Again, but Better by Christine Riccio

his eyes as we reach the sidewalk again. “You don’t have a return ticket?”
    “Nope. Playin’ it by ear. We’ll see what happens.”
    There’s that phrase again.
    “Wow.” I pause as he pulls open the door to Caf é Nero. We step in and join the line. People go places withoutgetting a return ticket?
    “I never even realized that’s … like, an option when you travel,” I say slowly.
    “What countries do you want to hit?”
    “Um, I don’t know. I didn’t think about it enough because I didn’t realize everything was so close, and now I want to go everywhere I can.” I meet his eyes again.
    He smiles and straightens his arms, stuffing his hands farther into his pockets. I floata few inches off the ground. His smiles aren’t like mine, which typically etch themselves onto my face for various stretches of time. Pilot’s are fleeting; they come and then they’re gone again, and he’s back to his normal resting chill expression.
    “Next!” the barista snaps. Get back on the ground, Shane. He has a girlfriend. I whirl around to place my order. After Pilot places his, we huddlein silence for a moment at end of the counter, waiting for our drinks.
    “How goes the music making?” I ask. “Are you going to tour with this new album you’re coming out with?” Amusement dances through my words.
    He looks at the ceiling and lets go of a laugh. “Well, I’m hoping to do some gigs around New York City over the summer, like open mics and stuff, try to get our name out there.”
    My mouthfalls open. “Really? That’s awesome.”
    “Yeah, I really want to take this summer to do it because I don’t think I’ll get another chance with graduation coming and everything.”
    “Are you going to invite us to your gigs?” I grin.
    His cheeks flush. “I don’t know…” he answers shyly.
    “What do you mean, you don’t know? I want to come!”
    The barista drops our drinks on the table. Pilot smiles at hislatte. “We’ll see.”
    “We’ll see?” I repeat with mock frustration as I grab my own. “We’re going to come and support your musical talents,” I insist.
    “What about you?” he says when we’re back outside. “How’s the book-writing plan going?”
    I laugh in surprise. “I haven’t started. I have ideas but, I don’t know, none of them feel good enough. Or I guess, I’m not sure I could write them. We’ll see,”I finish slowly, staring into my drink.
    “You should just go for it,” he encourages.
    We cross the street, approaching the class buildings again.
    “We should all plan another trip for this weekend,” Pilot suggests before we part.
    “Yeah!” I call eagerly, as he strides toward the building next to mine.
----
    This morning, Babe and I agreed to meet up for lunch. So after class, I wait for her on thecorner. I wave happily as she approaches.
    “Hey!” I greet her. “How was class?”
    “Boring. You?” she says. We fall into step.
    “Mine was excellent! We talked about structure, specifically the break between act one and two!”
    She laughs. “Cool—you ready to try this burger place?” she says excitedly. Ninety percent of what Babe says is said excitedly.
    We head into Byron’s, a gourmet burger placewe pass on the way to class. Once we’re seated, a waiter comes to take our drink orders while we study the menu. They have milkshakes! Shakes and burgers—it feels so American! I’ve only been gone a week, but it already feels like I’ve been out of the country for ages. Weirdly, American things are starting to feel rare and special, in a way they’ve never felt before.
    “So, you know that friendChad that I was talking about the other day?” Babe starts as we peruse the menu.
    I glance up at her with a knowing look. “Yeah, the one from upstairs who you hung out with that first day?”
    “Okay, so, I do kind of really like him.”
    I nod and raise my eyebrows slightly to show I’m listening. I expect her to get giggly about it, but she’s all