Moth is driving us to the airport to wish Thatcher and Patti good luck--er, I guess to break a leg--as they fly off to Hollywood. Who knows when I will see either of them next. At least Moth is home every week for school. This is the only time I wish Thatcher were rich like Moth's family is, so that he could afford to fly back and forth however many times he needs for auditions.

"What'cha thinking?" he asks. We are in his family's Wrangler, and to celebrate the Indian summer, the sides and top are down. They weren't when Moth picked me up, of course, otherwise my mom wouldn't have allowed me to go. But they are now, and the wind whips my hair around so I can barely go two seconds without feeling sharp stings across my face.

"Huh?" It's so hard to hear with the wind.

"What are you thinking?" he yells.

"Oh," I say, to maybe just myself, who knows if he can hear it. Then I shrug. It's been such a freaking confusing quarter, but I'm actively trying to be awesome. I'm trying to support my friends and not give in to jealousy. I'm trying to be the person my friends think I am and know I can be.

"I'm sad," I yell in reply, "but I'm also happy for you three."

"Yeah, I get that."

"Huh?"

He laughs to himself, or maybe just smiles, I can't actually hear the laughter. "Nevermind," he shouts. "We will talk at the airport!"

Really, I think when it comes down to it, I'm ready to be supportive, I'm ready to be happy of my friends' opportunities, but I'm not ready to be without Thatcher next to me in Ensemble every day. A tear forms in the corner of my eye thinking about it, but luckily it is dried quickly in the wind before Moth can see.

We arrive at the airport a full three hours before Patti and Thatcher's planes depart, so that the four of us, under the watchful gaze of Patti's dad and Thatcher's grandma, can get an early lunch before two of us go through the security checkpoint and the other two of us have to go back to Riverside.

As Moth and I step onto the long "moving walkway" that leads us from the parking lot to the common area where I am told there are some shops and one burger place before the security checkpoint will block us from our friends, Moth starts up the conversation we were trying to have in the car.

"Anyways, what'cha thinking, kid? Are you ok?"

"Yeah, I'm just... I'm not looking forward to Thatcher being so far away for however long."

"I hear that. I can bring you guys things back and forth if you want. Notes, presents, hugs, kisses," he jokes, but the first offer was sincere.

I smile. "Thank you, I will think about it."

"Moving walkway is now ending. Please watch your step. Thank you. Moving walkway is now ending. Please watch your step. Thank you," the ceiling tells us as we come to the end of the path and find ourselves at the top of an escalator leading down to the security checkpoint and the restaurant where we are supposed to meet Patti and Thatcher.

True to Patti fashion, she's already below, saving us a table on the "patio," if you can call it that, of the restaurant. She waves vigorously, and as she does, Thatcher comes out from the interior of the restaurant with a fountain drink, sees her waving, and looks up at us. His eyes seem to gleam as he smiles.

"C'mon," Moth says, gently slapping my arm, "let's go get our people." Then, true to Moth fashion, he races down the escalator loudly declaring, "Never fear, Moth is here!"

Everyone, literally every single person in the security line turn back to see who is creating such a ruckus. I hide my face in my hands and pretend like I was never standing next to the weirdo at the bottom of the escalator. But Patti doesn't care, she stands up and runs to him, like we didn't just see each other last night at the show, like it's been forever since she's seen him. When I'm finally down, she runs over to give me the same greeting. But for me, it really means something. She and I don't see each other on the weekends like she and Moth sometimes do in Hollywood. She and I really need this hug. Well, I know that I really need this hug.

As soon as I've pulled away from Patti, a teary-eyed Thatcher approaches me with seemingly the same intent, but I can't look at him right now. I'm too emotional not to break down right here. I stare at my shoes, my black flats, and try to think about anything other than my boyfriend who is coming towards me to hug me before he leaves for a while. But then his arms are around me, cocooning me in his warmth, in the piney smell that is unique to him, and I can't help but cry.

"My Juliet," he says so only I can hear, "I love you so damn much. Don't actually go all Juliet on me though. I'm not going to Mantua, I'm not banished, I'll be back."

I let myself smile at our old Romeo and Juliet references. We've been playing characters in different scenes of a very different play for so long that it's nice to get back to being Romeo and Juliet.

"I promise I won't go all Juliet, as long as you don't go all Romeo on me either."

"I can't make any promises. It's pretty common knowledge how many shady apothecaries are in Hollywood, just waiting to sell a guy some poison."

I laugh and step out of his hold, wiping the tears away from my cheeks in the process.

"Let's get something to eat," I suggest.

"And just focus on now."

"Right. Let's just focus on this moment."

It's only now that I realize we've been standing in the middle of everything and everyone trying to get to the security lines, so I allow Thatcher to lead me through moving people traffic, like we're playing some airport edition of Frogger, until we are sitting at the table of the airport burger place with Patti and Moth.

"Where's your grandma, dude?" Moth asks.

"She's already in the airport for the duty-free shopping."

"Ha, duty."

Patti rolls her eyes, but can't help but smile a bit in the process. "Grow up, Timothy."

"Never," he declares, once again, a bit too loudly.

"Not to worry, though," Patti says, looking only at me across the table, "my dad is inside at the bar. He's buying, so order whatever you want."

The waitress comes outside on the patio area of the restaurant, which is really just some tables set up outside of the actual restaurant, separated from the general airport traffic by only a velvet rope, and takes our drink orders. I stick with water. I don't want to be too jittery for my last moments with Thatcher.

As soon as she leaves, Patti gets into what she calls "shop talk" with Thatcher and Moth.

"So, when I'm back I have an audition for this little indie film. I think it's about teenagers, so you two should probably audition for it too. If your agent didn't schedule it for you, let me know, and I will text you the details."

"Is it for next weekend?"

"Oh, right. No, sorry, Timothy. It's on Wednesday."

"Well, I'll be there," Thatcher replies.

"Great, let me know if you need the details."

"Will do."

"So I think Mrs. Permala will tell us the new show tomorrow," I add, trying to have something, anything to add to the conversation. "I'm excited."

"I'm sorry Janie, I'm such a doofus," Patti says, putting her hand over her mouth. "I shouldn't have been talking about all of that around you. Not that it's a secret or something. Ugh, I'm sorry, I am making it worse now."

I smile, hoping it doesn't look too fake. "Don't worry about it."

What is this feeling? I wonder. It isn't jealousy, it's more like loneliness. It's like preemptive loneliness, like I know I'll miss all of this in the future, and I can't handle the knowledge of it in the present.

But maybe if I know about all of it, I won't feel so left out, I think.

"Tell me about some of the other auditions you've had. What all is going on out there?"

"Really?" Moth asks.

I nod. "Yeah, really. If I can't be there, I want to be able to see it all for myself in my mind. Go for it, tell me everything."

Patti smiles, and Thatcher reaches for my hand under the table. He squeezes it and fiddles with my promise ring with his thumb, reassuring me that it's there. That its promise is still there, still real.

With my blessing, Patti uncorks and spills all of the news about what she's been doing. There have been commercial auditions, and she's in a commercial out there for a local LA business. She's had a few callbacks for different films, but for one reason or another, she hasn't gotten the parts. She's been on tons of other auditions, and so far, this indie film seems to be her best bet. Her agent knows the casting director and is looking for fresh talent, aka Patti. Or Patricia Wenner as she's going by, since she thought her last name would keep people from taking her seriously.

"Plus," she says with bright eyes, "if you say it really fast, it almost sounds like 'Pick a winner,' so I feel like I have that subtle subliminal messaging working for me. Are you changing your name at all Thatcher?"

He shrugs. "I hadn't thought about it, but I don't think so. Thatcher Gorsky is fine. Did you, Moth?"

"From Timothy Boone? No way, that's a strong, sexy ass name," he jokes. But he's right: Boone is a strong last name.

"Anyways," Patti continues, "I will let you know if I get the indie film part. I feel really good about it. Wait, do you want me to keep you posted about it?" Patti asks only me. "I tried not to dish too much while Midsummer was going on, because I knew you were having a hard time."

"Yeah, no, keep me posted. I want to be with all of you in spirit."

Moth elbows me. "I'll update you in class too. What else are we going to do in Chem? Learn? Ha."

I roll my eyes. "Yeah, who does that?"

"Nerds."

"Like us?" I joke.

He smiles. "Yeah, like us."

"Ok."

"What's the indie film about, Patti?" Thatcher asks.

"It's actually kind of perfect, because it's about a group of high school friends who are going through changes as graduation approaches. I've been thinking about all of you and using us as inspiration for all of my monologue rehearsals with my acting coach."

I reach across the table, over the food the waitress brought up in the middle of one of Patti's earlier Hollywood stories, and hold Patti's hand. "Please tell me we will all graduate together."

Patti grimaces. "Who knows where we will all be in a year and a half, Janie. I can promise we will all still be friends. But I can't promise we will all be graduating together. Sorry to be a downer, I just don't want to lie to you."

Patti's dad emerges from inside of the restaurant. "It's about that time, kids. We have to get going if we are going to make it through security and get to the gate in time."

I pull my arm back from Patti and clutch Thatcher's hand in mine. I don't want to let him go.

"Okay," Patti sighs.

The four of us stand from the table, after Moth takes a few forks full of food from each of our plates, of course, and we prepare ourselves from the goodbye I've been dreading since Patti first clued me in to the possibility of Hollywood snatching all my friends away from me.

This is it.

This is the end.

As soon as I'm standing, tears begin to pool in my eyes.

I'm not ready for this part.

The four of us walk to the end of the security line. Thatcher and I cling to each other as though we are walking on a tightrope and can only step together if we want to keep from falling.

It isn't long before Moth and I have escorted Patti and Thatcher (and Mr. Weiner too) to the end of the security line.

"We don't have to leave yet, right? It's only at the end of the line when we have to leave?" I ask, sounding a bit more desperate than I intend to.

"Right," Mr. Weiner answers. "You can stay with us until the TSA agent stops you."

"So that's what we will do," Moth says. "Right, Janie?"

"Mm hm," I reply, burying my head in Thatcher's chest. I don't want to let go. Maybe if I hold him tight enough, we will be fused together and we won't be able to be apart from one another. They'll have to let me on the plane with him.

If only.

None of us talk, we just shuffle one step at a time with the line, holding each other. Moth's arm is around Patti. Did they rekindle something in Hollywood? I'll have to ask him about that on the ride home. But Moth is like that, so it's probably just friendly. Still, it's enough to keep me from thinking about leaving Thatcher in just a few more yards of this line.

I squeeze him closer to me.

He kisses the top of my head.

I cry into his sweater.

He whispers he loves me.

Then we find ourselves next in line to meet the TSA agent at the end of the line.

"Boarding passes and IDs," the round man orders.

"Oh, I'm just walking with him. I don't have those."

"Step aside," the agent orders me.

I hurriedly push myself onto my tiptoes to kiss Thatcher one last kiss until whenever and race out of the line. I can't bring myself to stay any longer between my fear of people with badges that formed after our police incident and my deep, consuming sadness at leaving Thatcher now. It's too much. Moth is soon at my side, and he guides me to sit on a nearby bench since I can't see anything through the screen of tears in front of my eyes.

We sit there as Patti and Thatcher go through security, as they wave to us on the other side, and as they disappear into the airport.

Moth rubs my back.

"This is just one chapter of this story, Janie. There will be more," Moth says.

I nod, shaking some of the tears loose. I brush them away and stand up. "Yeah, you're right. Let's go home."

He wraps his arm around me, as he did with Patti, and leads me back up the escalator and down the moving walkway to his car.

"Sides up or down?" he asks.

"Down," I reply. I don't want to hear the thoughts in my head. I don't want to feel any more tears on my cheeks. I just want to wind to wrap around me and dry all the sadness from my eyes. If I'm thinking about my hair whipping around and the whoosh of the wind, I can't think about how much I already miss Thatcher.

"Down it is. Let's go home."

Yep, home.

***Song for this chapter shared because of Ben Platt's amazing voice and the beautiful choreography in the video. Some of the lyrics fit too. :-P***