“Hey, wait up,” I called to Kipps’s back. He didn’t turn around. He just hopped on the next escalator, and we both sailed up toward the street. I had to maneuver past a woman and her giant I-may-have-a-corpse-inside-this duffel bag to get to him.
“Come on, Kipps, talk to me. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.”
“It’s fine. It’s whatever.”
“It’s not whatever.”
The escalator spit us out onto a bustling city street. The sidewalk traffic was thick and fast in both directions, and several people bumped my shoulder before I managed to catch up. Kipps was right beside me now, and I held onto his arm, even though it didn’t seem like he wanted me to. We couldn’t afford to get separated here. It would be a disaster.
Office buildings, apartment buildings. A theater with a glittering marquee. Sleek cars raced past in both directions while people on bicycles and scooters zipped along the edge of the street. Everything towered above us. Fifty stories, a hundred. I felt like we’d shrunk somehow, miniature versions of ourselves inside an elaborate, polished maze.
We passed a tourist superstore filled with NEW YORK CITY hats and I LOVE NY mugs and Lego replicas of the Statue of Liberty. Just beyond it I saw a sign for City Eatery. The asymmetrical building was all glass, and the cafeteria inside was a glossy white from floor to ceiling. Dozens of white tables and chairs set against a glittery white floor. Everyone was watching giant projections on the back wall, casting their votes for the auditions. We found a table in the corner, away from the crowd, and I made sure we sat facing in, so people passing on the sidewalk couldn’t see our faces.
I grabbed the menu, thankful to have something to focus on. It had this glossy front that said CITY EATERY but when I touched it nothing happened. I turned it over and pulled at the edges, but it wouldn’t open.
Kipps smirked. “It’s just like an iPad…” He drew a line with his finger in the air.
I drew a line over the front of it, using the same motion he did, but it didn’t do anything.
Kipps laughed. “You have to actually touch the screen, like swipe at it.”
He scooted his chair closer to me, and we each held the menu with one hand. He put his other hand over my finger and showed me how to swipe to the drinks, to the desserts. The screen changed over each time we traced a line across it.
“That’s actually pretty cool,” I said.
“Yeah.” Kipps hit a few buttons, ordering a burger and milkshake. After he helped me place my order, he finally spoke. “About before, you were just being honest.”
“I was being judgmental.”
“I shouldn’t expect you to understand.”
“I can try.”
He glanced sideways at the crowd in the back of the café. Most people ate as they voted, occasionally pausing to order something else from the electronic menu or refill their drink at the beverage machines. Two little girls played with their dolls. They kept looking in our direction, but I told myself they were too young to watch the show, they couldn’t recognize us.
“You spent your whole life inside the set,” he said quietly. “In Swickley—this made-up town you’ve always wanted to leave. But out here, it’s just not as simple. The same rules don’t apply to everyone. Nothing is easy. There aren’t a ton of opportunities. Working inside the set is a good job; it’s stable. It pays.”
“Pennsylvania, where you grew up,” I said. “It’s nothing like this? Nothing like New York?”
Kipps picked at the menu’s leather case. “We’re from this tiny town most people have never heard of. Wyattsville. There are just a few places to work, and they laid off a ton of people when the recession hit. My dad was out of work for two years. You know how many times we auditioned to get on, just to be extras in the set?” Kipps asked. “Twenty-eight times. As a family. My parents were obsessed with it—we’d come up with these elaborate parody songs. My dad wrote a really complicated one about living in the nineties and that’s the thing that finally got us a break. That silly, inane song.
“It really was great at first, it was. All this stuff is taken care of. My mom had been working for this delivery service called ASAP. It was long hours and barely any money. Zero benefits. And then suddenly all we had to do was go to the set every day and just…live our lives. For ten, twelve hours every day. Go to school, dress the part, not say anything stupid or give anything away. It was easy. My mom was talking about building this following out of all the books she was reading on set, like a special book club or something. But you can only spend so long living in a world that’s not real before you start to lose something.”
“What do you mean?”
“Yourself. What you believe. I don’t know.”
We sat there, watching as the auditions continued. A trio of break-dancers made it through and were heading to the semifinals at the end of the week. An all-girls a capella group got 38 percent of the vote. The audience hated a skinny, gray-haired guy who sang Frank Sinatra, and as soon as he saw the results his face crumpled and he turned away from the camera. It was difficult to watch.
“You regret leaving?” Kipps pretended to study the menu, to be absorbed in all its details. He seemed nervous, though. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did.”
It would be easier not to care, to just explain away what had happened, and every lie my parents had told me, just so I could have my old life back. My bed, and the comforter that always smelled like lavender laundry detergent. My guitar and keyboard, and the case of CDs that I could flip through with my eyes closed, always landing on an album I wanted to hear. The steady routine of school, friends, dinner, homework, school, friends, dinner, homework…
What would I lose?
Yourself. What you believe. I don’t know.
“I don’t want to go back,” I said. “I’m here. With you.”
I don’t know what made me do it, but I pulled the menu away and grabbed his hand, taking it between my own. He looked nervous at first, but then his lips twisted into a smile.
“What?”
“I’m just relieved,” he said.
“Me too.”
He smiled and rested his forehead against mine for just a second. It was so quick, I wondered if I’d imagined it.
One of the customers a few tables over stood and turned toward the exit. I slipped my hands away, tucking them under my thighs. Kipps and I leaned toward each other. Then we both pretended to study the menu, keeping our heads down as he passed.