One Week

Day FOUR



I wake up as the light comes in the window and pull the pillow over my face. The last thing I need is for this day to start. Although I have to say that the night being over is a definite plus. I don't think I've ever been more uncomfortable in my life. And I'm not talking about the hard “mattress” that was my bunk (but my neck might want to talk about it later).

It was just so unbearably awful trying to sleep with Jess not two feet above me. The roomette is definitely not intended to be shared by two people when one of them has just come on to the other one and been resoundingly rejected. I don't think any room is really big enough under those circumstances, but a five-by-six-foot prison cell like this one is worse than anything. I couldn't move for fear Jess would hear me and know I couldn't get to sleep. And every time he moved I felt like I couldn't breathe.

I don't know what the hell I was thinking. I don't even like the guy. Yeah, I know I was having all these positive thoughts about him, but that was just…proximity. I haven't spoken to a single other person in…I check my watch. God, it's been sixty-three hours and eighteen minutes. That's longer than I've spent with anybody. It's like those movies, where you're the last two people on earth, and surprise, surprise, you're attracted to each other. It isn't real, it's just the way our bodies are hardwired. And apparently my body thinks—thought—there was an apocalypse.

What do I do now? We've got another day and a half on this train before we get to Chicago. And Jess certainly shows no signs of wanting to go sit someplace else, and I can't exactly kick him out without seeming like my feelings are all hurt or anything—which they aren't. I'm embarrassed, and pissed off at myself, but I'm not at all wounded. I'd have to give a damn, and I don't. But that doesn't mean I want him around. I can't sit in this tiny little room with him for the next thirty-five hours and forty-nine minutes. That is a form of torture even the CIA wouldn't condone.

The bunk above me squeaks and shifts as Jess wakes up. Maybe if I pretend to be asleep he'll be a gentleman and just…go away. The bunk creaks and shifts violently, and I see his face hanging upside down. He has a couple of eyelashes stuck together from sleep.

“Hey,” he says. “How'd you sleep?”

I pull the covers up under my chin. “Fine.”

“Wow, not me.” Jess rubs his eyes with his fist. “I just couldn't get there. I was afraid to move—I thought I'd wake you up.”

I force a smile. “Nope. Slept like a baby.” Which isn't, you know, a lie, since babies don't sleep much and the expression makes no sense at all.

“Lucky you.” Jess's head disappears back up onto his bunk and the squeaking and shifting continues until he jumps down. He looks terrible. His clothes are all wrinkled from having been slept in, and his hair is…tall. Like an Irish ‘fro.

Of course, I probably look about the same. I surreptitiously rub the corners of my eyes clear and smooth out my eyebrows. Jess digs around in his duffel bag and pulls out a fresh T-shirt, and I eye it jealously. Sure, it's a fake, faded CBGB shirt straight out of Urban Outfitters, but it's clean.

“I'm going to run to the bathroom and change,” Jess says unnecessarily. “When I get back, do you want to go get some breakfast?”

Here would be a prime opportunity to instigate some separation between Jess and me. No thanks, I could say. I'm not much of a breakfast person. I'll see you later. And then I could, you know, lock him out of the roomette or something.

My stomach growls before I get the words out.

“I'll take that as a yes,” Jess says, grinning. “I'll be back in five minutes.”

He closes the door behind, and I groan in disgust. Why? Why must we spend another moment in each other's presence? Jess made it perfectly clear last night that company is not something he particularly desires, so why won't he just go away?

I root around in my bag for a hairband and pull my tangled hair into a ponytail. It's the best I can do under the circumstances. I stand up and look down at myself and grimace. After all this poor cashmere top has been through, it seems cruel to say, but I think once I finally get a change of clothes, I'm going to burn it. It deserves to be put to rest.

I've just finished strapping on my sandals when Jess comes back.

“Ready?” he says.

No. Not hungry. Too tired. I've developed agoraphobia and couldn't possibly leave the roomette. You go ahead.

“Yep,” I say. “Let's go.”

I follow Jess into the dining car, and lo and behold! A miracle! There isn't a free table with two seats.

“Guess we'll have to sit separately,” I say brightly, and plop down uninvited next to an elderly couple halfway through their granola and scrambled eggs.

“Hi,” I say. “Do you mind if I sit with you? All the tables are full.”

“Of course not, dear,” the woman says, her mouth full of granola. I watch Jess take a seat on the other end of the car and breathe a sigh of relief.

“How are the scrambled eggs?” I ask.

“Well, they're rubbery, but that isn't surprising given the equipment the poor cooks have to work with under these circumstances. But they are disastrously oversalted, and I really shouldn't be eating salt because of my blood pressure. Would you like mine?” the man asks, and pushes his plate toward me.

“Um, no thanks,” I say. The scrambled eggs are gray. He failed to mention that. “I think I'm sticking with cereal.”

“A wise choice,” the woman says. “I told Herbert to have cereal, but would he listen? Oh no.”

“Martha, I hate cereal! She knows I hate cereal,” Herbert tells me.

“I'm not a huge fan either,” I reply. “But sometimes…”

“Sometimes it's the best option there is,” Martha finishes for me. “That's smart. You see, Herbert? This is a smart girl. She knows the sensible thing to do. How have you never learned that in the seventy long years of your life?”

Herbert shrugs. “Just can't seem to figure it out, Martha. That's why I have you.”

Martha rolls her eyes, but I chuckle. I ask the waiter for some Cheerios and coffee and ask Martha and Herbert where they're headed.

“We're stopping off at my niece's farm outside of Hastings, Nebraska. She just had her first baby, and they've been trying for years, and we're all just so excited. It's my sister's first grandchild, can you believe it?”

“We need to go out there just to keep your sister from smothering that baby,” Herbert grumbles.

“Oh, Herbert, she's just excited. She loves holding the baby,” Martha explains.

“So much so that the mother can't get a hand on her to feed her,” Herbert adds. “Mandy had to beg us to come out to see if we could calm her mother down. And if this train goes any slower, that baby will starve to death.”

Martha gives Herbert a gentle smack. “It's not that bad,” she tells me.

“It is so,” Herbert mouths at me.

I giggle and shake my head. I thought people like this only existed on TV. Martha asks me about my travel plans, and I wish I'd lied when I see how horrified she is at the idea of a girl alone in big bad New York City.

“It's fine, really,” I say. “I've been there before, lots of times. I know my way around. And it's a lot safer than it seems like it is on Law & Order.”

“Now dear,” Martha says firmly. “I'm not being sexist, but I think you need a big strong man with you. Just in case.”

“That is sexist,” Herbert says. Martha gives him another smack.

“Well, you certainly wouldn't do,” she tells him.

My Cheerios arrive, and Martha and Herbert sit and keep me company as I eat it, both of them blissfully unaware of the other passengers waiting for tables. I try to think of a tactful way to mention it, and realize I don't want to. I'm enjoying talking to them. They're funny and kind of insane and I feel like I'm in some fantasy version of grandparentland. My grandmother lives in Naples, Florida, and sends me taffy and a hot pink tank top every year for my birthday. And that is the extent of our relationship. Martha and Herbert are poster grandparents.

Martha is smacking Herbert for the third time in twenty minutes—poor guy must have a permanent bruise—when Jess stops by the table.

“Hey,” he says. “I see you went with cereal. Good choice.”

Martha sizes him up instantly. “Oh, I see you do have a strong young man just in case. I'm so relieved.”

I'm not. My ears turn bright red. “Jess isn't…” I begin.

“And he knows well enough to order cereal,” Martha tells Herbert pointedly. “I see some men have common sense.”

“Oh, I didn't order the cereal,” Jess says. “I ordered eggs. I should have ordered cereal, but I just couldn't bring myself to do it.”

Herbert bursts out laughing and reaches across the table to shake Jess's hand. “Good to meet a kindred spirit.”

Jess grins and shakes firmly. “Yes indeed. We should probably clear on out, though,” he says, and nods over his shoulder at the crowd of people waiting for tables.

“Oh, my goodness,” Martha says, flustered. “I didn't even realize. How selfish of us!” She gathers up her purse and sweater, and I down the rest of my lukewarm coffee guiltily. I knew I should have said something.

Jess urges us out of the dining car hurriedly, and I have to insist that he stop pushing at me to give me a chance to pay.

“Just leave some money on the table,” he says, pulling at my arm.

I tug it back. “What is your deal? Give me a couple of seconds, would you?”

“Jess, I thought you had to—oh!” a voice behind me stops, surprised. I turn around to see a girl with long dark hair—perfectly blow-dried, and how she managed it I have no idea—and miraculously unwrinkled clothing standing next to Jess. She eyes me from head to toe (which I guess I kind of had coming, given how I just did that, but I'm much less presentable so she could have been polite and laid off). “You must be Bee,” she says. “What a romantic trip the two of you are taking—to New York for a first anniversary? How sweet!”

Only she doesn't sound like she thinks it's sweet. She sounds like she swallowed a bug. And…what?

“You told her we're—” I start.

“I know we weren't going to tell anybody about our plans, honey,” Jess interrupts, putting his arm around my waist. “But I'm just so excited, I couldn't help myself. Nice to meet you, Tessa,” he says, and begins steering me out of the car.

“What are you doing?” I hiss.

“Bee, do you go to UCLA also?” Tessa inquires as we try to squeeze past her.

“Um, no. I go to the Archer School.”

“Isn't that…a high school?” Tessa's nose wrinkles. “How very cradle-robbing of you, Jess.”

Jess laughs weakly and tugs me out of the dining car again. I look around for Martha and Herbert, but they've gone. Damn. I wanted to say goodbye. And to my dismay, Tessa has followed us.

“Where are you two sitting?” she inquires. “It's a long ride, and I'm sure we could all use some entertainment.”

Tessa runs a hand through her mane of hair and I suddenly wonder what exactly she has in mind for entertainment.

“Oh, we're in one of those little roomettes,” Jess says quickly. “Barely any room to move with two people. Why on earth did they design those things. We'll see you around.”

He propels me forward and out of the car. “What the hell was that all about?” I demand.

Jess drops his arm from my waist. “I'm sorry about the romantic trip thing,” he says, embarrassed. “I panicked.”

“Why? Do you know her?”

“No!” Jess exclaims. “I just happened to sit next to her.” I wonder briefly what the odds were of Jess sitting next to a beautiful college girl as opposed to, say, anybody else.

I cross my arms across my chest. Jess sighs and tries to step around me, but I block his path firmly. “And where do you think you're going?”

He blinks. “Back to the roomette. Where else?”

“Hmm, how about back to your seat? Or back to wherever Tessa's sitting? I'm sure you'd be more than welcome.”

“Oh, come on,” he protests. “It's not my fault she was being…”

“Creepy and hair-flippy?” I suggest.

“A little overly friendly,” he says. “Bee, look, I'm sorry about last night—”

“Don't even think about it for a moment,” I say sweetly. Or I try to say it sweetly. I think it may have come out a little harsher than I intended considering my teeth are gritted together so tightly they ache. “But there is absolutely no reason you should feel obliged to spend any more time than necessary with a high-schooler…”

“I don't feel obliged—”

“And frankly, I could use a break from you,” I snap.

Jess looks at me closely and smiles. “Well, I don't need a break from you.” He reaches out a hand to brush away a loose strand that fell out of my ponytail.

I sigh and push him away. “Look, I've never spent this much time with anyone before and it's bound to get annoying. And you're more annoying than most people to begin with.”

He pulls his hand back and straightens. “Fine,” he says, giving me a tight smile. “I'm sure I'll see you around.” And he turns and heads back the other way. The way Tessa went. Of course.

I stomp back to my roomette, telling myself I'm glad he was so easy to get rid of, and that my life will be so much easier and more pleasant without somebody following me around and telling me what to do and eating all my Skittles. I open the roomette door and slam it behind me. And stare in disgust at all of Jess's crap strewn about the place. I'm never going to get rid of him.

I shove his duffel on top of one of the seats and pile all of his stuff on top of it. But sitting across from it feels eerily like sitting across from a Jess-effigy. What do I do now? Play poker with the duffel bag?

I decide to look out the window again. After all, I'm traveling through some of the most spectacular land in the country, or so I've heard. Some people take the train for days and days on purpose because it's so pretty.

And wow. I'm definitely not a ride-the-train-for-fun convert, but those are some mountains. We're outside of Denver—I think that was the last stop, anyway—and I've never seen mountains like these. That is, I have—I've seen the Alps, I've seen Mount Fuji, but the Rockies seem so much…rougher, harsher. And somehow beautiful.

I sigh, and turn away from the window. I dig Lady Delia out from the bottom of my bag. She's a little worse for wear, but still virginal. Though I bet not for long.

Indeed. Not even ten pages later, and we are getting into some serious deflowering. Wow, Delia, it's amazing how your complete inexperience makes you so seductive. Wish that worked in real life. Actually, this book is getting kind of good again. Hey, I go to an all-girls school. We don't see a lot of action. But is this vapid “He's not really going to touch me there, I think I might faint” thing really what guys like? Or is it just what gallant marauding pirates like?

God, I have no idea. How would I? I'm exactly what Jess—and Tessa—say that I am. I'm an inexperienced little kid. And I can play the all-girls school card all I want, but the fact is that action is always available if you want it. I just never did anything about it. And now I'm here, seventeen years old, and picking up tips from the likes of Lady Delia Swarthmore. Some seventeen-year-olds are adults; me, I can't even get myself from one place to another. Much less make somebody “all a-quiver with my most delicate touch.”

There's a pounding on the door, and I jump, dropping Lady Delia. I open it to find Jess standing outside with a panicked look on his face.

“Please be my girlfriend,” he begs.

What?

“My fake girlfriend,” he continues hurriedly. “Just for a little while? I can't take it anymore.”

“Can't take what anymore?” I ask as I hold the door open for him.

“Tessa!” he exclaims. “She's got this insane North by Northwest fantasy where she absolutely needs to hook up with somebody on a train, and she's trolling up and down every car and has pegged me as her Cary Grant.”

North by Northwest? That's my fantasy. Bitch. “So?” I say calmly. “Hook up on a train. She's cute. What's the problem? You're not using my roomette, though.”

“The problem is that Cary Grant almost gets killed on Abe Lincoln's nose and I don't really feel up to that right now.”

I try not to laugh, but I can't help myself. “Well, you could go out for a walk at the next stop and see if you don't get hit by a plane. If nothing happens, it's probably safe.”

Jess shakes his head. “No way. I'm not taking any chances. I'm staying right here.” He plants himself firmly in his seat.

Wait. I just had a great idea. “How long are the stops, anyway? And where are we?”

Jess shrugs. “I don't know. I think we're in Nebraska.”

“Are we near Hastings?” I ask excitedly.

“How should I know?” He gives me a look. “You're not changing your mind, are you? You're still going to New York, right? You're not giving up and going to Hastings, instead? Because that would just be sad.”

“No, dumbass. Herbert and Martha are going to visit their niece's baby in Hastings.”

Jess looks completely confused. “Who?”

“The old couple we met in the dining car. Remember?” I start pacing around the roomette. Which mostly involves turning in place.

“Right. And what does this have to do with you, exactly?” Jess crosses his arms over his chest. He has a look on his face like he's expecting me to say something crazy and he has his response all ready in advance.

“So we should go with them! We should go visit the baby! I overheard the porter telling somebody we'd be refueling in Hastings, so we should have plenty of time.”

“And why do you have this sudden desire to go visit the baby of someone you've never met?”

To be honest, I don't know. All I know is that I'm glad Jess is here and not with Tessa, and I have all of this energy all of a sudden and I can't stand to be on this train for another second.

“It'll be fun!” I say. “Come on, let's just go find Herbert and Martha and ask them.”

“Ask them what? If we can horn in on their intimate family moment? You do realize there's no way they're going to say no, right? If you corner them like that, they have to say yes. They're from the Midwest.”

All the better. “Come on,” I say, and heave Jess up off the seat. “We probably won't be able to find them anyway. It's just something to do.”

It is, actually, harder to find them than I thought it would be. Part of the problem is that Jess keeps ducking behind rows of seats and peeking around corners to see if Tessa is lurking anywhere. Which, I'm not going to lie, I find really funny. He's probably only doing it for that reason, but it still makes me feel better.

So when we do finally find Herbert and Martha, my face is flushed from giggling, and Jess is dusting off the knees of his cords from when he crouched behind a bunch of suitcases stashed in a sort of closet at the rear of the car.

“Bee!” Martha exclaims. “What perfect timing! I was just saying to Herbert that we should really go find you, to see if you wanted to take a little break from your travels and come squeeze a baby.”

“And I explained to Martha that you probably have better things to do than go see a screaming infant you have no connection to at all,” Herbert says, nodding to us as he busies himself with gathering up their things.

“Not at all!” I say, beaming. “We'd love to come!” I can just barely restrain myself from sticking my tongue out at Jess and his skepticism about whether or not we'd be welcome. Martha strikes me as the kind of person who would welcome the Manson family into her home for a nice supper.

Martha pulls me aside to show me pictures of her great-nephew, as preparation for the cuteness to come, while Jess and Herbert confer over whether or not we really have enough time to make it to their niece's house and back before the train leaves. I'd be offended at not being included in such calculations, except that I'm painfully aware of how useless I'd be. And anyway it's much more fun to oooh and aaah over babies.

Herbert explains that they'll just be walking to the house from the train, since they live so close that it seems silly to ask anyone to leave the baby to come pick them up. Jess decides that we can make it, but it'll be close. “It's kind of silly, really,” he points out. “We'll have to turn around and leave ten minutes after we get there.”

“But it'll just be nice to get out of the roomette for a little while. And see the baby,” I add hastily, glancing at Martha.

Jess shrugs. “Okay then.”

As the train pulls into the Hastings station, I'm practically jumping up and down I'm so excited to be on non-metallic land.

“Did you know that Kool-Aid was invented here?” Martha announces as she and Herbert lead the way to her niece's house. I try not to laugh. Oddly enough, I had figured that out already, since there are signs everywhere with the creepy Kool-Aid Man on them celebrating Kool-Aid's 80th anniversary. “They have annual Kool-Aid Days every August, and people come from all over to-—”

“Drink Kool-Aid?” Jess inquires. I glance at him and see the amused quirk in the corner of his mouth, but his voice is perfectly polite.

“Among other things,” Herbert says dryly. “Although they do have a Kool-Aid Drinking contest.”

“Of course,” Jess says.

“They have the world's largest Kool-Aid stand,” Martha continues. “Last year it served almost 2,400 gallons of Kool-Aid, all the different flavors. And rides and games and things. It's ranked in the Top 100 Best Events in North America.”

I'm actually genuinely sad that I won't be in Hastings in August. This sounds like the most hilarious thing ever. I guess I could come back—it's not like I have any plans. And by then I'm sure I'll be able to figure out how to get from place to place without making such a mess of things.

Martha pauses for breath and Herbert holds her around her waist. She looks up at him, smiling. “I've been talking so much I need a rest,” she says.

He pats her arm. “It's not far now. Martha had hip surgery a few months ago,” he explains.

“Can I carry your bag, so you can help her along a little more easily?” Jess offers. We left all our stuff in the roomette, and I notice suddenly how weird it is to see him walking around without his giant duffel bag across his shoulders. He perches Herbert's hard shell Samsonite on top of his head. The guy is just incapable of carrying a bag the regular way.

“Bee, where's your bag?” Jess asks suddenly.

I flush. “I, uh, I left it in the roomette. It's heavy!” I say defensively. “And I didn't think I should be carrying around that much cash.”

Jess rolls his eyes. “Right, because I'm sure the crime rate in Hastings, Nebraska is just off the charts. I hope you locked the roomette.”

“I did,” I say airily. But I pat my pocket for the keys just in case.

Martha's niece's house is a neat little A-frame. It needs a few coats of paint, but there are geraniums in the window boxes, and the lawn out front is mown to within an inch of its life. Herbert helps Martha up the front steps, and the door opens before they've even had a chance to ring the bell.

“You're here!” A woman who must be Martha's sister pulls her into a hug. “Thank God. The baby is crying and I have no idea what's wrong.” She tugs Martha into the house, completely ignoring the rest of us.

“That's Martha's sister Sally,” Herbert says unnecessarily. He leads the way into the house, and Jess sets the Samsonite down near the front door. When we turn the corner into the living room, Sally is looking down anxiously at her daughter, who looks exhausted but calm. She is nursing the baby, and gives us a tired wave.

“Come on in,” she says. “Hi, Uncle Herbert. Hi there,” she calls over to me and Jess.

I wave back, suddenly shy. We're invading her house when she's at her most vulnerable, exhausted, and I can only imagine, sore. And she has her boob hanging out.

Jess pushes me forward. “This was your idea,” he hisses.

“Hi,” I say. “I'm Bee, and this is Jess. I'm sorry about invading you like this. We had a little cabin fever, and Martha and Herbert were so nice. We won't stay long…”

“Oh, don't worry about it,” she says. “You've met my mom, I'm sure.” Sally glances at us and then turns right back to hovering over the baby. “I'm Mandy, and this is Jacob.” She smiles at me. “Come see.”

“Uh, are you sure?” I edge forward, and peer over at little Jacob, who is busily sucking away. I feel like I have never seen anything so small. Her breast looks bigger than his whole body. “Can I…can I touch him?” I ask hesitantly.

“Of course,” Mandy says. “If you wouldn't mind—” she nods at the bottle of Purell on the side table next to her.

I make sure my hands are cleaner than the rest of me has felt in days. I reach out a finger and stroke his hand, which curls tightly around me. His fingers are long and spidery and seem so delicate, but his grip is incredibly strong. He looks like a cross between a baby bird and Yoda, but somehow he is beautiful. “He's amazing,” I say honestly.

“Thank you,” Mandy says, stroking Jacob's cheek. “We think he's pretty great.”

“But is he eating enough? Do you think you're producing enough milk?” Sally says. She is literally wringing her hands.

Mandy looks pleadingly at Martha, who jumps in. “Now Sally, you remember what it's like having a new baby, right? Everything seems terrible, but it's all going to be okay. Look at him—he's perfect. What could there be to worry about? Try to just enjoy him.”

“But what if Mandy gets mastitis? She should be supplementing just in case. And what if—”

“You know, I think Jess and Bee here could use a little something to eat. They've been eating nothing but train food for the past—how long did you say it was, honey?”

“Three days,” Jess says drily.

“Why don't you and I go fix them something?” Martha bustles Sally off to the kitchen, and Mandy heaves a sigh of relief.

“I don't know how she survived my infancy,” she says, rolling her eyes. “I don't know how either of us survived.”

Jacob gulps down a few last sips and then pulls away to look around the room. Once Mandy has tucked herself away, Jess comes forward to take his turn admiring.

“His eyes are really clear already,” he says. “It looks like he's focusing pretty well, too. Hey, buddy.” Jess Purells himself, and then reaches out and tickles the bottom of Jacob's foot. Jacob kicks out at him and Mandy chuckles.

“He's ticklish,” she marvels. She leans back against the chair and sighs. “I don't know why I'm so tired. I mean, apart from the not sleeping. It's not like I do anything all day. Jacob's such a lump that I just sit here all day watching trashy television with a baby sleeping on me while my poor husband races around getting me cups of tea, getting my mom cups of tea, getting the place ready for poor Aunt Martha and Uncle Herbert…”

Herbert smiles at her. “Now you know you didn't need to go to any trouble for us, Mandy. Martha would sleep in the garage if it meant she got to hold that baby.”

“I sure would!” Martha and Sally come back to the living room, with Sally carrying a bowl of corn nuts. “Is he finished eating yet? Doesn't he know he has a responsibility to be passed around to all these strange people he's never met so they can coo over him?” She carefully scoops Jacob up from Mandy's chest, and Mandy rolls her neck and stretches.

“Would you two like some corn nuts?” Sally offers.

I reach forward to take a handful—I really like corn nuts, and I never eat them because of the oil—but Jess shakes his head.

“No thanks,” he says. “I ate just before we came.”

I give him a weird look—no he didn't—but then Sally says something that makes me lose my appetite, too.

“You know, you look awfully familiar to me, Bee.” Sally leans forward and squints. “Doesn't she, Mandy?”

Mandy shrugs, not looking up from Jacob as he stares at his Aunt Martha. “I don't know, Mom.”

“She does…”

I exchange a glance with Jess. “I'm sure I just have, uh, one of those faces…” What does that mean, anyway? I take another handful of corn nuts to give myself something to do. “What time is it, Jess?” I ask. “Do we need to be getting back to the train already?”

Jess makes a show of checking his watch. “Oh, pretty soon, I'm afraid.” He stands up and stretches. “Mandy, it was very nice to meet you, and congratulations. Jacob is going to be a great little kid.”

“Thanks for letting us barge in on you like this,” I say, scrambling to my feet. “And yeah, he's really, really beautiful.” I'm sorry to be leaving so soon—we have a few more minutes, really. And weird as it is, I feel like I'm going to miss Martha and Herbert and Mandy, even though I don't know them at all. I don't think I'll miss Sally so much, though.

“I've got it!” Sally snaps her fingers, and my stomach tightens. “It's that girl on those stupid morning shows you watch, Mandy. The one whose father is looking for her, and he keeps going on the shows and asking if anybody has seen her. You remember, they keep running the picture?”

Mandy looks up at me. “Huh. You do look kind of like her, Bee.” She tilts her head. “A lot like her. What was her name, Mom?”

“I can't remember.” Sally furrows her brow. I look at Jess, panicked, and he turns to shake hands with Herbert.

“We'll be seeing you, then.” He waves goodbye at Martha, who gives a quick wave before turning back to Jacob.

“He was offering a reward though. Wouldn't it be funny if we could get a college fund started for Jacob when he was only a week old?” I swear to God, if Sally doesn't stop talking, I'm going to knock her over the head.

“Don't bother getting up, Mandy,” Jess says, taking my hand and pulling me to the door. “We'll just let ourselves out.” He closes the door behind us and lets out a breath.

“Well, that was close,” he says. “I didn't know your dad was doing all the morning shows. Smart move.”

“Come on!” I tug at his hand and drag him down the steps. “We have to get far, far away. Right now.” I shudder. “That woman could come racing after us at any second.”

“Bee, I don't think—”

But I don't let him finish. I run down the street for the next four blocks, dragging Jess with me. I've got this crazy adrenaline, and I'm half terrified, but I'm laughing anyway. But when I finally stop, I notice that Jess isn't laughing. In fact, he looks kind of gray.

He sways a little bit, and I reach forward to catch him under his arms. “What's going on?” I ask, worried.

He mumbles something, but I can't understand him. I pull him over onto the grass and sit him down. He slumps over with his head between his knees, breathing shallowly. His hands are shaking.

“Jess? Jess!” I shake him gently. “Are you all right? What's happening?”

He lifts his head and blinks at me vaguely a few times. “I need…” Jess stops, and squints, as if concentrating really hard on getting the words out. His pupils are dilated even though the sun is bright and glaring.

I resist the urge to shake him again. “Jess?” I say calmly. “Take your time. Tell me what you need, and I'll get it. You'll be okay.” And I hope I'm right. Because if he starts getting any worse, I'm calling 911. This is nuts.

He looks at me and his eyes focus slightly. “Crackers,” he mumbles.

Crackers? He needs crackers? What the hell?

Then I remember. Jess is hypoglycemic. I had no idea that hypoglycemia could get this bad, but then I guess I'm used to people throwing the term around whenever they feel a little bit hungry.

But how the hell am I going to get crackers? I left my bag on the train, and a quick glance at Jess's butt tells me he left his wallet behind too. I look around at the nearby houses, but without much hope. It's the middle of the day in the middle of the week, and I doubt many people are home. I will go back to Mandy's if I have to, but I really don't want to. I grab Jess's hand and check his pulse. I have no idea what I'm doing, but it feels pretty fast compared with mine. I'd rather not leave him here if I don't have to, and it doesn't look like he can manage the walk back there anyway.

I bite my lip and decide to risk knocking on some doors.

I run up and down the block, checking on Jess every third house. He's still just sitting there. When I talk to him, he looks up at me, confused, but then lapses back into unresponsiveness. And there is nobody home.

I could call 911. But if all he needs is a few freaking crackers, that seems ridiculous, and I bet they wouldn't even come. I squat next to Jess and rub his shoulders, thinking. The red house across the street has a window cracked. Surely the situation warrants a little mild thievery? I could leave a note thanking them.

In the end, I'm too freaking terrified to leave a note. I'm sure that someone's going to drive by at any minute and call the cops. I shove the window up and hoist myself through it, falling on the floor and hitting my head. I run to the kitchen and start rummaging through cupboards, where I eventually find quite the selection of crackers. Ritz, Wheat Thins, or Triscuits? Which would be better?

I take all three boxes, and hurl myself back out the window as quickly as I can, thereby trampling these poor people's rosebush in the process. I present Jess with the options and he looks at them dully.

“Jess? Jess! Which cracker do you want?”

He blinks, trying to focus, but subsides back to his stupor. I start frantically scanning the ingredients to see which of them has more high fructose corn syrup, since this is probably the rare time when that is a good thing to have, before I decide the hell with it and shove a Ritz cracker in his hand.

Jess lifts the cracker to his mouth slowly, and begins nibbling on it. I want him to wolf the thing down he's freaking me out so much, but I figure he probably should go slowly and he knows that. Either that, or he's so out of it he can't even figure out it's food. I squat next to him as he takes his little bites, twisting my fingers and wishing I had some water to offer him.

It takes him ten minutes to eat four crackers, but by the end of that time he's looking a little better. His eyes are more focused, and I don't have to say his name three times in order to get his attention.

After he's finished, I help him up to walk it off a little bit. He still seems pretty shaky, but we walk slowly up and down the block until he feels a little steadier on his feet.

“You okay?” I ask, letting go of his arm.

He nods. “Yeah. I will be. Sorry about that.”

I stoop down to pick up my loot of cracker boxes. “What the hell happened?”

Jess flushes. “I'm, uh, hypoglycemic, remember?”

“Yeah, that much was clear. I mean, you said you snack all the time to keep this from happening—so what, you forgot?”

Jess reaches out to carry the boxes, but I wave him off, figuring he should have his hands free in case he trips and falls or something. He still looks a little pasty to me.

“Not exactly,” he mutters.

“What do you mean, not exactly?”

He sighs. “Well, I got distracted when we were leaving, so I was already kind of feeling the warning signs at Mandy's house. I should have snacked when we were there, but…”

I'm completely confused. “But what?”

“But I hate corn nuts,” he mumbles.

I shift my boxes of crackers to one arm and grab his shoulder. “Do you mean to tell me that I just ran up and down Hastings and broke into somebody's house to steal some freaking crackers because you don't particularly like corn nuts? Are you insane?”

“I don't just not like them. I hate them,” he says defensively.

I'm so flabbergasted, I don't even know what to say. I resist the urge to chuck the crackers at his face. “You're insane.”

“I'm sorry,” he says humbly. “It was really stupid. I figured I had enough time to make it back to the train before I had an episode. I'm really, really sorry. And I appreciate the, you know, B&E and all. That was above and beyond.”

“Yeah it was! I could go to jail because you hate corn nuts!” I yell.

Jess chuckles, and although at this moment I hate him and want him to choke on a Triscuit, I have to laugh too. “It would have been really funny if I got you some Kool-Aid,” I say, gesturing at one of the Kool-Aid Days banners. “Unless, of course, you hate Kool-Aid too.”

“Everybody over the age of nine hates Kool-Aid,” Jess says.

I pull him by the arm and turn him to look at me. “I swear to God, you forget to snack ever again, and I'm leaving you to die by the side of the road.”

“Fair enough,” Jess nods. “Hey, um, speaking of that…what time is it?”

I stop cold. “I don't know.” I fish my cell phone out of my pocket, and suddenly I feel as sick as Jess. “It's late.”

“Like how late?” Jess grabs my phone, and peers at it. “The train left fifteen minutes ago!” he yells.

“Yeah. It's late.”

“We left Mandy's in plenty of time! How did it take forty minutes to walk seven blocks?”

“I don't know, Jess!” I yell back. “Maybe because some dumbass collapsed on the side of the road, unable to help himself, and doing nothing but mumble ‘Crackers!’”

Jess reaches out and grabs me by the shoulders. “Bee, you don't get it! My bag was on that train! And you idiot, you left your bag—the one with all your cash, and your precious credit cards—everything is on that train! It's gone!”

I shake him off. “I know that!”

“We should never have gotten off that train! You are the most spoiled—”

“I'm spoiled? You went into hypoglycemic shock because the snack made available to you wasn't your very favorite, and I had to save your stupid ass again and you're f*cking ungrateful again, so as far as I'm concerned this is all your fault and your problem, so you solve it!” I throw the boxes of crackers, which I have, ridiculously, been carrying all this time, at Jess's head. He ducks and avoids most of them, but the corner of the Wheat Thins hits him across the temple.

“Ow! F*ck, Bee!” Jess rubs his head and hands me my cell phone. “Ow. Fine. We'll just, I don't know. We'll find a way to catch up with the train at the next stop.” Jess fumbles around and finally reaches into his front pocket and pulls out his wallet.

“You have your wallet?” I ask incredulously. “You had money and I broke into somebody's house for no reason? And why the hell wasn't it in your back pocket like it's supposed to be?”

“Like it's supposed to be?” Jess asks. “It gives me sciatica when I sit on it for too long, so I put it in my front pocket,” he explains. He pulls out a train schedule and flips through it. “All right, we've got to get to Lincoln. Which is, I think, a hundred miles away. And we need to get there by 5:00.”

“It's almost 4:30 now!” I shout, panicked. “That's not possible.”

“No. It's not.” Jess covers his face with his hands and laughs disbelievingly. “You are the worst traveler in the world, Bee. Ever. Disaster just seems to follow you. It's amazing.”

“This one was your fault,” I snap. “What are we going to do?”

Jess shakes his head, still laughing. “I have no idea, babe. I have—let's see—thirty bucks to my name, and that's not enough to get us a Batmobile to get us there in time. I'm all tapped out.”

I throw up my hands and turn away. But the truth is, I have no idea either. That is, there's a really obvious solution, but I don't want to take it. Okay, there are two really obvious solutions, and neither of them are good.

One, we go back to Mandy's house and beg asylum for the night, while we rally and figure out the next step. And duct tape Mandy's mother's mouth shut for the duration of our stay.

Two, I call my father. You could make the argument that it's time, and that Hastings, Nebraska, is far enough away from LA to make a statement about my independence and self-reliance.

Yeah, right. Option One it is.