Free One Week by Nikki Van De Car

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 my head. He had seemed so engrossed in his book, I didn’t think he’d noticed. And it was either read over his shoulder or claw my eyes out. Not that his book was much better. A biography of some dead jazz musician? People read those?
    I give the newsstand selection a quick glance and sigh. We’ve got bodice-rippers, really cheesy-sounding P.I. mysteries, Dan Brown, and Harry Potter. I grab one of each. I also snag a deck of cards and a couple of bags of Skittles. Maybe I can talk Jess into playing Skittle poker at some point.
    I walk out of the newsstand and look around until I spot Jess. He’s on the payphone again. Hasn’t the man ever heard of cell phones? He doesn’t look too pleased with the conversation, and I figure it’s his mom again. Though why he would call her just to get yelled at is beyond me. Masochist. If there’s one thing about payphones, it’s that nobody can call you on them—you initiate all contact. So why would Jess be putting himself through this, again and again?
    The guy needs to be rescued from himself. I walk around behind him and tap him on the shoulder. He turns around and mouths “What?”
    “The train’s leaving,” I say.
    Jess frowns and looks over at the board. “No, it isn’t,” he says. “We’ve got another half an hour. Give me a sec.” He turns back to the phone. “Uh huh,” he mumbles. “I know.”
    I roll my eyes. Most people, given an out like that, would take it in a heartbeat. Leave it to Jess to be either too self-sacrificing or too stupid to figure it out.
    “No, Jess,” I say loudly. “It’s leaving right now . We have to go.”
    Jess whips his head around and glares at me. “I’m sorry, hold on for just a moment,” he says into the phone, then covers the mouthpiece with his hand. “What?” he says, exasperated. “Will you give me a minute? We have plenty of time!”
    “Yeah, I know,” I huff. “I’m just trying to help you out here—you’re on the phone with your mom again, aren’t you?”
    “So what?”
    “So why are you bothering if you’re just going to get yelled at? Most people who are old enough to get kicked out of college on a drug bust don’t report their every move to their mother, you know. Call her when you get to New York if you have to, but in the meantime, chill out, would you?”
    Jess grips the phone with one hand and runs his other hand through his hair, making it even more unruly than it already is. “Look, Bee,” he says tightly. “I get that you and your father have