London, England Part 2

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"Hey," he says.

"Hello, Matthew," I say. Crap. If he didn't know who I was at first, I blew it as soon as I said his name. I'm not sure what I'm supposed to do, so I keep moving, using the backs of people's chairs to wipe off my now-sweaty palms. Luckily there's no one in the bathroom, so I quickly step in and lock the door behind me.

On my way back, I pretend he doesn't exist.

Leela is gripping her armrests like the plane is going down.

"He's alone. And he saw me," I say.

"What do I do?"

"I don't know. Go talk to him?"

"He should come talk to me! He should apologize again! He cheated on me! He's on my plane!" Her voice is a hysterical whisper.

"You're right," I say. "He should come talk to you."

"He'd better," she says.

I take a deep breath of stale airplane air and wiggle around, trying to get comfortable. It's tough, since the seat seems to be designed for a preschooler.

Leela combs her fingers through her long dark hair. "Do I look okay? In case he comes back?"

"You look great," I tell her.

"How's my lipstick?"

"Still good," I say.

"Thank you, Bite."

I slip off my shoes and try to stretch out my socked toes. "What's Bite?"

"This Canadian brand of lipstick I'm obsessed with. I'm applying for an internship there next summer. I love their branding." Leela is studying marketing at McGill.

I'm studying English lit at the University of Maryland.

I turn to her, realizing the implication of what she just said. "You might stay in Canada next summer?"

"Maybe," she says. "If I get the internship."

I sink back into my seat, feeling something close to relief that I came on this trip. Leela and I need this month together. A friendship can't survive on childhood memories alone. We have to create new experiences, or the friendship will shrivel up. Like the orchids my dad sent me for my birthday that I completely forgot to water.

She points to the screen above us. "Want to watch the movie?"

"I thought we were going to sleep?"

"I can't sleep at a time like this! Also I have to pee. And there's no way in hell I'm going to the bathroom."

Tip: You might want to get CFAR (Cancel for Any Reason) insurance to prepare for the unexpected.

If you don't, you're SOL if your boyfriend hooks up with some random girl and you want a refund on your ticket. Sorry.

Leela and I had always planned on traveling together.

We'd been best friends since the third grade. We picked matching outfits in advance and told people we were twins. Although we were both around the same middle-row-on-picture-day height, I doubt anyone was fooled; she's Indian and has dark skin and wavy long dark brown hair, and I'm pale with curly medium-brown Jewish-girl hair.

While other kids played soccer and went to ballet, Leela and I read books. The Princess Diaries. Anne of Green Gables. But our favorite books took place in England. Mary Poppins. Matilda. Harry Potter. Peter Pan. Angus, Thongs and Full-Frontal Snogging. Thongs! Snogging! Ha!

We vowed that one day, when we were older, we would go to England and have our own adventures. London would be so much more fun than Maryland. We would have tea with our pinkies up. We'd go to Buckingham Palace. We'd fly across the city with umbrellas and broomsticks. We'd get engaged in London. Okay, not really, but Leela's parents had gotten engaged in London and wasn't that the most romantic thing you'd ever heard?

In middle school, we became obsessed with the Eiffel Tower. We decided we'd go to Paris and London. In high school, Leela studied French and discovered stinky cheese. I read Anna and the French Kiss, Just One Day, and a whole lot about Marie Antoinette.

My cousin Melanie actually backpacked through Europe when she was nineteen. She went for six months. She explained that backpacking through Europe didn't mean hiking from city to city over mountains like I kind of thought it did. She took trains, and she just carried all her things in a backpack instead of a suitcase. We couldn't imagine. How would everything fit? I wanted to travel with all my stuff in a backpack! We wanted to backpack through Europe!

Even after Leela got into McGill University in Montreal, Canada, and I got a scholarship to go to University of Maryland-which was great because I could live at home, and I felt like I needed to live at home-our plans didn't change.

"We're still going to Europe next summer," she said.

"Of course," I told her, although unlike Leela, I didn't have a passport.

The night before she left for Canada she said, "We're still going to Europe this summer," as she hugged me good-bye.

I promised we would.

Leela met Matt on the first day of Frosh. That's the week of drunken debauchery at McGill, the week before school starts. Like in Europe, the drinking age in Montreal is eighteen.

At the start of the year, Leela and I spoke or texted every day. But as the months went by and I got caught up in classes and studying and parties and driving to and from campus in addition to running around for my mother and my sister, Addison, my response time got slower and slower.

Leela: Call me when you can. I miss you!

Leela: Remember me?

Leela: Cough, cough, this is still your number, right?

Me: I'm sorry! I suck! I'm so busy! I love you!

I missed the days when our daily lives were intertwined with school and gossip and hanging out and reading and just watching TV together.

My phone buzzed in late February.

Leela: We're still going to Europe together, right?

I didn't answer right away. I wanted to go to Europe. Badly.

A week later she wrote again.

Leela: Hello, stranger. What's the story for this summer? ARE we going to Europe or not? If yes, we have to get plane tickets.

I hesitated, my hands on my phone. Our friendship needed this trip. But I couldn't say yes. I wrote back:

I don't know.

Leela: Your mom will be fine.

Me: I'm not sure that's true.

I waited for Leela to respond. She finally texted:

Leela: But we've been planning this trip FOREVER!!

Me: I know.

I thought about it. I missed Leela like crazy, but I couldn't do it. I couldn't leave my mother for the summer. She wouldn't be fine.

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