16

“The train station?” I say as Charlie pulls into a space in the parking lot.

I’m trying not to look disappointed—I don’t know what I expected for our date.

“You might know where we are, but do you know why we’re here?” he asks, pulling me along by the hand.

I shake my head. “No, but I hope you’re not trying to make me play on the platform tonight. Remember how awkward that got the first time around?”

Charlie laughs. “How could I forget the dead-cat funeral you had to go plan? It is where we first met, though.”

He has a point. And I start to feel the disappointment slip away.

We stop short right in front of Fred’s little window. There are two tickets waiting there for us.

“I believe these are yours,” Fred says, grinning at me.

I look from Charlie to Fred and then back to Charlie again. “Where are we going? And why do I have my guitar?”

Charlie shrugs and smiles. I try Fred. He gives me an even more exaggerated shrug.

“I know nothing,” Fred tells me.

“Fred…” I try to implore him to spill it with the most innocent and sweetest look I can muster.

“Don’t even try it,” he tells me, pretending to lock his lips and throw away the key. “I’m a steel trap.”

The train is approaching. Taking us on an adventure to who knows where. I’m so excited.

The doors open and the conductor gives me a huge smile. We’ve exchanged hellos before when I was playing here, but he’s certainly never had me as a passenger. “All aboard,” he calls out.

Charlie and I climb the stairs and head into a car. It’s basically deserted. Just us, dim lighting, and the rumble of the tracks underneath the wheels.

“Your seat, mademoiselle,” Charlie says, gesturing to an empty row.

I put my guitar down in the aisle and slide in. Charlie sits across from me. He starts setting up paper plates, napkins, and plastic silverware on the table between us.

“I slaved all day on this,” he says, reaching into his backpack and pulling out a big bag from my favorite Chinese food place. I shake my head in disbelief when I realize all the trouble he went through to make tonight perfect for me. He’s included all my favorites: lo mein, orange chicken, fried rice.

“Did you just pull Chinese food out of your backpack?” I laugh. “Do you always travel with hot food?”

“This is a romantic picnic!” Charlie exclaims, trying to keep a serious look on his face and totally not succeeding. “You can’t ride a train without Chinese food out of a backpack.”

“I don’t know, that could be true, I’ve never been on a train before,” I say.

“Neither have I,” Charlie tells me.

“Really?” I thought I was probably the only person on earth who hasn’t. I love that it’s the first time for both of us. We “clink” our chopsticks and dig in.

“You know what I’ve been thinking about?” he says when we’re almost done eating. “How insane it is that you’ve lived right here since you were little and I’ve never seen you riding your bike or, like, out with a lemonade stand. I would have bought your lemonade!”

My heart skips a beat. The last thing I want to discuss right now is why we never met until a few weeks ago. I just want to enjoy the dinner, the ride, the date. Keep things light while we still can. I promise myself that I’ll tell him before the night is over.

When he drops me off tonight, before he gets out to walk me to the door (like I know he will), I’ll come right out and say it. I’ll be factual and to the point. No drama. “I hope this doesn’t change anything between us,” I’ll say. Easy-peasy, just like that.

When I imagine it this way, I can’t imagine Charlie, like, screaming and running away or rejecting me or never talking to me again. I really don’t think my worst fears will come true. He’s too good of a person to freak out over some faulty DNA. And he’ll understand why I didn’t tell him. I know he will.

For now, though, I tell him, “I don’t like lemonade,” as if that covers it.

He presses his lips together and gives me a look. “You do know I know the truth, right?”

I’m about to apologize for not telling him myself when he leans forward and looks left, then right, then directly at me again. “You’re an international spy. You were always off on missions in exotic locations while I was sitting in the cafeteria, bored out of my mind. I’m sure Katie Price isn’t even your real name,” he whispers.

I’m relieved that he was only kidding around, but I feel like it’s one close call after another. Maybe my news can’t wait until the end of the night. Might as well rip this Band-Aid off now—as quickly as possible—and just deal with whatever happens as a result. Reality is reality; I can’t change what is. “That’s very close. The real truth is…”

But I start rethinking how he’ll take the news now that I’m about to be faced with it. All my confidence that he’ll be chill and cool and that nothing will change is gone. I decide he’ll probably pretend it doesn’t matter and profess that my condition won’t come between us. But then we’ll somehow start seeing less of each other. He’ll suddenly become busy at night. And the best thing that’s ever happened to me will be over.

I lean my elbows on the table and decide to offer up half the story. Test the waters. “No exotic locations. Because you’re my mission. I was under strict orders not to be seen, but I’ve been watching you for years from the safety of my own room.”

A beat. Charlie blinks. Then he grins at me. “See? I was close. Sorry if I blew your cover.”

He gathers up the now-empty boxes of Chinese food and goes to throw them out. When he comes back, he slides into the seat next to me and puts his arm over my shoulders. We watch the stars go by as the train chugs along.

“You were so young. When your mom died, I mean,” he says softly.

“Yeah.” I often wonder about what happened to my mom after the car hit her. What did she think about? Was there a white light, did her grandparents escort her to heaven? Will she get me when it’s my turn? Or will it just be blackness, a big void, a curtain coming down and that’s it, like I never existed at all? For some reason, I always get stuck on that last thought. It’s, like, my biggest fear, even though I can’t explain why. I have to make a mark on this world before I’m forced to leave it. I have to make my time here matter somehow.

“That must’ve been awful,” Charlie says, interrupting my dark and desperate thoughts. “Do you remember much about that time?”

I think back for a moment. Dad and I dealt with Mom being gone in much the same way we’re dealing with the current situation: We slap a smile on our faces and power through, usually pretending the problem doesn’t exist at all. Like if we ignore it long enough, maybe it’ll just go away.

“Um, honestly, all I remember from that time is my dad. Watching him pretend to be okay so I’d be okay. And I’m pretending to be okay so he’ll be okay,” I tell Charlie. “But somehow… you know, I guess we actually did make each other okay. We learned how to miss her together without being swallowed by the grief.”

Charlie nods. “Yeah, you and your dad seem like you’re really close.”

I shrug, staring out the window at Cassiopeia. According to Greek mythology, she’s chained to a throne, forever stuck there as punishment for her boastfulness and vanity. I wonder sometimes if I did something to deserve XP, something terrible that requires me to do penance in my house and my room all day, every day, until the sun sets.

“Yeah. I wish he knew me a little less well, though,” I say.

This isn’t an entirely true statement. I know I’m lucky my dad loves and understands me. I just wish I had an opportunity to be loved and understood that same way by more people, people my own age, like, at college. I want to be heading off in the fall, too, instead of watching everyone else’s lives expand while mine continues to contract. I’m terminally frustrated by my situation, especially by the recent realization that having XP basically means neither of the people closest to me will ever consider me an adult in the same way they would if I was disease free. They’ll always feel the need to watch over me and baby me.

“Ready for dessert?” Charlie asks.

I nod.

“Okay then. Hold out your hand and close your eyes,” he commands.

Charlie pours a pile of something into my cupped palm. “You can open up now.”

I stare down at my hand. In it is a pile of Skittles, like the ones he kept trying to return to me the first night we met. I smile up at Charlie.

“I got moves for days,” he says. “Hey! We’re almost here!”

I look out the window and see the Seattle skyline coming into view. I don’t know where I thought we were going, but this is even cooler than I ever could have imagined.

“Seattle?! Cool!”

The train comes to a stop and we get off. Neither of us really knows where we’re going, and I’m pretty sure Charlie’s agenda was just Let’s hit Seattle and figure it out when we get there. We find ourselves wandering along the waterfront. Everything about being here is new and exciting, and it’s honestly enough for me to just be looking at the glittery span of parks and piers that seems to go on forever.

I gape at all the sidewalk cafés dotting streets that wind around in a seemingly endless maze. Despite its being after what I would assume is most kids’ bedtimes, there are a lot of them still out eating with their parents. Guys with tight pants and hipster facial hair peck away at their laptops in coffee shop windows. Couples out on dates toast with glasses of champagne.

But what really blows my mind is how many people are out performing in the streets. Back in Purdue, I was always the only one. Here in Seattle, it seems like everyone has a talent.

On one street corner, a magician rips a hundred-dollar bill into a million little pieces. And then poof! It’s back together again. In the park, a pack of shirtless guys are doing the coolest break-dance moves I’ve ever seen, twisting themselves into pretzels, spinning on their heads, doing endless backflips over one another. There are these people dressed as statues who don’t move an inch no matter what you do or say. I know because Charlie and I tried to get the guy dressed up as a silver-toned Michael Jackson to laugh and he didn’t even crack a smile. So we took a picture with him instead and left a few dollars as a thank-you tip.

And then there are the singers. So many singers, with such beautiful voices. I’d have a heap of competition if I lived here, so I guess I should be glad I don’t. Too bad my mind keeps chanting: LET’S MOVE HERE! TAKE OUT YOUR GUITAR AND JOIN IN! ADD HARMONIES AND SOME FINGER PICKING! I feel like I’ve found an instant community, people to collaborate with and harmonize with and talk music and songwriting with until the break of dawn. It’s all just waiting here for me.

Charlie and I stop to admire the Olympic sculptures in Pioneer Square. Watch the fishermen hauling buckets of huge skate, perch, and salmon at Pike Place Market. We slide into an old-timey photo booth tucked into a corner and get cozy inside. The machine flashes four times: We smile, make goofy faces, hold up bunny ears behind each other’s heads, and throw our arms around each other and kiss. When the strip finally comes out of the machine a few long minutes later, it’s well worth the wait. I grab it and claim it as my own.

“I’m going to treasure this forever,” I tell Charlie. I’m not kidding.

He takes my hand and leads me down another busy road and through a deserted alley. We stop in front of a rickety building with an old-fashioned marquee above the door. There are no letters on it, no announcement of a movie or show or whatever. I don’t get it.

Charlie looks at me with a huge grin on his face.

“What is this place?”

“Your surprise,” he tells me.

Charlie hands two tickets and a bunch of cash to the bouncer. Even though the sign on the door clearly states anyone entering needs to be twenty-one, the big burly guy doesn’t bother asking us for IDs. Which is a good thing because my real one says I am eighteen, and I left it on the kitchen counter at home anyhow.

“I thought Seattle was my surprise?”

He shakes his head and grins harder as we walk inside. Charlie hands my guitar case and jacket to the girl at the coat check. Another bouncer opens a door to let us into another room.

Inside, music pounds. Lights explode. The place is packed from the makeshift stage—where one of my most favorite indie bands in the entire world is already playing—to the back of what appears to be a former warehouse space. A sweaty, happy crowd throbs to the beat.

“It’s a secret show!” Charlie yells into my ear. “I found out on Snap yesterday and grabbed tickets for us. I know you said you love this band!”

“I do!”

“Your first live show!”

“OhmyGod, it’s so cool!” Though the huge drafty room is nondescript, the people and vibe are anything but. I’ve never seen so many colors of hair, so many tattoos, so many piercings in so many places IRL. It’s like the pages of the music magazines I pore over in my room suddenly came to life. I’ve found my people. My tribe of fellow creatives. Who knew they were so close all along?

I whirl around, stunned that things like this actually happen in the world. There’s so much I’ve been missing locked away in my room, in my little town, in my little existence. There is so much more out here for me, and it’s so much more vibrant and exciting than the elaborate re-creations of real life my dad so lovingly built for me when I was growing up, like the savannah in the basement and the beach he set up in the attic, complete with a hot tub, pool toys, and life-size photos of seagulls and dolphins and sharks and whales. I make a vow to myself here and now: I’m going to grab every last little bit of everything this world has to offer. I will not be a prisoner of my disease a day longer.

I realize that not only do I need to have a talk with Charlie, but that a long one with my father is way overdue, too. I know now that I can do way more things than I thought possible before tonight. Maybe even a real, non-online college. Somehow. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. And I have a will of steel.

While I’m thinking big thoughts and taking in the sights and sounds of this amazing place, Charlie weaves his way through the crowd, with me hanging on to his hand and trailing behind. He writhes through people like a sneaky serpent, finding little pockets of space we can fill undetected. Before long, we’re right in front of the stage. Bonus points because no one even got mad at us for budging basically an entire concert’s worth of people to get there.

I turn to Charlie, beaming. He grabs my hips and we start dancing a way cooler version of the middle school grind. There is so much action going on, so much to watch, but all I see now is Charlie. No one and nothing else in the world matters at the moment.

The band kicks into a real rocker, and the whole place starts jumping, one pulse uniting the diverse crowd. Charlie and I start jumping around like maniacs, too. I’m lost in the electricity of the music and the energy of this place. I’ve never felt so alive before, and it hits me that I might never get to experience anything like this again. I try to commit every last detail to memory. Every last second.

Long before I want it to, the music ends. We grab my coat and guitar, and head back out to the piers. I am still so buzzed from the show, it feels like I’m walking on water instead of sidewalk.

“That was amazing!” I yell, probably a little too loudly. It’s hard to tell what level my volume knob is at right now—my ears are still ringing from the concert.

“I know,” Charlie says, grinning widely.

I throw my head back and whoop even louder. “Live music is the BEST!”

Charlie laughs. “I know!” he yells back at me.

I stop and take his hand. How can I express how he’s changed everything for me, from the fact that I never believed a guy could like me because of my disease to what I now believe my future could hold for me? I fumble around in my mind, trying to find the right words. Finally, I settle for a simple “Thank you.”

Charlie gives me this adorable curious puppy look, all floppy hair and playful eyes. It’s like he knows what I’m thinking even though he can’t possibly. “You’re welcome,” he says. “Now for your turn.”

He gently places my guitar case on the ground and unlocks those finicky latches. Then he positions it perfectly to catch coins and hands me my guitar. I step back, holding up my hands in front of me.

“What? No. No way.”

“You owe me a song,” Charlie tells me.

I’m shaking my head. “I can’t do that… here.” This isn’t tiny Purdue, Washington, this is big-city Seattle. I’m not prepared to debut one of my songs here. Not tonight. Not yet.

“Yes, you can!” Charlie encourages me. “Live shows are the best! You said so yourself!”

“Are you hungry?” I say, patting my stomach. “I’m hungry, and you’re always hungry and remember all those awesome cafés we saw back there?”

“Katie,” Charlie says. He sounds so serious, so sincere, I stop talking. “We can either be in a new city under the stars and you don’t play me a song, or we can keep making this the best night of our lives.”

He shrugs. He’s so freaking cute. I feel my resolve melting. What he’s given me is so much more than a three-minute song. Singing one for him hardly makes a dent in what I owe him after tonight.

“It’s up to you,” he tells me. “Don’t worry about anything else. This isn’t about what I or anyone else wants. It’s about what you want right now.”

What I want to do is make this incredible guy happy. So I give in. I reach for my guitar and sling the strap over my shoulder. Charlie’s entire face lights up.

I give the strings a few good strums. When I look up from my guitar, Charlie’s got his phone pointed right at me. He’s ready to record this moment so it’s captured forever. I get instantly self-conscious and my nerves kick in.

“Charlie, don’t—”

He smirks and gestures to the nonexistent crowd behind him. It’s basically one weird hairy dude who stopped to tie his shoe. “We’re waiting!”

I see that he’s right; there’s nothing to lose here. Not even my dignity. It’s just Charlie and me. There’s nothing we can’t do together.

So I start strumming some chords, softly at first. I’m still feeling a little unsure of myself. But then it’s like muscle memory takes over, and I forget that Charlie’s recording me. I’m imagining what it would have been like to be onstage tonight instead of in the crowd staring up in awe at the band. The nervous embarrassment exits my body, and in its place comes a supreme confidence in my abilities.

I close my eyes and sing my latest creation, the one I played for Morgan the other night. Once she finally got over telling me about Garver and paid attention, she really liked it and thought it was the best one yet. I hope she’s not mad at me anymore. I really need to tell her I’m sorry when I get home. I sing my heart out—for Charlie, for Morgan, for my dad, but most of all for me.

When I open my eyes again, I see Charlie grinning from behind his phone. He’s like my good luck charm. The only thing I’ll ever need to succeed.

I strum the last chord and realize Charlie’s not the only person who liked my song. There’s a whole crowd of people I didn’t even realize were there, clapping and cheering wildly for me. And while my fans nowhere near amount to the people in the warehouse at the secret pop-up concert tonight, I get a good taste of what it’s like to have my music appreciated by more than just my dad, Fred, and Morgan.

I like it. I love it. In fact, I’m pretty sure I’m going to crave a lot more of this in the future.

Charlie throws his arm around a guy who is still clapping after almost everyone else has stopped.

“YEAH! Come on! Give it up for Katie! WOOOOOOOO!”

He shakes the guy’s shoulders like their team has just won the World Series. The guy gives Charlie a weird look, drops a few bucks into my guitar case, and walks off.

Charlie smiles at me. And I can’t stop smiling back.