t w o

*

The whole way from my hostel to the airport, my stomach aches. I didn't realise how nervous I was about the trip until I got on the shuttle bus and had to sit there for two hours in torturous L.A. traffic on the way to LAX when I don't even have a flight to catch.

I'm meeting the rest of the group at a motel a mile away from the airport, and I feel sick. Apparently, there's a free bus that will take me there but I've been waiting for thirty minutes and nothing's shown up, and my nerves are getting the best of me.

Ordinarily, I'm not much of a nervous person. I kind of pride myself on my ability to take life in my stride; to keep going when the going gets tough; to laugh off inconveniences and know that the world is brighter around the corner, but it's been a rough month. As I wait for that bus, I can only hear worrisome questions rattling around inside my head. What if I got it wrong? What if I'm at the wrong airport? What if there's no bus? Do I have enough cash for a taxi?

No, but I have my card – that I haven't lost it yet is a miracle in itself - and there's a cashpoint inside the airport. There has to be. And I haven't got the wrong airport, because I put the hotel's address into my map app and it said it's a mile and a half from right where I'm standing. Worst case scenario, I guess I could walk there. But that would be the truly worst case scenario when I can't follow directions for shit. I always end up walking ten minutes in the wrong direction before I can even tell that the blue dot isn't following the line.

It's hard to believe that this morning, I hiked up to the Hollywood sign and watched the sun rise over the city, and now I'm choking on airport fumes and praying I'm not stranded. I check my watch and nervously tap my foot, and I jump when my phone buzzes. It's nearly six in Los Angeles, which means it's two in the morning back home, yet the text is from Mum.

Before I read her message, I'm struck by a lightning bolt of anxiety that tells me something horrible must have happened, something that can't wait. I'm not used to that attack of angry moths in my stomach, the kind of anxiety I'd never known until recently, and it's hard to suppress it to read Mum's message.

MUM: hope you're ok hun. i can't sleep and felt the need to check in on you. you didn't seem yourself before you left and i hate to think of you alone out there. love you, march. xxx mum

I didn't tell my parents why I booked the trip. Pretty much all they know about the past year of my life is that now I've finished high school. They took me out to my favourite restaurant after my last exam, and they toasted to the next stage of my life. Dad reminisced about my early years, when it was just the two of us, and Mum waxed lyrical about watching the boy she adopted ten years ago blossom into a man, and I just tried to strike the right balance between awkward cringing and subtle appreciation. Mostly the latter. My parents can be cringey, but they're my favourite people.

And they have no idea that I'm nursing heartbreak, a raw pain that I never predicted. I know I sound dramatic, but it is dramatic, I've decided. They don't even know I had a boyfriend, though I'm sure they must have their suspicions: until two years ago, George was my best friend, and then it turned into more. Hanging out on the occasional weekend morphed into George coming over after school three times a week; rowdy video game tournaments became sleepy film marathons; an open door ... shut.

It was a while – possibly embarrassingly long – before I realised what had been slowly happening for months, and then I fell head over heels for George. But now it's over and neither of my parents have ever said anything, so I've decided that unless they're exceptional actors, they don't know I'm bi.

Not that they'll care. I'm sure of that. I've just never had a reason to discuss my sexuality, no matter how long I've been sure of it, and that's a conversation for another time, not one I'm about to have over text. I shoot off a quick, and hopefully reassuring, reply, and the hotel shuttle chooses that moment to finally appear. I'm the only one waiting, but I'm sure I'm in the right place – which the driver confirms when I show him the email from the tour company – and I let out a sigh of relief.

In less than ten minutes, I'll meet people I'll be with for every waking moment – and most sleeping moments – of the next couple of weeks. It's a bit scary, about to be faced with a bunch of strangers, but it's a good kind of nervous. Anticipation's a better word, I think. I just don't exactly know what to anticipate.

I booked this trip in a daze, and only realised I'd somehow booked it three times when my bank's fraud team called about suspicious activity on my account, at eight o'clock the next morning. I pretty much had a hungover breakdown on the spot when the guy asked if it was me who booked a solo traveller's dream trip across the USA, and when I had to confirm my last few purchases. Five quid on wine for my parents and a tenner on chocolate from the Co-op, which I ate on the way home from the shop and ruined my appetite. It made for a pretty sad fraud check.

The trip alone was cause enough for concern apparently, and the triple booking only cemented those worries. It stood out, considering I'm something of a saver. I've cashed in every birthday and Christmas cheque since the age of eleven, and it's rare that I spend more than a tenner at once, and that usually goes on food. The only reason I could even afford the trip is thanks to a couple of lucky scratch card wins that added just over a thousand to my burgeoning bank balance.

The bus pulls up in front of a motel and my heart skips a beat. Here it is. Moment of truth. I hook my bag over my shoulder and remember to dig out a couple of crumpled dollar bills from my pocket, which I pass to the driver as I hop off the bus.

The tipping culture still befuddles me, even though I knew to expect it. The tax, too, confused me the first time I bought something in the states. After my earphones gave up the ghost on my second day in L.A., I found a pair for $19.99 and walked up to the till with a fresh twenty-dollar bill. It threw me when that wasn't enough, and considering I can't handle the most basic maths, I doubt I'll ever get to grips with it.

The bus leaves. I stare at the motel door, about to step forward when my phone buzzes again. Thankful for a reason to delay for a moment more, I open the new text. Mum, again. My heart twinges. I've never been away from home for so long before.

MUM: thinking of you, hun. I hope you have a great trip and please send photos! Dad and I are so jealous that you're in California! P.s. flo really misses you – please check in with her when you have a chance, let her know you're ok. Have an AMAZING time, and I hope you're doing ok xxx

I swallow the lump in my throat and paint on a smile, standing straight and pushing back my shoulders. Dad's a firm believer in the idea of fake it until you make it, and I have to admit that it works – to a degree.

ME: missing you all too. At the hotel now, about to meet the group. I promise to take tons of pics & i'll message flo later. Love you. I'm fine, I promise – get some sleep!

MUM: off to bed. Love you & thinking of you. Have fun, baby xxx

I send back a heart and a hug gif, and tuck my phone back into my pocket. Double checking that I have my passport and my wallet, and a bunch of confusingly similar-looking American dollars, I push my hair off my face – only for untamed curls to immediately flop over my forehead – and step into the lobby.

Across the room, a group of backpackers are standing around a tall, skinny white guy holding a clipboard. When the door swings shut, he points the board at me and grins, holding his long blonde hair in a ponytail.

"Marcello! Right?" he calls. The group part and turn, and I hold up a hand in an awkward wave. "Awesome, that's all of us then," the guy says, and he places a hand over his chest. "I was just about to tell the others, I'm Sam and I'm gonna be your tour leader for the next couple of weeks. First of all, I'm gonna need y'all to fill out these forms for me."

I don't have time to let my nerves return when a form is thrust at me and I grab a blue marker from Sam's pen pile, hunkering down in a corner. I squint at the tiny boxes and lines as I fill in my passport and insurance details, and everything else needed of me, as carefully as possible, well aware that my atrocious handwriting can be impossible for anyone but me to read. The tiny serif font seems easy for everyone but me to read. But I appreciate the task, something to occupy me and give me a moment to scope out the others on the trip.

I'm the eighth, not including Sam, and the fourth guy. Of the four girls, two are white and blonde and too identical not to be twins; one is a pale redhead who looks a bit older than the rest, who seem to be mostly my age; the last is an East Asian girl who grins at me when our eyes meet. I smile back awkwardly, caught out. I try to casually eye them all until my form's done and I've added Sam's number to my phone; I wonder if I'll befriend anyone, if anyone else came here from England.

I don't have long to ponder before Sam gathers us all in a huddle around him and claps his hands together.

"All right! Now that the boring stuff is done with, we'll do a quick round of introductions and tent mate assignments before we head out for something to eat." He checks his watch. I check mine too. It's just past six, but I'm already shattered. The early get up, plus a little residual jet lag, has taken it out of me and I have to stifle a yawn and dig my nails into my palm: it could still be a long night yet.

Sam points at the short redheaded girl standing next to me. "Let's start here and go clockwise," he says. I smile at the girl. Not a girl, I think – she's older than me. "Let's go with ... name, age, where you're from."

Short-term memory isn't my strong suit, and I know this is going to be a struggle. By the time each person's introduction is over, I've only retained one detail. I know that the black guy opposite me is from London; I know that the girl next to me is twenty-one; I know that Kristin and Klara are twins after all. But I have no idea where they're from, or how old the Irish guy is.

"And that," Sam says when the guy to my right has introduced himself, "brings us to Marcello!"

I tuck my thumbs into the pockets of my shorts and try to make eye contact with everyone in the circle. "Hey, I'm March," I say, hoping my subtle correction doesn't come off as rude. It's just that I've never been Marcello for anything but official forms. "I'm eighteen, and I'm from England. Originally Scotland, but, yeah. The UK, I guess. And, uh, I have a really bad memory. I'm not rude, I promise, but I'm not good with names. Or numbers."

That earns a quiet laugh from the guy directly opposite me. All I can remember is his name, and I only wish I could remember that detail about everyone. There isn't much I can do with only their ages, but I know that this guy – with the kind smile and the warm eyes – is called Arjun, and judging by his smooth-as-butter accent, he's a fellow Brit. A posh one. Surrey, I reckon. Somewhere down south. He smiles at me, even though I'm pretty sure I've just spent the past ten seconds staring at him, and I smile back.

"Now, tent mate assignments," Sam says, flipping to a new sheet on his clipboard. "You and your tent mate will be responsible for erecting and taking down your tent at each campsite, and you'll be sharing a room any time we're staying in a hotel. Like tonight."

My ears prick up. It's another chance to learn people's names, but I can only listen out for my own, my head too full to take on seven extra names. Sam rattles through the list – obviously, the twins are paired together, and so are the other two girls – and then my ears snag on my name. He says March: he got my hint.

He also says Arjun, who nods at me, his thumbs tucked in his pockets. I smile, and when he looks away, I give him a quick once over. Just to check out who I'm gonna be sharing a pretty small space with for the next couple of weeks. He looks friendly, and like the most laid back of the other three guys. I need that. I'm sure the other two are great, but one of them looks pretty nervous, chewing his thumbnail, and I'm not sure I can deal with anyone else's nerves right now.

"Right," Sam says, once he's sure we've all figured out who are tent mates are, "we're gonna head out to grab some dinner from down the road, and then I think it's best we all get a good night's sleep. Early start tomorrow: seven o'clock sharp, here in the lobby."

I catch Arjun's eye again as we file towards the van outside. He gives me a crooked smile, his head tilted, and it makes me feel better. This is a group of normal people. People like me, who just want to escape reality for a couple of weeks. This is going to be good. I'm sure. I hope.

*

welcome to the second chapter of ABGTTAW! i decided that as the start of a story is always a little slow, I will post a chapter a day for the first three days, so the third chapter will be up tomorrow. then i will begin a monday/wednesday/friday schedule. so chapter 4 will go up after the weekend, and there'll be three new chapters each week!