February Fever by Jess Lourey

viewing car as we passed through the Rocky Mountains.
    â€œEverything is more fun on a train!”
    I nodded. She was turning my words against me. But I knew that attending these events with her was a small price to pay for a train ride that would bring me to Johnny, even if only for a few days.
    â€œHey,” I asked, changing the subject as we wrestled our way out of the viewing car. We stood for a moment in the quiet bubble that separates cars, a tiny shifting room encased in a rubber accordion with a sliding door on each side. I liked to pretend that it was a foyer on the Star Trek Enterprise . Don’t judge. “Over dinner, you guessed that Terry was traveling to Portland. How’d you know?”
    The door in front of us slid open to Car 8 with a pneumatic hiss, and she lowered her voice out of respect to the quieter feel of this car. “Lucky guess. It’s the final stop on the train, and who gets off in Montana or Idaho?”
    â€œHmm.”
    We passed Jed on our way to the rear of the car. Like the rest of the inhabitants, he was asleep, a fuzzy blanket pulled tight up to his neck. Mrs. Berns softly kissed his cheek before heading back. I smiled, grateful to have such wonderful people in my life, even if both of them sometimes got on my nerves.
    The remaining cars were also quiet, packed full of people sprawled in various stages of sleep, reading, or playing on mobile devices, or engaging in soft conversations. Even so, it was a relief to reach Sleeper Car 11—no mass of carbon-dioxide producing bodies, no one to accidentally trip into as the train unexpectedly rocked left or right, bright lighting.
    â€œIt’s nice to live large,” Mrs. Bern said, echoing my thoughts.
    I nodded in agreement. “Do you think it’s weird that our doors don’t have locks on the outside? Like, you can’t lock your room unless you’re in it.”
    She slid open our door. Our tiny room appeared just as we’d left it. “I suppose they don’t want to deal with keys, what with people getting on and off every stop and forgetting their keys or whatever. Besides, who’s going to commit a crime on a train? They’d be stuck there. It’s like peeing in your own bed.”
    The hiss of the door to my left caught my attention. I glanced over, and my heart jumped. It was Noel, or the girl I’d come to think of as Noel. Just like that, I was brought back to that big silver car and Noel’s wide, terrified eyes before the door closed and that man drove off with her. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead, and I tried to steady myself so I didn’t come across as a creeper. This girl was not Noel, even if I’d connected the two in my mind and subsequently developed an affinity for her.
    â€œHey,” I said to her mom. If possible, the woman looked even more tired than she had back in the viewing car. “You guys get your warm milk?”
    What little color she had drained from her face. I wasn’t doing a bang-up job of not being weird.
    â€œSorry. I was in the viewing car when you guys ordered it,” I added.
    The little girl held up her milk carton, a sleepy grin on her face. Her hair was snarly, as if she’d been sleeping earlier.
    I smiled back and held out my hand. “My name is Mira.”
    She tucked her rabbit under the arm holding the milk and offered me her left hand as I held out my right. I ended up giving her a strange, upside down shake so our hands fit, and both of us giggled.
    â€œHow do you like the train?”
    â€œGood,” she said shyly.
    â€œMe too. Are you guys in one of the sleepers?”
    She pointed to the door she was standing in front of, Cabin 1.
    â€œI’m right here!” I pointed to my open door. “We’re neighbors. You guys going to Portland too?”
    She nodded. “We’re from New York. That’s where I live.”
    She ran forward then and hugged me. It was unexpected,