The Entirely Fabricated Story of Lizzie Nickerson

Chapter 62

"Lizzie! Hey, Lizzie!" The familiar voice broke Lizzie out of her trance.

"There he is," said Sonya with a wide smile.

Lizzie brightened when she saw Scooter across the lobby with his mom.

Sonya led the way to Scooter and Nikki where they stood amidst an arrangement of upholstered chairs and a long, curved couch.

"Lizzie!" said Scooter. He wrapped his arms around Lizzie and held her in his embrace. "You look amazing!"

"You, too," she replied, well aware that she didn't look anywhere near amazing.

When he released her he said, "I really missed you."

"I missed you, too." She was doing it again, replying by repeating. She wanted to say something original and she needed to make an effort to be fun. She considered trying on one of the smiles she'd been practicing in the mirror but decided against it. She learned that smiles should come naturally. When they don't, it makes everyone feel uncomfortable and sometimes a little scared.

He picked up a small bouquet of flowers, wrapped in cellophane, from a nearby chair. "I got you something."

"Why would you give a bunch of dead flowers to someone?" Lizzie thought. She didn't say it out loud but she was afraid that her facial expression was saying it. It didn't make sense. Flowers are beautiful, well, most flowers are. Except some orchids. Oh, geez. There were several orchids that looked creepy. But most flowers, like the ones in the bouquet she clenched in her sweaty hand, were really pretty. So why would you cut them down and wrap them in plastic and give them to someone and they're supposed to be happy you gave them dead plants?

"You don't like them?" Scooter said, his voice a little shaky.

"Of course she likes them," said Sonya. "They're very pretty. That was very thoughtful."

"I like them," said Lizzie. She held the bouquet like she was holding a flashlight, the flower heads facing the floor.

Nikki interceded. "Why don't we put them in some water and then you can take them home with you when you're ready to leave?"

Lizzie thrust the bouquet at Nikki. "Do you know where there's water? I mean for flowers. Oh, geez. Everybody knows where they can find water."

"I know what you mean." Nikki smiled and took the bouquet. "Would you like to see our room? There's an awesome view of the city and the river."

Sonya nodded.

"We're on the ninth floor," said Scooter. "You can see the bridges, the city, and everything."

Before Lizzie could reply, they were making their way through the congested lobby toward the bank of elevators. The intensified sights, smells, sounds, and tactile sensations bombarded her and the sensory overstimulation was far too much for her brain to process. 

None of this was Scooter's fault. He was just being his sweet, kind, cute Scooter self. The problem was the triggering environment. In the familiar confines of the third floor of Aunt Sonya's apartment building, Lizzie could focus entirely on Scooter and allow her emotions to bubble to the surface and do impulsive things like kiss him. But here in the glass and steel palace, her brain nearly rewired itself and Lizzie felt exhausted, her muscles becoming rigid. 

When the elevator door slid open and a half dozen people spilled out into the lobby, Lizzie slammed on the brakes. She'd never been in an elevator - a shiny metal box dangling by a greasy cable - and had no desire to make her maiden voyage.

"I can't," she said.

Scooter whispered, "You okay?"

She couldn't generate words. She shook her head and clenched her eyes. 

"We're gonna go outside," he said to his mom. "That okay with you, Lizzie?"

She nodded.

"Scott," Nikki said. "Do you want me to–"

"I'll text you," he said. He took Lizzie's hand and forged a path through the lobby toward the exit.

When she was able to connect her thoughts, Lizzie said, "I was going to be fun. Really, I was. But then, oh, geez, when I went into your hotel–"

"Yeah, that's a lot," Scooter said. "I didn't even think about that."

Lizzie came to a full stop on the sidewalk, head down.

"You okay?"

"Just give me a minute." She drew a few deep breaths.

"Sure."

"Sometimes my brain gets too full of everything coming at me at once and the electricity doesn't go where it's supposed to. Oh, geez, it just bounces around in circles and it makes me feel like I can't think. But I'm smart. My momma taught me that if you're smart then you never have to be scared. And I am smart. I can figure things out."

"Yeah, I like that about you. The girls I know don't ever talk about stuff like that."

"Nobody does."

"Yeah, right?"

"It's really bright." She squinted. "But I like it better out here."

"You want to get a drink? Like a soda or something? There's a little place right on the corner there."

"That might... It could probably be fun." 

He answered with a smile. They walked toward the sandwich shop.

Lizzie's brain was functioning again. "Can I hold your hand?" she asked.

He was happy to oblige.

She said, "If you want to have a lot of friends, at least at my school, you need to talk about TV shows and Instagram and cute guys and all that. Oh, geez. TV makes me dizzy and Instagram is just so..."

"I know."

"All they care about is taking pictures of their food or themselves, or their vacations."

He nodded. "They think getting likes is the same thing as having a lot of friends."

"What's getting likes?"

"It's a social media thing. People clicking on something that says 'Hey, I really like your picture.' That's not really being somebody's friend."

"Oh, geez, when I was in first grade I tried to make a friend like that."

"You had Instagram in first grade?"

"No. I tried to make a friend with Amber Yeager. She was really good at drawing frogs, so I told her I liked her picture and she said if I didn't go away she was gonna call the teacher. So I never said anything about anyone's picture after that."

Before she'd even finished her story, Lizzie realized she had rambled on too long and expected the silence that usually follows. But instead, Scooter said, "Amber missed out on having a super awesome friend."

Lizzie smiled.

"Caleb, my brother, he's really good at sports, baseball, football, hockey. He has lots of friends." He shrugged. "But I'm not too good at sports. I'm more interested in aviation." He squinted up at the bright sky. "And space. There's so much out there." 

Lizzie said, "I think I'd like rockets and airplanes more if they weren't so loud."

At the front door of the sandwich shop, Scooter said, "You okay with going in here?"

She squeezed his hand tightly. "Okay. Let's do it."

When they stepped inside he said, "Look!" He pointed to the menu over the counter. "They got Tater Tots!"