One Week - By Nikki Van De Car Page 0,23

you do when you can't sleep?” he asks, yawning.

Um. “I, uh, make up stories about my stuffed animals,” I say, embarrassed.

Jess laughs. “Really? That's what you do?”

“It's from when I was a little kid,” I explain defensively. “I get really bored.”

Jess sits up against the pillows and folds his legs. “So tell me one.”

I shake my head.

“Come on,” he says. “What else are we going to do?”

I can't just think of one on the spot like this. That is, I guess that's what I always do, but I feel like such an idiot. I can't believe I told him that. I wrack my brain for a moment, then settle on an old favorite.

“So Piglet and Mr. Spectacles decide to rob a liquor store…” I start.

* * *

“That's the kind of story you used to tell yourself to get to sleep?” Jess asks when I've finished. “No wonder you're an insomniac. It's Toy Story meets Reservoir Dogs.”

“Someone should pay me the big bucks to write the screenplay,” I agree.

Jess snorts. “Yeah, right. With Christopher Walken as Mr. Spectacles. You had some messed up stuffed animals there, Bee.”

I nod sleepily, and glance at the clock. It's after 4 a. m. I let out a yawn, and stretch my arms behind my head. “Your turn,” I say, and lie down on the bed. “Tell me a story.”

“Oh, I don't think I could top that,” Jess says drily.

“You don't have to,” I say, flapping a hand at him. “I know it's impossible. Just do the best you can.”

Jess's story isn't nearly as well-plotted or evenly paced as mine, nor are the characterizations as precise. In fact, it's kind of boring. I feel my eyes start to droop closed, and while I still hear his voice, I've lost track of what he's saying. I drift in and out, not really asleep, but not really awake either. I feel Jess shift around in the bed, and I murmur a bit about going back to my room, but he shushes me. Which is good, because I really don't want to move.

I'm half-dreaming, but I think I feel Jess's hand on my hair and shoulder, brushing it gently. I wonder if I should pull away. I wonder if I want to.

And then a car alarm goes off outside the window and I jump and Jess sits up and the moment is over. Which is probably for the best.

Neither of us can get back to sleep after that, and we just kind of chat about nothing until the sun starts to come up. We look out the window, watching the darkness get grayer, and I realize I've never seen the sun rise with anybody else before. It seems like it should be significant.

Day THREE

“I don't think I can face daytime without some seriously strong coffee,” Jess says, and closes the curtain. “Do you want to go find a Starbucks or something?”

“Sure,” I say. I glance down at myself. I'm still wearing Jess's T-shirt and sweatpants. “I'll just go get dressed,” I say sheepishly. “I'm sure you'd like these back.”

I let myself into my room, where I am dismayed to discover that my clothes are still damp. Like, really damp. The shirt is okay, but if I squeezed hard enough I bet water would drip out of my jeans. I'm struggling to get into them when there's a knock at the door.

“Just a sec!” I call, jumping and tugging at the waistband.

“It's just Starbucks, Bee!” Jess calls. “No need to primp.”

I yank the door open in irritation, and finish buttoning my jeans. “I'm not primping,” I say irritably.

“I can see that,” Jess says cheerfully.

I run a hand through my tangled hair and make a face. “Should we go ask the front desk about where to get coffee?”

“We could,” Jess says. “But I think we'd just get stared at. I don't think people really ask for directions here. We'll find something. We're still in California, after all.”

And, of course, he's right, and there's a Starbucks at the train station. We walk/hobble over, and I order the largest and most espresso-filled drink they have. It's slightly terrifying, but it feels like a necessity.

After we finish our coffee and split a scone, Jess pushes me in the direction of the newsstand on the other side of the terminal.

“Our train leaves in about forty-five minutes. Go buy yourself some books or something, would you? You were driving me crazy reading over my shoulder like that yesterday.”

I make my way over to the newsstand, shaking