One Week - By Nikki Van De Car Page 0,26

it's got to be at least slightly less plastic than Skittles.

I stumble through car after car (how long is this train, anyway?) before finally coming to the dining car. I slide the door open, stumbling slightly as the train jerks, and look up to see Jess sitting at one of the tables.

I don't know whether to back away or what, but he smiles widely and gestures me over.

“Hey,” he says, as I slide into the seat across from him. “I looked for you, but I couldn't find you anywhere. Where are you sitting?”

It's like nothing happened at all. “I, uh, it turns out I have a roomette,” I stammer.

Jess gives me a weird look. “Like a Rockette? Does it kick?”

God, what a lame joke. But honestly, I'm so relieved to have someone to talk to that I'll give it to him. “No,” I scoff. “It's a tiny little room, like even tinier than rooms on trains usually are, apparently, but it's private.” I look at him out of the corner of my eye to see if he's going to give me any crap about being spoiled and getting a private room and not riding in coach like normal people. But he doesn't.

“Sweet,” Jess says calmly. “Well, here are your choices.” He passes me the menu. “Overcooked pasta, scary chicken, and weird vegetable medley. I opted for the vegetables.”

I wrinkle my nose. “I hate eggplant. Why do vegetarian dishes always have to have eggplant?”

Jess shrugs. “Maybe because it's kind of hearty?”

“This is why more people aren't vegetarians,” I complain. “There are so many good vegetables in the world, but if you order the vegetarian dish, it always has weird-tasting slimy things like mushrooms and leeks and eggplant.”

“Were you planning on being a vegetarian, but then the threat of eggplant stopped you?”

I chuckle. “Not exactly. But my best friend Julia is a vegetarian and I have a lot of empathy for them. I have no choice, since she complains almost every day.”

“Does Julia know where you are?” Jess asks.

I shake my head. “She wouldn't be able to keep it to herself. Nobody knows.”

“Hmm.”

“What hmmm?” I ask.

“Nothing,” Jess shrugs. “That's kind of brave, that's all. You know, completely cutting yourself off from everyone.”

I look at him suspiciously to see if he's trying to make up for his rude and undeserved comments earlier.

“I've never been able to do that,” he continues. “You called me a mama's boy—”

“I didn't exactly say that…” I interrupt.

“I know, but that's what you meant. And I got a lot of shit about it at school too, for calling home and checking in all the time. I felt like I had to—my mom has four more kids at home, and I'm the oldest and was always around to help out and stuff. It's been hard on her having to do everything on her own, plus having to pay for my room and board.”

“You got a scholarship though, right?” I ask.

“Yeah. And I have…I guess, had a job, but it didn't cover everything. So even before my giant fuckup, I called all the time. But maybe it wasn't so much for my mom and my brothers and sisters as it was for me. Like maybe I couldn't let go of them either.” Jess looks away from me, and I realize suddenly that most of the time he looks right at me when he's talking to me.

I want to ask him what that must be like—to have family that you feel so close to that you want to talk to them, to help them out. But I don't really know how to say it, and I feel like I'd sound all self-pitying if I tried. And then it's too late, and the waiter comes with Jess's mystery vegetable medley.

Jess looks at them and sniffs uncertainly.

“Would you like anything?” the waiter asks me.

“Um, I'll have the pasta. Thank you.”

“That was probably the better choice,” Jess says as he stabs a piece of eggplant with his fork. “I'm not sure when these vegetables were last in the ground. Maybe a year ago.”

I smile at him uncertainly. Does this mean we're cool now? Jess didn't exactly take back what he'd said, or implied anyway, about me being a spoiled little rich girl. But then again, I figure people don't just go around talking about their family and their problems with someone they don't have any respect for. Or maybe they do. Maybe Jess does. I don't, anyway.

“Want some?” Jess holds out his fork. I look