The Unexpected Everything (57 page)

“
I'm
doing this to us?” Bri asked. “What about you?”

I looked at Palmer, alarmed, and saw her swallowing hard. “Guys,” I said, looking between the two of them, “let's not . . .”

“But this isn't about him,” Bri said slowly, like she was hearing the truth of the words as she was speaking them. “You just asked me to stop seeing the person I love. Do you realize that?”

“What?” Toby asked, frowning.

“That is just so far from okay,” Bri said, shaking her head. “What kind of friend would ask me to do that? And what kind of person would I be if I said yes?”

“What kind of friend leaves me behind like this?” Toby said, her voice cracking. “You were only thinking about yourself!”

Bri just stared at Toby for a moment, then drew in a big, shaky breath. “I don't think you know just how little I've thought about myself,” she said. “And now you want me to break up with him. So it's easier for you.” Bri shook her head. “That's not good,” she whispered, not even bothering to brush away the tears that had started to fall. “I need you to be
happy
for me when I fall in love for the first time, to want good things for me because you're my best friend.”

“You knew I wouldn't be
happy
for you,” Toby snapped. “Don't try to make me the bad guy here.”

“I'm not,” Bri said, her voice getting more and more composed. “I'm just . . . This is the first thing I've done without you. Without consulting you. And that's why you're mad.”

“No—”

“Maybe this wasn't about Wyatt, not really,” Bri said, talking faster, latching on to this and holding tightly. “Maybe we really needed this break. I mean, it was really hard, but it gave me some perspective. And now I think we can move on from it and it'll be better. More balanced. Don't you think?”

I held my breath as I waited for Toby to answer—it seemed like even the bus's machinery was quieter.

“No,” she finally said, and I watched Bri's face crumple.

“What do you mean?” she asked, her voice barely above a
whisper, like she wasn't just afraid to hear the answer, she was afraid to ask the question.

“I mean you're right. Maybe we did need a break. Maybe we still need it.”

“Toby,” Palmer said, casting a worried glance my way, “maybe—”

“Do you know how horrible I've felt over the last two weeks?” Toby asked, turning to look at all of us. “It's been the worst time of my life. And I couldn't even talk to my best friend about it, since it was her fault.”

“I felt the same way—” Bri started, but Toby talked over her.

“I realized I don't know who I am if I'm not your friend,” she said. “Like I have no idea at all. And that's a problem.”

“So that's it?” Bri asked, and I could hear the fear beneath her words. “We're done?”

“Yes,” Toby said, her voice cracking. “I can't do this anymore. I'm done.”

Bri just stared at Toby for a long moment, then wiped her hand across her face, got up, and walked to the back of the bus, holding on to the empty aisle seats for support.

“We'll be there in five!” Walt yelled toward the back of the bus, and Toby leaned over to the window and looked out.

“I need you to let me off at that Starbucks,” Toby said, her voice quiet but decisive, as she pointed out the window.

“Uh, Toby,” my dad said, frowning, “I really don't think I can do that. I can't leave you off in the middle of some strange town. . . .”

“I'll call my mom to come pick me up,” she said, picking up
her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. “But I can't be here any longer.”

Walt looked at my dad, waiting for instruction, and my dad shook his head. “Even so,” he said. “I don't think—”

“If she can't come get me, I'll text Andie and you guys can pick me up on your way back to Stanwich,” Toby said, a firmness in her voice that was hard to argue with. “But I really need to get off this bus now.”

After making Toby promise to check in with us in an hour either way, my dad relented, and Toby got off the bus, crossing in the crosswalk and walking toward the coffee shop. The light changed and Walt drove forward, and in the glass behind Toby, I saw the bus slogan reflected as she slowly pulled open the door, her head down and her shoulders hunched.
TOWARD THE FUTURE.

•  •  •

“Girls?” my dad called, a little fearfully, toward the back of the bus.

“Just a second,” Palmer and I yelled in unison from where we were sitting on either side of Bri, who had collapsed into the middle of the back row and was crying into a wad of toilet paper she'd taken from the bathroom.

“I can't believe it,” Bri said, wiping her arm across her face. “I didn't think—I mean, she just
left
.”

“I'm so, so sorry,” I said, patting Bri's arm, unable to shake the completely illogical thought that it was Toby who would know how to handle this situation best.

“Toby doesn't even
like
Starbucks,” she sobbed.

“It'll be okay,” Palmer said, adding quickly, “eventually. I promise.”

“Why don't we head back home,” I said gently, realizing
that if my world had collapsed around me, the last place I would want to be was stuck on a campaign bus in New Jersey. “We'll get ice cream on the way, how does that sound?”

“Really?” Palmer asked quietly, and I met her eye above Bri's head and nodded. After all, this had mostly been a romantic gesture. Clark was going to be back in Stanwich tonight—I'd just talk to him then.

“No,” Bri said, looking up at me, her face stricken. “Andie . . . You have to go talk to Clark.”

“I'll talk to him later,” I said. “It's not important. So . . .”

“It
is
important,” Bri said, looking right at me, her eyes puffy from crying. “That's why we're here, right? And you love him?”

I nodded. “I do.”

“Then,” Bri said, sitting up straighter and crumpling up the toilet paper in her hand, “you're going to tell him that.”

“Are you sure?” I asked.

She nodded. “You know how you're always saying that real life isn't like those movies, and it doesn't actually happen that way?” I nodded, and she gave me a trembly smile. “Go prove yourself wrong.”

•  •  •

In all the movies Toby had made us watch, it was always somewhere very romantic. On top of the Empire State Building, on a rain-streaked airport runway, at a New Year's Eve party. This moment did not, in any of the movies I could recall, take place in a bookstore in New Jersey packed with fantasy-novel readers, many of whom were in costume.

And yet there we were, fighting our way through the crowd
that seemed to be taking over most of the downstairs of Clymer Books. A podium was set up at the other end of the store and there was a table next to it with both of Clark's books on it. Chairs were lined up in rows, an aisle between them, but it looked like every single chair was taken, and a large crowd was filling in the rest of the space—it appeared that Clark's event was standing-room only.

It probably didn't help that there were so many of us suddenly trying to crowd in—me, Palmer, Bri, my dad, and Walt. It turned out that Walt was a big fan of the movies and so was happy to tag along with us after he found a lot to park the bus in.

Now, a guy who was dressed in a very detailed Elder costume glared at me as I tried to take a step forward, craning my neck to see if I could spot Clark.

“Andie?” I turned and did a double take when I saw Tom, looking as shocked to see me as I was to see him. “What are you doing here?

“What are
you
doing here?” I asked, just as Palmer spotted her boyfriend and ran over to him.

Tom broke away from kissing Palmer to answer me. “I'm here to support Clark, as a friend and as a reader.”

“Thomas,” my dad said, holding out his hand, causing Tom to turn bright red.

“Congressman,” he said, shaking my dad's hand. “I mean, hi. How are you doing?” He looked behind my dad. “And Bri, too. And . . .” He frowned when he saw Walt. “Do we know him?” he asked in a whisper to Palmer.

Before she could answer, though, a bookstore employee—in an apron, for some reason—walked toward the podium,
tapping on the microphone twice. “Hello,” she said, smiling at the crowd. “Welcome to Clymer Books.” She then launched into an introduction, covering how the signing following the reading would work and that we were required to buy books before having them signed. Then she started to introduce Clark, and as she listed his résumé and accomplishments—so impressive, for someone so young!—I could feel my pulse picking up. Clark was here. He was probably just feet away from me, hiding behind a bookshelf or something. I was here, and so was he, and it really seemed like this was going to happen.

I didn't even hear the end of her introduction, but realized it was over when people started clapping, and then Clark was coming out, adjusting his glasses the way he always did when he was nervous, looking so handsome in his dark-blue button-down that it took my breath away.

“Hi,” he said, stepping up behind the microphone and giving the crowd a nervous smile before looking down again. “Thank you all so much for coming. I'm . . . actually going to read from my work in progress, if that's okay.”

It was like the crowd all held their breath for a moment before everyone started talking at once. I noticed that Tom had an incredibly pleased look on his face, like he was thrilled he had known about this before the rest of the world.

“Uh—” Clark said, and everyone quieted down pretty quickly, seeming to realize that if they kept talking, they wouldn't get to hear any of the new book. “It's still pretty new. So it might change. Just letting you know so you don't hold me to anything here.” There was low, polite laughter, and then Clark cleared his throat, looked down at the paper in front of him, and started to read.

For the next ten minutes the room was silent except for the sound of people's camera phones clicking. You could have heard a pin drop as Clark read from a section of his new, untitled book. I listened, my hands twisted against each other and my heart in my throat, not quite able to believe what I was hearing, but for different reasons than the rest of the crowd in the bookstore.

Because it was about us.

It was about all of us—me, Palmer, Tom, Toby, Bri, even Wyatt—and the summer we'd had together. It was still set in Clark's fantasy world, but it was about a group of friends off on an adventure together. And when Clark finished and there was deafening applause, I felt a piece of responsibility for it. Like maybe this new book wouldn't be happening if it hadn't been for me—if it hadn't been for all of us.

Clark started taking questions then, and it seemed like every hand in the crowd was going up. People wanted to know why he'd taken so long to write the follow-up, where he got his inspiration, and what he thought about the casting of the movies. They wanted to know how to get an agent, when the new book would be out, and who his favorite authors were. The questions kept coming, until the aproned bookstore lady announced that they had time for only one more. Palmer gave me a look and I took a breath. I knew this was the moment. Clark was searching the room through all the hands that were waving frantically, but I didn't wait to be called on. I just stepped forward into the aisle and said, a little too loudly, “Um. I have a question?”

“I'm actually calling on—” Clark started before he saw me. I saw his eyes widen before he composed himself, and I could
tell that I'd surprised him. “You had a question?” Clark asked, giving me a small, tentative smile.

“Yes,” I said, making myself take another step forward, trying not to think about the fact that my dad and my friends and a middle-aged bus driver—as well as a crowd of hundreds of strangers with smartphones—were there, and that everyone was watching me. “I actually had a question about two of the more minor characters.”

“And who might those be?”

“Karl and Marjorie,” I said, and I heard the guy on the aisle next to me ask, “Wait,
who
?”

“It's canon,” the guy next to him scoffed, and I made myself take another step forward.

I could do this. If whole galaxies could change, so I could I. For just a moment I thought about Palmer calling the play. She asked if the cue was ready but then didn't wait to hear the response before giving the go-ahead. You got a warning, but not time to change your mind or come up with another plan. You just had to act.

“What about them?” Clark asked, and I could sense the restlessness of the bookstore lady next to him, probably wishing he'd just called on someone else.

“Just . . . I was wondering if you were committed to their ending,” I said. I heard the guy on the aisle scoff loudly again. “If . . . maybe there was any way it could be different.”

“Thanks so much for that question!” the bookstore lady said brightly, clapping her hands together, and my heart sank. Was I really going to be stopped by a random employee in an apron? Without even getting an answer?

“No, it's okay,” Clark said, not looking away from me. “I'll answer that.” He took a deep breath, and I could see his eyes searching mine, like he was looking for an answer. “I had thought that was the ending,” he finally said. “But I might have been wrong.”

“I was just thinking,” I said, sure that the rest of the crowd could probably hear how hard my heart was beating, since it seemed deafening to me, pounding in my ears, “that maybe Marjorie realized she was in love with Karl. And told him that. And said she was sorry for being scared.”

Clark nodded and glanced down at his papers, and suddenly a terrible fear shot through me. What if I was about to get rejected, here, in front of all these people? Was I about to be turned down in an incredibly public way?