“You can still go!” Ava says, trying to be cheery. “You’re such a social butterfly. I bet you’ll meet someone to hang out with before you even get off the plane.”
She’s not wrong. Ava is the introvert stuck with an extrovert as a roommate. To Ava’s continual horror, I talk to strangers in front of me in line or make jokes with any poor passerby willing to listen to me. My mom always joked that making friends is my superpower.
“I can’t afford to pay your half, Ava,” I tell her.
“Then go anyways. I’m the one canceling. If I don’t get a refund for canceling last minute, that should be on me, not you. If they’re not going to refund us, then you should at least go and enjoy on my behalf.”
I look up at her. That’s hundreds of dollars down the drain for Ava.
“Ava—” I start, but she puts her hand up.
“It’s fine. I mean, we don’t have another option. No refund and we both stay here. Or no refund and you go without me.” She shrugs. After a beat or two, she adds, “My new job is a huge pay upgrade. Not enough to pay for the entire trip in a week, but enough that I don’t feel bad losing out on a refund.”
I frown, but I see her logic. It’s the only option, right? I mean, if there’s no way we’re getting our money back, it doesn’t make sense for me not to go.
But this is Ava. She’s always been one to give the shirt off her back. There has to be some way to get her at least a little ofthe money back. I mean, who wants to pay for a vacation they don’t get to go on?
I’m about to agree with Ava when someone hits my shoulder. I let out a little squeal and once again, my latte is on the table—this time, the spill is much bigger, and most of my drink is gone.
“What the—” I’m about to swear at the person behind me, but when I turn, I see Luke with a huge grin on his face. His hair is a bit of a mess today, like he rolled out of bed and ran out the door without bothering to look in the mirror. But he’s dressed nicely in his finest office attire: khaki pants and a button-down shirt. It makes the cowlick at the back of his head—the same cowlick he’s had since he was a kid—look a little out of place.
As if he can feel my gaze, he runs his hand over his hair to smooth it out. It helps a little, but luckily for Luke, he rocks the bedhead look like he styled that way on purpose.
“Punch buggy, silver,” he says, pointing out the window of the café. Sure enough, a silver Volkswagen Beetle is parked out front. “No punch back.”
He pulls a seat up next to me. Ava shakes her head at him, unamused, and cleans up the latte that spilled.
“I can’t believe you guys still play that game.”
“Ugh,” I groan, staring at the car and then at my drink.
Luke laughs. “I can’t believe you didn’t see that one. It’s right in your line of vision.”
I roll my eyes. “Even if I saw the car, I didn’t see you,” I say, giving him a playful shove. “What are you even doing here? This is meant to be my Luke-free, no-punch-buggy zone.”
“The game has no bounds.” He places one of the giantcookies from the café in front of me—a peace offering. “And you know you’re only mad because you wish you’d been the one to punch me.”
“Any day I can punch you is a good day.” I break off a piece of the cookie and pop it into my mouth. The chocolate, still warm, melts in my mouth.
“You guys are so weird,” Ava says.
“You’re more than welcome to join in on the game, Ava,” Luke says.
She’s shaking her head before he has the chance to finish her sentence. “I bruise too easy. But thanks.”
It’s the same response she gives every time he offers.
Ava has always been so serious. For as long as I’ve known her, she’s locked in on a task and focused. On the other hand, I’m about as unfocused and unserious as it gets, which can help or hinder my game of punch buggy. Luke and I have been playing since we learned about the game when I was ten and he was twelve. Now, fourteen years later, the game has never stopped. Is it childish? Probably, but with a fourteen-year streak, why stop now?
“You guys excited to go to Iceland?” Luke perks up, and Ava flinches.
“Ava can’t go,” I say.
He turns to her. “Why not?”
“I got a new job that has mandatory onboarding next week.”
“Oh.” He sounds disappointed. “You’re still going, right?” he asks me.
