The Unexpected Everything

“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.