That wasnt in the script, p.9
That Wasn't in the Script, page 9
She rocks her head from side to side. “Definitely a step above Starbucks.”
“Wanna go in?”
Josie pauses along the sidewalk. Her eyes shift from my head to my feet. “For real?”
“I could use some coffee. Plus, I owe you for saving my ass.”
She fights a smirk but eventually breaks as she locks her phone and slips it into the pocket of her skinny jeans. “I wouldn’t say no to a flat white.”
“That was my nickname in elementary school!” I joke. Crickets.
Ugh. That was the kind of dad joke that would’ve made even Ashanti Nath say ‘too far.’
Josie approaches the corner to methodically press the pedestrian signal. I wait for a car to pass and casually jog across the stretch of road to the coffee shop. Josie’s eyes bug out of her head as she frantically looks both ways and follows my lead with a run that could only be compared to a penguin waddle.
The corners of my mouth perk up. “You’re a bit of a rule follower, aren’t you?”
“What about it?”
“Nothing. It’s just, everyone in the city jaywalks. It’s natural, like breathing and cursing.”
“Thanks for the tip,” her voice warbles.
Another reason I tend to strike out with girls is because I have this less-than-awesome ability to mistake being a know-it-all for flirting. Backpedaling to save face, I open the door to the coffee shop and insist she takes the lead. I might be an idiot, but at least I’m a gentleman.
The flowers outside of the shop are a prelude to what awaits inside. The walls and tables are covered with various autumnal blooms, each in different warm orange and mustard yellow shades. Mason jar bouquets sit on each round table, alongside miniature pumpkins and unlit tea candles. The condiment bar and registers still have that new store sheen to them. The shop almost feels too nice to be in such a blue-collar neighborhood.
Josie’s serious expression immediately softens as a guy sitting on a velvet couch propped against the merchandise wall recognizes her and extends a crooked smile. I get a good look at him from behind my sunglasses. It’s the same guy she talked to at the restaurant the night before, the tall one who made me feel inferior in every possible way.
“Hey!” He stands to his feet to greet her with a wave. He’s wearing a sweaty white basketball uniform and sucking down a green smoothie from a half-disintegrated paper straw.
“Hi, Aaron!” She tucks an unruly curl behind her ear, only to have it pop forward half a second later. “I’m guessing there was practice this morning?”
Aaron tugs at his wet jersey. “Yeah, every Saturday morning. Grabbing coffee?”
“Yeah, just running an errand and stopping in.”
It’s me. I’m the errand. Hotel room prisoner suddenly sounded like a term of endearment.
“Who’s this?” Aaron points to me, the awkward boy standing next to her wearing a hoodie and sunglasses indoors. This whole don’t draw attention to yourself thing was drawing an awful lot of attention to myself.
Josie fumbles for words. Rather than watch her fold under the pressure, I chime in first. “I’m her cousin.”
“On my mom’s side,” she quickly adds. “This is... Hunter.”
There’s a beat between us. I half expect him to recognize me as he sizes me up from top to bottom.
“Hey, man!” Aaron extends one of his hands. I grab it firmly and give it a weak shake before wiping his sweat onto the thigh of my jeans. Too close.
“We can’t stay long.” Josie motions to the subway station right outside the door. “Hunter has somewhere to be.”
“No worries, I’m actually about to head out myself.” Aaron stretches his muscular arms over his head with a flex so pronounced, he might as well ask if she wants to go to second base right there on the couch. “Are you still working tonight, or is there any chance I’ll get to see you at the party?”
Josie’s cheeks glow as maroon as the flowers on the tables. “I wish I could, really.”
“Here.” He whips his cell phone out of his back pocket. “Since Julian isn’t here to give me shit about it, let me get your number.”
Her rich brown eyes melt into swooning pools of warm goo. Not only was I an errand, but I was also making for a terrible third wheel.
The two quickly exchange numbers as I watch the scene unfold with a puzzling sort of jealousy. How was it possible to have perfect strangers willing to throw themselves at you daily and still be unable to catch the interest of the one stranger you want to notice you?
Aaron taps her lightly on the sleeve as he marches past us. “See you later, Josie. Nice to meet you, Hubbard!”
Hubbard. Never in my life had I felt less like a Hubbard.
A long line of customers had grown in the several minutes I waste watching the two of them stare longingly at one another. I move to the back with an impatient scowl. If there is one thing that can’t be taken away from me, at least it’s coffee.
“Sorry about that,” Josie chuckles with an exasperated sigh. “He goes to my school.”
“Looks like you’re about to see all sorts of new places.” The words spill out of my mouth before I can ask myself if they’re necessary.
“It’s not like that.” she shakes her head. “I barely know him.”
In my experience, at least in Hollywood, you could do a lot of things with people you barely knew. I remove my glasses and fold them closed into my palm, rubbing the bridge between my nose and eyes, praying this line moves faster.
“Sorry,” I state. “I don’t mean to be a jerk.”
“It’s fine.” By her tone of voice, I can tell it’s absolutely not fine.
After eight of the longest minutes of my life, we finally reach the register and order our drinks—a flat white and a black coffee, respectively. Alex’s wad of cash burns with betrayal in my pocket as I unwind yet another twenty-dollar bill and hand it to the cashier. I slip five bucks into the tip jar as if karma will bypass me for giving a shit.
“Thank you for the drink.” Josie sips loudly. “Mom started me on bougie coffee young.”
“No problem. Pretty sure I owe you more than coffee at this point.”
She relaxes her hardened demeanor. “What can I say? I’m nice.”
“Until it’s time not to be nice?”
Josie nearly does a spit take with her coffee. “Did you just quote Road House?”
“Thank you for appreciating it,” I smirk. Long live the king of bad movies.
She chews on her upper lip to lick off a glob of foam. “I was out of first grade with the stomach flu one day and my dad stayed home to take care of me. He let me sit and watch it with him. My mom nearly murdered him when she walked in.”
I blow a puff of curling steam from the top of my open-faced paper cup. “Is he with your mom in DC right now?”
She gulps hard and moves toward the door, swinging it open forcefully. “He, umm, passed away shortly after we moved here.”
The awkward tension between us abruptly stretches beyond the length of the Grand Canyon. Why wouldn’t bring up her dead father turn up on my awkward conversation bingo card?
“I’m sorry,” I offer with a shaky voice. “That sucks.”
Josie reaches up and pretends to flick a stray lash away from the corner of her eye. I might be painfully oblivious to things, but even I’m perceptive enough to know she’s dabbing a tear away. Way to make things even worse.
As much as I’d hoped it would somehow disappear in the time it took for us to continue stalling and get our drinks, the train station out front sits there unmoved. Josie pulls out her phone again and begins scrolling through her screenshotted directions. “This says if you take the L train for eight stops, you can transfer to the six and get off at 56th Street.”
“I should be able to find my way from there.” I nod.
It could be the muddy black coffee hitting my empty stomach like a lead balloon, but the longer I stand there, continuing to not move towards the stairs, the more I can’t bring myself to do it at all.
It’s not just facing Lexi again that scares me. It’s all of it. The thought of going back to that hotel feels like me giving permission to hundreds of people who don’t care about me to keep making decisions about how I should live my life. Flashbulb snapshots of the future fill my head with an unbearable image of myself. My hands tremble as they attempt to maintain a grip on the coffee cup keeping them warm.
“I can’t go back.” The words come out of my mouth sounding like the final plea of a victim in a horror movie.
Josie frowns. “I’m sorry?”
“I can’t go back,” I repeat, bouncing on my heels.
I suck in one deep breath, and in an instant, I’m Reckless Rowan from Rochester all over again. Grabbing Josie’s hand, I pull her along with me as I lead us down the subway tunnel to the corroding silver turnstiles. I ditch the dregs of my coffee in a nearby trash can as her cup sloshes all over the ground.
“Where are we going?!” She cries.
I whip my MetroCard out from the pile of money. I methodically slide it till I hear the satisfying beep of the machine. Once I shove my hips through, I reach over and hand the card to Josie.
“Come on!”
“Come where?!” She rattles.
“Come and do something!”
“Do what?!”
I hand her the card, signaling for her to swipe it. Her face floods with panic as she attempts to move the card through the machine, a less cheery beep greeting me from the opposite end.
“It’s not letting me through!” She cries. “It says the card was just used.”
“Shit,” I mutter under my breath. “Just jump it then!”
“WHAT?!”
“JUMP IT!” I repeat. The heat of the moment courses through my body like static electricity. It’s like we’re being chased by a pack of rabid dogs, and the longer she takes to convince herself, the closer we are to being devoured.
“I can’t...” Josie trails off.
I aggressively shake my head. “Break a rule for once in your life!”
The comment hits her with a dumbstruck sort of agony. Her forehead bends into a single fold, her round cheeks so rosy, you can practically feel the heat radiating off them. She hesitates for a second more before swinging one leg over the cold metal bars and then the other.
“Oh my god,” Josie gasps. She does a double-take and looks behind her, frantically waiting for someone to pop out and scold her for the crime she’s committed. “I just did that!”
A wicked sense of pride swells up in my chest as I grab her by the hand again and lead us through the tunnels at full speed. I glance at the signs overhead, not having a clue where any of them would take us. Grandma would be ashamed. I finally settle on an A train that has pulled up to one of the long corridors. A small group trickles out of the car in a hurried scramble.
“Hurry!” I cry to Josie, tugging the two of us into the first open car as the automated voice warns us to stand clear of the closing doors.
Josie hurls herself into an available seat, doubling over in breathless gasps. I clutch tightly to one of the metal bars and watch as a series of bystanders lower their eyes to the floor in typical unphased fashion. I’m realizing if I wanted to go unnoticed, a New York subway is probably the best place to be.
As the wailing metal tracks begin screeching forward, I plop myself into the empty seat next to Josie, knocking arms with a burly male nurse on the opposite side.
“That was... the craziest thing... I’ve ever done!” Josie rips at her sweatshirt as she huffs, then pats her heart to ensure it’s still beating. “This... is... the first time in almost... a year... I’ve... been on a subway!”
Her adrenaline-fueled confession infuses the moment with even more absurdity. I completely unfold into tyrannical laughter, covering my face with my hands to muffle the embarrassing wheezing noises. The nurse offers an annoyed grunt before moving three inches to his left.
Josie glances over at me in petrified silence before she starts laughing too.
“This is so stupid!” She exclaims, wiping a stray tear off her cheek. “Why did we do this?!”
The train makes four stops before the two of us come to our senses and start to catch our breath, honing in our hysteria by looking at one another in a unified pact of confused desperation. Everyone coming in and out of the station must think we’re on something, not that it’s uncommon to see freaks in a subway car.
“Rowan,” she sniffs in a hushed tone, “seriously. Where are we going?”
I respond the best way I know how to. “Wanna eat?”
CHAPTER 10
JOSIE
I didn’t plan on going along with the whole Fizz idea until we were at the turnstile. I was simply going to drop Rowan at the subway station, maybe get an autograph for my sister, and then turn around and go home, giving Pru the whole story and beseeching her to never speak of it again.
Then Rowan grabbed my hand and that plan went to hell.
Between frantic confusion and trying my hardest not to run directly into any subway station pillars, Indio’s words came rushing back to me. Tell your story and watch it go viral.
I’m not proud of what I’m planning to do. In fact, condemnation rises up in the pit of my stomach with such intense fervor, I don’t know how I still haven’t seen the half coffee I consumed work its way back up.
Once we’re off the train and roaming around an unfamiliar neighborhood, I cautiously whip my phone out to text Indio. Rowan evaluates the shops ahead in passing, searching for a decent place to grab a late breakfast. I feverishly pound at the screen, trying not to make my treachery seem too obvious. I proofread it quickly and hit send.
Can you give me a call? I think you may be onto something. I could use your help.
“Check it out!” Rowan stops in front of a tiny storefront with Mystic Dough written atop a dark red awning. A spattering of hot pink tables and chairs sit outside the front window. The two of us press our foreheads against the glass like kids staring into an aquarium, our breath leaving two foggy ovals.
“Are those... rainbow bagels?” I ask.
Rowan scrunches his nose and repositions the bridge of his sunglasses. “Only one way to find out.”
They’re rainbow bagels, alright. Vibrant shades of red, purple, green, and blue are twisted together into imperfect circles of dough. Next to the tray of colorful pastries lie silver baskets filled with standard bagel shop fodder. Everything, jalapeno cheddar, cinnamon raisin. Every option looks incredible, my stomach grumbling at the first whiff of freshly toasted bread.
“Is that cream cheese with mini marshmallows?” Rowan laughs like a kid in a candy store. I suppose marshmallow cream cheese isn’t all that far off from candy.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, Indio’s name flashing across the caller ID. Thank god he was better at answering his phone than I had been the night before.
“Hey.” I lean over to Rowan, “I need to go take a call outside. Meet me at one of the tables?”
“Want me to get you anything?” His thoughtful offer only makes me feel worse about what I’m conspiring to do.
“Surprise me.”
Outside, I tuck my unruly hair behind my ears and hit accept. Indio wastes no time talking.
“WHAT HAPPENED?”
“Correction: What’s happening.”
“No way,” he interrogates, “he’s still in your house?!”
“Not really. In fact, I have no clue where we are. That’s kind of why I need you.”
A clamoring of footsteps booms into the earpiece. It sounds like Indio is climbing a flight of metal stairs. “Don’t tell me he kidnapped you.”
I grind my teeth together. “Very funny. It’s a long story. We’re talking Stephen King long, but I was wondering if you still had your camera.”
“I’m a photographer, Josie. Why would I not have it?” Sardonic venom drips off his words. To his defense, dumb questions deserve dumb answers.
“Look,” I sigh, “do you remember what you said earlier? About selling the story to The Fizz?”
“Yeah.”
“What if I did it? Or, maybe not The Fizz, but—”
“Josie,” he cuts me off, “back up. Where are you guys right now?”
I peer through the window and observe Rowan as he attempts to order from the cashier while keeping a distance and twisting his head to hide his face. I’d almost feel bad for him if he hadn’t dragged me here without any warning. Literally dragged me here.
“He doesn’t have his cell phone,” I explain, “he asked me to help get him to a subway so he could go back to his hotel. I was about to send him off when he freaked out and pulled me onto the train with him, and now, we’re at this place that sells rainbow bagels getting food.”
My CliffsNotes version excludes the part where I run into Aaron Lopez at Stillwater and he asks me to give him my phone number. That joyous happenstance would somehow become the least exciting part of my morning.
“Gaygels?!” Indio cheers. “You really are living my dream.”
“He’s having some sort of midlife crisis level breakdown.” I take a seat behind one of the pink tables, hunching over in a fatigued slump. “I don’t think he plans on going back to the hotel. I’m fairly sure he wants to wander around the city or something.”
“Let me guess.” The metal clanging behind Indio finally goes silent. “You want to follow along for as long as possible to get the dish on him being a rogue actor?”
“Precisely. It was your idea, really. I thought maybe if I kept you informed on where we were going, you could do a loose follow. Like, an amateur paparazzi?”
“Why would I do that?” He asks.
“Besides the clout?” I tease. “Because anyone could make up a story like this, but the proof is in the pudding. Or, in this case, the pictures.”
I lick my lips and glance back through the window again. Rowan has his back leaned up against the wall. His hands are shoved into his pockets as he patiently waits for our food. He peeks up from the ground and waves to catch my attention, offering a kind smile. It’s unfair of him to act so polite when I feel so abhorrent.
