I look around the room like maybe she’s hiding somewhere in here. The words popped up and the whole story is unfolding in front of me, but it’s not a movie, and Star is not Julia Roberts, although Zed is basically Cupid, apparently. A laugh rises from my belly straight to my mouth, but I hold it in and let it hum on my lips. Between the buzz of the unsurrendered giggle and the head-swirling tears, I’m temporarily just a snow globe of feelings and not a person at all. And that feels good. Because it’s hope, mostly, that’s coursing through me.
It’s weird that I care at all. For all I know, Star’s not even telling the truth. She can pretend to be on some romantic transcontinental journey and really be sitting in some sad bedroom in some sad city far away.
There’s a shiver inside me.
I’m surprised at how badly I want Star and her Assignment to be real. I need it to be happening. I need there to be a whole mess of craziness and loveliness and unexpected steak and pancakes and red Mary Janes and plane tickets and secrets beyond the snowy mountains.
My screen scrambles again. Life by Committee is telling me I have new comments on the secret I posted.
Underneath my confession about kissing someone’s boyfriend, a few people have asked how I feel about the guy, and some others have expressed concern for the poor, wronged girlfriend.
And underneath all that, Zed has infiltrated with his thick, silvery font. ASSIGNMENT, it reads. I rev into heartbeat overdrive. Which is silly—it’s a game. If I don’t like what he has to say, I just won’t do it. I guess I’d pictured my secret dropping into the void, but something is happening and I’m too tired to stop it. I read what comes next: Kiss Him Again.
Secret:
I eat alone most nights. If I eat at all.
—Zed
Eight.
I’m not going to do it.
I’ve totally decided.
I can explain to the group that I’ve ended things with Joe, and that maybe losing me will bring him back to me eventually, and that I’m okay with that.
I can explain to them how I won’t get to really appreciate the kissing until Joe has left Sasha. I’m a new member—they’ll understand. They’ll come up with a way for me to get Joe and Sasha to break up, and then I will happily, joyfully, ecstatically kiss him again.
I can explain that I can’t kiss him again now and still be Bitty.
I fall asleep dreaming of the post I’ll write to let them know I’ll need a new Assignment, and I wake up at four in the morning and open the computer, to see if Joe responded to my email.
He didn’t.
I log on to Life by Committee, but before I ask for a new Assignment, I find myself back on Star’s page, and even though it’s only a few hours later, she’s updated.
STAR: I’m at the airport. It’s the most romantic thing I’ve ever done, so I tied a silver scarf around my neck for the occasion and probably drenched myself in too much perfume, but I wanted to smell and look exactly the way I feel. I have on red high heels even though it’s November, and I snuck my roommate’s fur coat out of her closet.
I’ve never seen Casablanca, but I’m pretty sure it’s just like this. I feel like Casablanca. I feel unstoppable. And in love.
So. Effing. In. Love.
There’s a picture attached, neck down this time. A delicate silver necklace hangs far past her collarbone. Some kind of butterfly. Pretty and innocuous. Maybe Tiffany’s. The airport in the background is a blur of bodies. There’s a plaid suitcase in the bottom left corner. It could belong to anyone. She could be anywhere. Airports all look the same. But she’s glamorous and messy and absurd, and I can tell, without seeing her face, with only really focusing on her stockinged knees, that she is happy. Reckless, but happy.
The other members post Xs and Os and smiley faces and quotes from old romantic movies, which I only recognize because Cate has those movies on in the background when she’s ironing.
I realize I’m licking my lips over and over in anticipation. They’re dry now, and stinging a little. It’s not like Star can show up on the other side of the country instantaneously. As of now she’s just hours early for a morning flight, and reporting on every flutter of her heart as she waits for her life to change.
STAR: Thank you, Zed. Thank you, LBC-ers. This is life—live it, right? Be more.
I try to decide what to type. I want to be part of whatever this moment is about to become. I want to be front and center, cheering her on. I tap words out but erase them. One step forward, two steps back, I guess.
Also, it occurs to me that maybe Star is my red-penned stranger. And it occurs to me that I want her to be.
BITTY: This is the most romantic thing ever. And awesome shoes. You should bring a book of sonnets or something. Poems. Neruda. You read him? I guess he won’t be at the airport, but you could go to a bookstore when you land. . . .