I grab a fresh pair of jeans from the jeans drawer, my Yoda shirt, undergarments, and bathroom bag before opening the door—making extra sure the undergarments are tucked firmly between the shirt and pants so Jason-not-Batman can't see them.
He glances up from the newspaper he's reading. The TV is broadcasting one of those 24/7 news channels. They are discussing the stock market.
"Bathroom?"
He points to the door behind him, his eyes taking in the wad of clothes wedged under my arm. "Towels should be folded in the pantry."
"Thanks."
I make my way to the bathroom. Out of habit, before shutting the door, I glance around for a window. There is none on the three walls I can see, so I step inside and pull back the shower curtain expecting there to be a small window above the claw foot—nothing but a wall with chipped paint—purple over yellow.
A knot rises in my throat as I glance back at the living room — my globophobia comes with a heavy side of claustrophobia. I like to think of them as superpowers only they're more debilitating than strengthening.
I set my things on the narrow bench under where the decorative towels hang—also purple and pink with floral patterns. Then I clear my throat and reenter the living room.
Jason glances up again. "No towels?"
I thumb over my shoulder. "No windows."
"Oh." His expression is understanding—my aunt has informed him of at least on of my issues.
"Soooo..."
"I can sit in the kitchen."
I glance from the kitchen to the TV and back. There should be no way he can see me, but... "How about you give me... fifteen minutes?"
"I promised Megs and Betty."
I clench and unclench my hands, trying to think of a way to counter him. I've got nothing. "Please?"
He swallows hard, his Adam's apple rises and falls, and he rubs the back of his neck. He's contemplating.
Please, Lord, let him leave me alone.
"Fifteen minutes... not a second longer. And I'll keep my door open and yours will be unlocked."
"Deal." Thanks, Lord.
I wait until he closes the door, then use a kitchen chair to prop open the bathroom door, and proceed into the shower. The water is warm and soothing. I leave the curtain cracked so that cool air flows through. If Jason wasn't coming back so soon, I might even fill the tub and soak for a bit. But he is, so I scrub, wash, and shave at ninja speed.
The warm water on my back is like a potion awakening me from a spell of determination. The plan was to get here. Mission accomplished, but now there is way too much room in my brain for wonderings—If he's noticed I'm gone. If he even cares. Perhaps he's relieved—
That thought grabs me by the throat and squeezes. I thought I knew him and that he knew me. Things were going so well between us and then they got messed up royally. He says our breakup is my fault. I led him on. I'm being selfish. After all, he claims he's only asking me to give up one thing I want. But that one thing is everything to me—
The curtain yanks open and icy air envelopes me. A black contraption is pointed at my forehead. Thrusting my arms up to protect my face I slip and land butt-first on the porcelain tub. A large roar shoots from the black contraption — a hairdryer — blasting me in the face.
A girl with a purple pixie cut stands over me, she clicks off the hairdryer. "Who are you, and what have you done with Zia?"
Still sitting in the tub, my knees to my chest to conceal myself, I reach out and snatch the towel. "I am Zia."
"Oh." The stern look on her heart-shaped face fades. "Sorry about that." She holsters the hairdryer and reaches out to help me up just as Christian Bale slides into view carrying a baseball bat and a pair of scissors.
I scream and yank the curtain back, clutching the towel more securely around me as if it might be ripped out of my grip at any second—which, given my reception thus far, I have valid grounds to assume.
"I heard a scream..." Jason's voice carries over the curtain.
"I shot her with the blow-dryer," Megs replies.
"Why?"
"I thought she was a robber."
"Breaking in and showering?"
"Criminals need baths too!"
Feeling as if this conversation may go on for a while, I take the momentary pause to clear my throat.
The curtain pulls back an inch and Megs's round, curious eyes are visible. "Do you need a glass of water?"
Seriously?
"I think your cousin would like privacy," Jason says.
"Is that true?" The eyes, with long, thick lashes, blink back.
I nod. "Please."
"Okies." She disappears and seconds later the door clicks shut.
My throat constricts.
The door clicks again. "I'm not looking," says Batman's voice, "Megs is here with you now... I suppose I'll see you later. Welcome to New York...."
My heart sinks to my stomach and I realize I don't want him to leave, but I'm definitely not saying that out loud. It's not like I'm crushing on him, I'm just highly concerned about being left alone with a girl who just shot me with a hairdryer.
"Thanks," I say, hiding my longing.
I dry and dress behind the curtain before getting out and retreating to my bedroom where I hope to enter a portal to another dimension where a pixie didn't assault me with a cosmetic weapon, witness my nudeness, and then send up the Bat-Signal so a superhero impersonator could see me as naked as any man ever has—not counting the baby years. No such luck. Turns out New York bedrooms are just like all others, time-portal free and open to intruders.
"Hi." Megs gets up when I step inside carrying a wad of dirty clothes and shower things. My suitcase lays open on the ground.
"Have you been going through my things?"
Megs tosses Order of the Phoenix back into the bag. "Just investigating. I didn't know the Amish watched movies..."
I stuff my laundry into an empty duffle bag and slide everything back under the bed. "I'm not Amish," I say, a heavy weight sinking in my heart.
"You grew up Amish. Grandma told me." Megs plops down on the bed. "How do you even know about movies?"
"We're not stupid." Great, now I'm we-ing again.
"You don't have electricity," Megs points out as if that makes us less mentally illuminated.
I grab my hairbrush and turn to the mirror above the dresser. "Paying a power bill isn't the only way to have electricity."
"Do you steal it?" Megs eyes widen.
I work through a knot in the long waves of chocolate-brown hair I inherited from my father. Dad... ,Leaving my parents and sisters was the hardest thing I've ever done. "We have generators, and our lamps are fueled with propane."
Megs pouts. "Well, that's no fun."
Clearly, she was expecting a Swartzentruber Amish — black bonnet, no shoes, maybe even toothless.
She crosses her arms. "I'm supposed to show you how to be English and learn about TV and light switches and flat irons. And you're supposed to be all 'Oooo' and 'Wowww.'" Megs acts out her sentence as if performing on a stage.
"Sorry to disappoint." I expect Megs to leave, stomp out or something, but she simply folds her legs Indian-style and gazes out the window as I finish with my hair and slather on a bit of lotion.
"So, what happened to you?"
"What do you mean?"
"How does someone end up afraid of balloons?"
Yeah, that's where I thought we were going.
Three strong knocks reverberate from the front door.
"B-R-B." Megs leaps to her feet and skips all the way to the door.
I slip into the living room as a redhead walks through the door wearing all black, her hair pinned up in a messy knot. "You left your phone." She hands a purple, rectangle to Megs and then walks straight to me, hand out, "I'm Leah."
I shake her hand. "Zia."
"Your hair is gorge!" Megs tucks Leah's flyways back. Leah swats her away. "I can't believe you finally went red. Didn't I tell you?"
"I suppose you did mention something once or a hundred times." Leah winks at me as if she knows me. My belly tingles with child-like excitement. That's what happens when you've been friendless most of your life — other than the characters in my head.
"Where do you work?" I point at Leah's apron.
"Leah owns the coffee shop downstairs," Megs answers, tapping on her phone.
"We're more of a tea and books shop actually, but we serve coffee too." Leah points at me. "Your shirt, I like."
I look down at my Yoda-T — my longtime green friend. "The best, he is."
"How'd the big date go?" Megs plops into a chair at the kitchen table, setting down her phone and pulling her feet up on the chair. Leah slides into the chair across from her, leaning back in the wood chair as if she hasn't spent time in a seat in hours.
I hesitate between the living room and kitchen awkwardly wondering if I should join them or slink away to my room. Usually, I slink away, especially if I'm around my sister Hannah and her friends. They're the girls who all the boys like and only pretend to be nice to you because your mother told them to. Sensing Hannah hated me being around and my own discomfort at those visits, I hid up in the loft of Daed's barn with a book and a notepad.
"It was fine, but I'm not interested." Leah nudges the free seat out with her foot and glances at me.
I take this as an invitation and sit.
"So you're not even going to give him a chance?" Megs says.
"He thinks fiction is foolish and tea is dirty water!"
"Oh." Megs gaze swivels over to me. "Leah reads like a gazillion novels a year and loves tea. Her family's English."
"I was born here," Leah corrects.
"But she can totally do the accent."
"Only when I'm speaking to someone else with a British accent."
Megs eyes widen. "Let's go find an English person!"
"We are not hunting down British people again."
Megs pouts again. "That time was so much fun! Admit it was fun."
Leah's cheeks rouge, and she gets up. "I'd better get back. Come to the café later, Zia. A mug of whatever you like on the house."
"Thanks."
Leah walks out. The door shutting with a light thunk. And then a low grumble rolls from across the table.
Megs clasps a hand over her abdomen. "Do Amish eat pizza?"
She's so ridiculous I can't help smiling. "I'm not Amish... yes," I add when she doesn't get my quip. "Let me get my purse."
"You have a purse!?"
I frown.
Megs's lips break into a smirk. "Gotch-ya." She leaps up and pushes her chair in. "You don't need money, though. Pizza's on the house."
"Is everything in New York free?"
Megs slips her phone into the back pocket of her red jeans. "Far from it, so take advantage when you can." She pulls a key out of the other pocket and hands it to me. "Granddad owns the pizza shop. He never charges family."
"I thought Aunt Betty was out of town." My aunt is Megs's grandmother so we're second cousins. It's one of those complicated Ancestry dot com relationships where you need a tree diagram to figure out who's related to who.
"Oh, they are, but everyone knows me. You ready?"
I walk back to the bedroom and grab my beaded bag—unfortunately, no undetectable extension charm, but my Kindle fits nicely inside so it's kind of the same thing—pull out the Yoda keychain with my house keys, and add the new purple one. I sense a theme. Good thing I love purple.
"Starving people need pizza!" Megs calls, her voice echoing through the apartment.
I slip my iPhone out—still no messages. My heart sinks to my stomach for the twelfth time today. I slide the phone into the bag before I thoroughly disappoint Megs, and then follow her out the front door.
We had a deal Zia, I say to myself, we were not going to expect him to call. It's not like he's got a phone anymore—stop. He doesn't exist. You're here. He's there. It's over.
Suddenly Taylor Swift's "The Story of Us" plays in the background of my brain.