spur them to work more quickly to review your material. Apollo is a leading sci-fi publisher, after all.
I know you’re out of the country at the moment, but Val would like to set up a phone call as soon as possible to get to know you and talk about Here Comes the Sun. Like me, Val is particularly impressed with your grasp of science and the rich detail of your book.
I wish I was giving you news of an offer. Getting on the phone with Val is a good opportunity, and I think you should take it, so you can at least hear about her ideas for the book and see if it’s in line with your vision.
Let me know.
Congratulations!
Peter
Holy crap. A New York City editor who works for a real live publisher read my book! An editor wants to put my book on shelves in bookstores. Holy shit. I quickly forward the email to my parents and Lila with a note that says: !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
I grin to myself, but it starts to fade. Another revise and resubmit? I already did this once with Peter. My writing still isn’t good enough?
After I revised for Peter, he agreed to become my agent, but what happens if I do this for an editor and the editorial board still says no? Peter said that could happen.
This seems like all the more reason I need to attend RISD. What am I going to do?
I store my phone in my purse and begin walking again, to catch up with my friends.