“No,” Seth replied. “This is the torture of our day.”
“I figured,” I said, feeling relief. “I haven’t gotten any texts from you this week.”
“I know. My thumbs are going through withdrawal. It seems my friends are all going through withdrawal as well. I didn’t think my texts were that great. Can you even remember what the last text I sent you said?”
I was surprised to find that I could. Should I admit to that? “It’s more about being able to instantly communicate with someone. There’s power in that, don’t you think?”
He nodded. “We’ve gotten used to instant validation for sure.”
“So how have you kept yourself busy without the time suck that is the online world?”
“Starbucks and I have become the best study partners ever. Maybe that was my mom’s goal from the beginning. Take away my phone and suddenly even homework looks interesting.”
“You study at Starbucks?”
“Almost every night. I’m becoming you, Maddie.”
I wrinkled my nose at him. “You’d be lucky to have my grades. You shouldn’t make fun of what it takes for me to get them.”
“True.”
“Do penguins have knees?”
“What?” He grabbed a rag off the railing and began wiping down the cars of the train.
“That was the last text exchange we had. Well, before my texts started going into a black hole.”
He met my eyes, giving me a curious look, and I wished I’d kept my mouth shut. “That’s right,” he said. “Why were we talking about penguins, anyway? We don’t have any here.”
“I think we were talking about all the animals we don’t have at the zoo that we wished we did.”
“I don’t think we came to a conclusion on if penguins have knees.”
I retrieved a trash bag from the cupboard beneath the booth. I lined the can that we’d soon fill with used tickets. “They do. I looked it up.”
“Of course you did.”
“Why wouldn’t I?”
“There’s something about just pondering a question.”
“About penguins’ knees?”
He laughed. “Yes. That’s a particularly deep question.”
I smiled. “You should major in philosophy.” My phone said we had ten more minutes until our station opened. I looked around to make sure we were ready for the horde of kids that would soon be surrounding us.
“I totally should,” Seth replied.
“But you’re not, right? You’re majoring in screenwriting or filmmaking or something movie-related.”
“That’s a really hard industry to break into and … ”
“And what? Is Seth backing down from a challenge?”
“Seth?” He looked around.
“Are you mocking me for referring to you in the third person?”
“No, but if we’re going with third person, maybe you should call me Zoo Seth. It makes me sound like a superhero or something.”
I smiled. “My friend has been calling me Batman lately.”
“Batman? Why?”
“Oh … because … ” There I went again, speaking before thinking.
He laughed a little. “You love bats as much as anteaters?”
“I love all animals.”
“Of course. But she should at least call you Batwoman.”
“True.” I went to the podium and removed the microphone and bell. “Well, I think you should try screenwriting. You can always change your major later.”
Seth put his arms out to either side. “Hold the phone, Maddie.”
“Hold the phone? Did you really just say that?”
“I did, and I’m owning it.”
“You can have it. It’s up for grabs from where it was left in nineteen seventy.”
“People have used it more recently than nineteen seventy.”
“I’d like recorded proof of that.”
He laughed.
“So wait, why am I holding the phone? Not your phone, because you don’t have one.”
“Ouch. Rub it in a little more.” He pointed to the ground about ten feet away from us. I followed the line of his finger.
“What am I looking at?”
“You don’t see it?” He took me by the elbow, leading me over to the spot, then pointed again. A penny, dull with age, sat head-side up on the cement between us. “That’s your penny, Maddie.”
We stood nearly forehead to forehead as we stared down at it. “Did you put that there?”
“No, I swear.”
“I think it’s your penny. You saw it first.”
“No, I already found five pennies’ worth of luck here. It’s only fair.”
I smiled, then bent down and picked the penny up, sliding it into my pocket. “Do you really believe in lucky pennies?” I looked up at him, not realizing how close we still were. If I backed up, it would seem like it bothered me. It didn’t bother me. Maybe it should’ve. But he smelled really nice—like hair product and soap.
“I believe in making our own luck,” he said. “But a talisman now and again can help motivate us.”
“You’re kind of a dork,” I whispered.
A smile took over his face. A really cute dork.
“Is this where we can ride the train?” a voice to my left asked.
That’s when I finally stepped back from Seth and took a deep breath, clearing my head.
“Yes, this is it,” I said to the little boy.
A line of kids and their parents, twenty deep, had formed between our set-up chains.
“Who’s ready for some fun?” Seth asked, pulling the train whistle three times.
The kids cheered.
I picked up the microphone and clicked it on. “First we need to talk about the rules of the train,” I told the kids. “No standing up in the cars.”
The kids laughed, and I wasn’t sure what was so funny until I turned and saw Seth walking from train car to train car pretending like he was going to fall with each step.
“Yes, don’t do what Seth is doing or you might get hurt. And keep your hands and feet in the car at all times.”
“And when you get to the tunnel,” Seth said, “yell as loud as you can. I want to hear you all the way from here.” He stood in the middle of the train, one foot balancing on two separate cars. “Maddie, come help me, I think I’m stuck.”
They laughed and I rolled my eyes. “This is why we follow the rules. Just like all these kids will, right?” I asked them.
“Yes,” they all sang back to me.
Seth said, “No, really, my shoelace is stuck.”
I walked over and tugged it free from where it had caught on a hinge. He jumped down and gave me a hug from behind. “You saved my life, Batwoman.”
The kids laughed even more, and I wriggled out of his hold. “A huge dork,” I whispered as I headed over to collect the tickets, hoping he couldn’t see my red cheeks.
“I love this station,” I said after the last load of kids had exited the train.
“You do?” Seth asked.
“Don’t you?” I sat up on the railing, facing where he stood by the turnstile.
“It’s not my favorite,” he said. “Why do you like it so much?”
“Because the kids love it and they get to look at the animals while sitting in a train. That’s pretty awesome.”
“Yes, I remember loving it as a kid.”
“Did you grow up here in Santa Ana?”
“Westminster and then North Tustin. You?”
“I didn’t know you lived in Tustin. That’s probably why we ran into each other at the Mini-mart on my birthday.”
“You live there, too?”
“Not in Ritzville, like you, but yes.”
“Ritzville?”
“It’s a place. So what’s your favorite station to work here if not the train?”
He seemed to consider this question intently.
“Answer carefully,” I said when he was taking too long. “I can interpret your entire personality and future based on what you say.”