meant he’d be getting an uptown train. And I needed an uptown train too because Tanya’s aunt lived on Seventy-second Street. But I’d just told him my dad was in Wall Street, or on Wall Street—however you say it. So I ought to be looking for a downtown train. He was pulling a subway pass out of his pocket as we headed down another flight in a mob of people.
MY HEAD WHIRLED. I supposed I could take a downtown train. Then get off somewhere and switch over to an uptown one. But I could also get totally lost and end up living permanently in the New York subway system. Or Brooklyn. It was like a—I don’t know what—like a bunch of mole holes. A maze. And the signs made no sense. None. You had to know what you were doing.
I’d be lucky to get on the right train, let alone get on the wrong train and then change to the right one. I had to get away from Spence. Here’s how bizarre this whole business was—I was trying to dump one of the major senior guys in school. Also the best-looking. I was so off my turf I couldn’t believe it. Also, I wasn’t used to making my own decisions.
“You go ahead,” I said. “I have to buy a ticket.” He had a pass. He could just go through the turnstile and . . . vanish down the mole hole. This lower level was teeming with people. If enough people got between us, I could just melt away, delete myself.
“No, take your time,” he said. “I’ll wait with you till your train comes. It’s a zoo down here, and there are weirdos.”
He waited while I stood in the ticket line. I had this much time to think. And to wonder, in spite of my grief—would it have killed me to keep using lip gloss?
He was still there when I came back, dry-lipped, ticket in hand. “Actually,” I said, “I’m meeting my dad uptown. He’s having a drink with some people. At somebody’s . . . apartment.” Lie Number—
“Come on then,” Spence said, and I followed his swaying garment bag through the turnstile. He had a college haircut already, the blond hair at the back just brushing his shirt collar. In fact he was an Abercrombie & Fitch ad, except he had his shirt on. Now we were elbowing our way down more crumbling steps to the number 6 uptown train.
On this platform the tricky part was to keep people from pushing you onto the tracks. Some of these women were armed with handbags the size of Hummers. A train was charging in, a number 6. The tracks lit up.
If enough of a crowd got between us, I could just dart into a different car. It was dawning on me that Spence and I were headed for the same subway stop, Sixty-eighth Street–Hunter College. I began to edge away, but he slipped a hand under my elbow to keep us together. A perfect gentleman.
Then we were in the subway car, plastered against complete strangers. “What stop?” he mouthed through all the noise.
Why didn’t I say the stop after Sixty-eighth Street–Hunter College? Why didn’t I just stay on the train when he got off and then walk back or something? Because I didn’t know the stop after Sixty-eighth Street–Hunter College.
“Sixty-eighth Street–Hun—”
“Me too.” Spence nodded, and the train thundered on.
WE FOUGHT OUR way up out of the ground onto Lexington Avenue against a tidal wave of Hunter College students going the other way.
It was almost dark now up here on the street. “I’m fine,” I said.
“Where you heading?”
“Seventy-second Street,” I said. One of my rare true statements. But what direction should I—
“I’ll walk you to—”
“No, it’s okay,” I said.
“Then I’ll peel off at Sixty-ninth,” Spence said. “My family’s place is at One twenty-nine, up there on the corner.” We were walking past the big stone castle part of Hunter College. “Didn’t Tanya’s aunt Lily live on Seventy-second?” he said.
“. . . Somewhere around there,” I said.
I guess I could have told him I was going to see her. Pay her a call. But Tanya’s aunt Lily officially lived in
MY HEAD WHIRLED. I supposed I could take a downtown train. Then get off somewhere and switch over to an uptown one. But I could also get totally lost and end up living permanently in the New York subway system. Or Brooklyn. It was like a—I don’t know what—like a bunch of mole holes. A maze. And the signs made no sense. None. You had to know what you were doing.
I’d be lucky to get on the right train, let alone get on the wrong train and then change to the right one. I had to get away from Spence. Here’s how bizarre this whole business was—I was trying to dump one of the major senior guys in school. Also the best-looking. I was so off my turf I couldn’t believe it. Also, I wasn’t used to making my own decisions.
“You go ahead,” I said. “I have to buy a ticket.” He had a pass. He could just go through the turnstile and . . . vanish down the mole hole. This lower level was teeming with people. If enough people got between us, I could just melt away, delete myself.
“No, take your time,” he said. “I’ll wait with you till your train comes. It’s a zoo down here, and there are weirdos.”
He waited while I stood in the ticket line. I had this much time to think. And to wonder, in spite of my grief—would it have killed me to keep using lip gloss?
He was still there when I came back, dry-lipped, ticket in hand. “Actually,” I said, “I’m meeting my dad uptown. He’s having a drink with some people. At somebody’s . . . apartment.” Lie Number—
“Come on then,” Spence said, and I followed his swaying garment bag through the turnstile. He had a college haircut already, the blond hair at the back just brushing his shirt collar. In fact he was an Abercrombie & Fitch ad, except he had his shirt on. Now we were elbowing our way down more crumbling steps to the number 6 uptown train.
On this platform the tricky part was to keep people from pushing you onto the tracks. Some of these women were armed with handbags the size of Hummers. A train was charging in, a number 6. The tracks lit up.
If enough of a crowd got between us, I could just dart into a different car. It was dawning on me that Spence and I were headed for the same subway stop, Sixty-eighth Street–Hunter College. I began to edge away, but he slipped a hand under my elbow to keep us together. A perfect gentleman.
Then we were in the subway car, plastered against complete strangers. “What stop?” he mouthed through all the noise.
Why didn’t I say the stop after Sixty-eighth Street–Hunter College? Why didn’t I just stay on the train when he got off and then walk back or something? Because I didn’t know the stop after Sixty-eighth Street–Hunter College.
“Sixty-eighth Street–Hun—”
“Me too.” Spence nodded, and the train thundered on.
WE FOUGHT OUR way up out of the ground onto Lexington Avenue against a tidal wave of Hunter College students going the other way.
It was almost dark now up here on the street. “I’m fine,” I said.
“Where you heading?”
“Seventy-second Street,” I said. One of my rare true statements. But what direction should I—
“I’ll walk you to—”
“No, it’s okay,” I said.
“Then I’ll peel off at Sixty-ninth,” Spence said. “My family’s place is at One twenty-nine, up there on the corner.” We were walking past the big stone castle part of Hunter College. “Didn’t Tanya’s aunt Lily live on Seventy-second?” he said.
“. . . Somewhere around there,” I said.
I guess I could have told him I was going to see her. Pay her a call. But Tanya’s aunt Lily officially lived in
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