So every time I hear some incidental tapping noise, my heart kind of tightens up and I look for him.

I do feel sorry for cursing him like I did that night, but there was nothing I could have done to stop myself.

He’ll come back.

But Nickie won’t.

That was my idea, too.

The day after Conner and I came home to St. Atticus from London, I took a crowded Monday-afternoon train to visit Nickie in Hampstead.

Nobody knew I went.

I didn’t even let Conner know about it for a few days. When I finally worked up the nerve to tell him everything I said to Nickie about me and Conner, he just smiled and shook his head and said, Holy shit.

I do love Nickie. I always will love Nickie. But I’m not going to lie to her, and there is too much of my life—my universe—that she will never be part of.

Telling her about it was one of the toughest things I ever did, here or anywhere, but Nickie … well, she’s just Nickie, and she’s always been so strong when it comes to putting up with Jack’s bullshit.

In the end, I guess she took the whole thing easier than I did. And she’s coming with us to Heathrow today, too. Conner and I are going back to Glenbrook for our school’s winter break. Our plane leaves this afternoon.

He had the “talk” with Rachel, too. Well, to be honest, there was nothing he could do about it after Nickie got involved. I didn’t need to ask Conner about it. Afterward, I could see on his face how rough it must have been, and I felt bad about that.

My fault, too.

We fucked up and we hurt those girls.

When there’s nothing we can do to make things better, at least Conner and I can stop letting them get worse.

Jack’s Third Law.

I guess I should say a few things about my friend before we leave.

You know how you can go all your life knowing someone, everything about him, no secrets at all, and then you get just a peek—a moment’s understanding—of one little thing that defines who he is, and then it’s like a spotlight gets turned on at nighttime; and you can see stuff that was always there, now unhidden, so clearly?

But it’s not a surprise, either.

That was what happened between Conner and me the night he saved my life in London. I realized that all that time when I took his game playing so personally, he wasn’t actually picking on me about being “gay” or whatever.

He was just trying to see if it might be okay.

Conner was testing himself more than he was testing me.

And, most of the times, acting like a dick about things is the only way Conner Kirk knows how to do stuff.

It’s just how he is.

But he’s always meant more to me than anyone in this world. Or any other world, I guess, for that matter. And one thing I do know for certain is that Conner has grown up so much since we’ve been here at St. Atticus.

Both of us have.

Anyway, I told him, it’s not like we’re talking about hyphenating our last names or anything.

He laughs about that still and, of course, makes fun of me just for having brought up the idea in the first place.

That’s Conner.

Right now, Ethan is packing clothes for his trip home to Bath. We’re riding into London together with Conner and Neal Genovese.

I watch Ethan for a moment. He’s every bit as disorganized as I am.

I take a breath. There are a couple things making Jack a little nervous.

I haven’t seen Nickie in weeks. I wonder if she’ll still be as beautiful as always; if she’ll act noticeably different toward Conner and Jack.

Maybe she’ll have a new boyfriend tagging along, and he’ll glare at me and Conner and mutter smartass British comments to her under his breath about American boys.

I pack just a few things in a small nylon bag. I don’t need much. I have plenty of stuff at Wynn and Stella’s house in Glenbrook. And I don’t care if Jack’s clothes are different than I remember or if they feel weird on me, because they’re just clothes, after all, and I’ve changed, too. But who hasn’t?

And this is it.

Conner’s in the hall, knocking, rattling the doorknob, saying, Hurry up, dipshits, let’s go.

Passengers again.

I zip the bag shut.

And never for one second do I think about bringing those two small bundles along with us on our trip.

A FEIWEL AND FRIENDS BOOK

An Imprint of Macmillan

PASSENGER. Copyright © 2012 by Andrew Smith. All rights reserved. For information, address Feiwel and Friends, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, N.Y. 10010.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Available

ISBN: 978-1-250-00487-1

Feiwel and Friends logo designed by Filomena Tuosto

First Edition: 2012

eISBN 9781466827585

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