The Four

"STK Downtown. 7:00 pm. Don't look homeless."

I frowned down at the email through the cracks in my phone screen. Although it was a blessing that Travis didn't have my phone number, I was still annoyed he could reach me so easily to bark out orders.

I had emailed him back after class: "Shouldn't I get to choose the restaurant? I'm the one treating you, after all."

Travis responded not five minutes later. "I'm flattered by your enthusiasm. Meet me at the High Line entrance. Same time. Don't look homeless."

I clicked off my phone. I will never forgive those boys.

"What are you still doing here?"

I looked up at Alex as he approached across the rooftop. I was sitting in his usual spot on the bench, but this didn't seem to phase him - he sat down right next to me without hesitation. I felt my heart skip a beat in my chest.

"Do I have somewhere to be?"

He gave me the side-eye. "We both know you do."

"No point in going all the way to Brooklyn and back," I explained. "Why weren't you there, anyway?" I asked him. "For the game?"

He looked up at the darkening sky. "I had performance practice."

"Good excuse," I mumbled. "You guys tricked me. I was set up to lose."

"He was never going to let you win. Better now than later."

I didn't know what that meant, but wasn't sure I wanted to. I stared at my feet, swinging my legs back and forth. "I don't want to have some stupid dinner with him."

Alex chuckled. "Where are you meeting?"

"The High Line."

He turned to me, eyebrow raised. "You need to go, then. You're already late."

I didn't expect the concern in his voice. "I have an hour."

"The High Line is way downtown. We're way uptown."

"Oh," I said softly. I stood up and straightened my dark green shirt, then met his blue eyes. "I should cancel. This outfit definitely won't live up to his standards."

He stood in front of me. "You look fine. Now go. You don't want to make him wait, do you?"

"Do you want my honest answer to that question?"

He shook his head, a smile playing at his lips. "Do me a favor?"

I rolled my eyes playfully and waited.

"Try not to kill each other tonight."

---

Alex wasn't kidding about the distance. The High Line really was on the opposite end of Manhattan, and it wasn't a straight shot - I had to transfer trains twice, and found myself going the wrong way both times. For a city renowned for its public transportation, I couldn't believe how vague the signage over the tracks was. How was I supposed to know that "uptown" could apply to trains traveling East and West? What kind of sense did that make?

Just when I'd finally turned myself around - following a painfully long wait on a platform - my train came to a slow stop in the middle of the tracks.

The train intercom rang overhead: "Ladies and gentleman, we are experiencing delays due to train traffic ahead of us. We apologize for any inconvenience."

"Shit," I muttered to myself. I turned a blind eye to an elderly woman's glare and checked my phone for the time: I was 30 minutes late. And I still had five stops ahead.

I slumped in my seat, bouncing my knee up and down nervously. There was nothing I could do. After the longest 15 minutes of my life, the train finally began to move. My teeth clenched every time the doors opened and crowds of people walked leisurely in and out. Were they always this slow? Does no one have a sense of urgency in this city?

After yet another 15 minutes, the train pulled up to my stop, and I bolted from the station. I emerged from the entrance, horrified by how dark it had become since I left, and scanned the streets around me anxiously. I had no idea where I was. This far downtown, the streets were cobblestone, long and twisting, completely devoid of logic.

High Line. Find the High Line.

I looked up and across the street, directly at the elevated train tracks that now served as the famous park. I sprinted across the street, backpack flopping wildly behind me, and ran up the steps leading up into the High Line. I slowed when I reached the top, panting, and began whirling around, looking for him in the darkness.

I was suddenly pulled roughly by the arm, spun and crashed into a tall figure, hard as concrete. I gasped in surprise as I felt arms tighten around my back. My face was buried into a chest.

"Where have you been?" His voice, just above my ear, was husky and agitated. "I've been waiting for hours."

Was he... hugging me?

My breathing was still heavy, winded from running. His grip was superhumanly tight. "Travis?"

His hands moved up to my shoulders and pushed my body away, but held me at a foot's length. Free from his chest, I moved my eyes up to his. They were blazing down at me.

"Who the hell else would it be?"

I frowned at him. "I didn't think you'd still be here."

"Are you stupid?" I felt his hands tighten on my shoulders. "Did you get lost?"

"Yes. To being lost!" I quickly corrected myself. "I'm not stupid."

"Why didn't you answer your emails?"

"The smart one of us should know there's no service underground."

He dropped my shoulders at this, visibly frustrated. "You took the subway?"

"Yes. I... I didn't realize how far it was," I said feebly. He exhaled loudly in response, so I continued: "Why didn't you just leave?"

He peered down at me. "Haven't you been listening? You weren't answering your phone. I didn't know if you were lost or... or kidnapped or something." He huffed. "I couldn't leave this spot even if I wanted to."

I blinked at him, taken aback by this lecture. "Fine," I said, shuffling my feet. "Let's go then."

I turned and started walking back down the steps to the street level. He fell in next to me, his elbow to my shoulder.

"Where are we going?" He asked.

"Don't know," I replied, biting my lip and looking around at the intersection.

"Are you kidding me?" He exclaimed, punching my shoulder.

"Hey!" I punched him back and shot him an angry look. "Calm down, will you? This is New York City. There's, like, a hundred restaurants on every block."

He scowled at me, which I ignored and began crossing the street. For two blocks, he trailed a few steps behind me as I leisurely window-shopped past all our options, until he inevitably grew impatient and appeared at my side again.

"We've passed at least ten restaurants," he said. "Why didn't you pick one?"

"I haven't seen anything I like yet," I replied. "And we're not getting Thai food, so don't even ask."

To my surprise, that seemed to shut him up. He looked away and walked next to me, silent. I took the opportunity to look at him: he was wearing a dark blue shirt, silver chain and black bomber jacket. His black hair was slick with product, and I couldn't help but think that he looked older than he was. My eyes moved over his shoulder and landed on a dollar pizza joint across the street.

"There!" I jumped between two parked cars and attempted to bolt into the street, but was jerked back just as a car whirred by at top speed. My back slammed into Travis, who held me by the top of my backpack. I froze against him, heart pounding.

"Do you have a death wish? You can't just run into traffic!" He scolded.

Not my smartest move, I'll give him that.

I squirmed out of his grip and faced him. "I decided I want pizza," I said, pointing at my intended destination.

He glared down at me. "You can't be serious."

I nodded. "Yep. I'm spending a dollar on you tonight, Vanderbilt. Maybe even two, if you ask nicely."

"I don't want pizza."

"It's not your decision, is it?"

He sighed, grabbed my backpack again and, stiff-arming my attempts to shake him, marched me across the street to the pizza joint.

He immediately sat in a small corner table, one of two in the entire place - the restaurant was maybe 30 square feet total. He was ten times too big for the flimsy chair and table, and looked as out of place as a celebrity in a cubicle. I couldn't stifle a giggle as I sat down across from him, two gigantic pieces of piping hot cheese pizza in hand.

"What's so funny?" He asked, glowering at me. His arms were crossed over his chest.

I sat down the two paper plates and shimmied off my backpack. I smiled at him. "You look like you'd rather be anywhere in the world than here."

"That's not true," he said defensively.

I took a bite out of my pizza, and gestured at the second piece. "Dig in."

He grimaced at it. "I told you I didn't want any."

"Really? You're making me eat both?"

"Will you?"

I nodded. "Without hesitation." I took another bite and looked at him. "How can you be a New Yorker and not like pizza?"

"How can you eat like this and be so skinny?" He shot back.

I chewed through a smirk. "You know, I promised Alex I wouldn't kill you tonight. Help me out here."

His dark eyes pierced me. "Alex? Why were you talking to Alex?" He asked bitterly.

"Moral support," I said nonchalantly. "What's got your boxers in a bunch?"

He scoffed. "I can't believe you took us here for our date."

I coughed and nearly spit out my food, then gaped at him. "Date? This is not a date."

He furrowed his eyebrows at me. "What else would you call it?"

"You forced me here! And you tricked me," I grumbled.

He looked away from me indignantly, like he didn't want to hear it. "Did you have to pick the cheapest, smallest restaurant in the city?"

"I prefer it. Not all of us can afford five-star meals every night like you."

I watched him roll his eyes, then turn back to me. "Are you done yet?"

I shrugged. "I'll just take this guy," I said, picking up the second piece, "to go."

"You're not eating that in my car," he warned as I stood up, pizza in hand. I stared at him as he rose, too, and strode out the door.

"Your car?" I asked, but he didn't stop to wait for me. I scurried after him, and finally fell in on his right side at the intersection. "You drove here?" I asked, panting.

He looked down at me, expressionless. "Yes. I parked by the High Line."

Three blocks later, he pulled a pair of keys out of his pocket, and my eyes traveled to a pair of blinking headlights. Naturally, it was a beautiful dark silver sports car, the kind I would be too nervous to come within five feet of - let alone park in a New York City street.

As he approached the car, I stopped and stared down at my untouched pizza. I couldn't waste this. I looked around and spotted a blanketed figure slumped against a wall on the street, propping up a small cardboard sign.

I could vaguely hear Travis shouting at me from the car, but ignored him and jogged over to the homeless man. I knelt in front of him, making him look up from his bundle of blankets. His hair was long and matted, his face marked by deep lines, but his eyes were bright. I held out my plate to him and smiled. Wordlessly, he took it and nodded his head in thanks. I nodded back, then stood up and ran back to Travis, who was waiting for me with an irate frown on his face.

"Did you give that guy your pizza?" He asked me over the top of the car.

"You said I couldn't eat in your car," I replied. I slid in, and immediately exhaled in surprise. I sunk into the black leather seats, and relished in the overpowering new car smell that surrounded me. When Travis got in and brought the car to life, the dashboard's large touch screen nearly blinded me, and millions of blue and red buttons shone on the steering wheel and console. As I fastened my seatbelt, I noticed the cupholders were lined with a thin blue LED light, and the seats' stitching was red. It was beautifully intimidating.

One hand on the steering wheel, Travis looked over at me, half his face illuminated by blue light. "Where do you live?"

I snorted nervously. "Like I'm telling you."

He raised a puzzled eyebrow. "How else am I supposed to drive you home?"

I hesitated. He had a point.

"Brooklyn."

"Brooklyn?" He repeated, his voice raised and cross. I looked at him, surprised by the outburst. "Are you kidding me?"

"What's your problem? You asked where I live and I told you," I snapped.

He bit down on his lower lip, and I saw the veins in his arm tense. "Where in Brooklyn?" I could hear the physical effort it was taking to lower his voice.

"Montrose Avenue."

He exhaled through his nose and shifted the car into reverse. I swallowed as he silently, masterfully maneuvered the car within millimeters of the cars in front of and behind us, and sped out of the space. I clutched the center console as we merged into traffic alongside New York City cabs and buses that notoriously swerved between lanes and in general had no concept of personal space. I sank deeper into the leather seat.

Travis seemed to know what he was doing, though. He kept his eyes steady on the road, one hand on the wheel and the other on the parking break, and navigated the busy streets effortlessly. Every lane change and turn was smooth, and he didn't obnoxiously accelerate or rev the engine when he very well could have. We were soon merging onto the Brooklyn Bridge.

"I thought you had drivers," I thought aloud, breaking the silence.

"I do," he replied indifferently. We slowed to a stop, so he turned his head to look at me. "I'm a better driver than them."

I scoffed, "You're so full of yourself."

"You wouldn't know a good driver from bad if they threw you off this bridge," he retorted. His attention focused back on the road, and I watched his face twist into a scowl. "Why aren't we moving?" He mumbled. He whipped out his phone and, presumably, started to look up the traffic report.

I rolled down the window and leaned my upper body out of it, gusts of wind hitting my face and drowning out Travis's protests behind me. To my horror, the long rows of cars ahead of us had seemingly no end, but I could see a barrage of police lights flashing at least a mile down the road.

Great. Gridlock with Travis Vanderbilt.

I slid back into the car as Travis was shouting at me, "- ur shoes off my seats!"

I shot him a look and rolled up the window. "There's an accident. Looks bad."

"Perfect," he said sarcastically, throwing his head back against his seat.

I mimicked him and crossed my arms. "The subway would've been faster."

"Maybe. If you weren't directionally challenged."

"Hey! I am not!"

"Why do you have to live in Brooklyn?" He said the word like it tasted bad on his tongue. "It's over an hour from Columbia."

"I've said it before and I'll say it again. Not all of us have the luxury of real estate on the Upper West Side."

I felt his eyes on me. "You look ridiculous," he observed after a moment.

"Excuse me?"

He lifted a finger at my head. "Your hair."

I blinked at him, then turned and looked at myself in the side mirror. He was right: my hair was a rat's nest, sticking out in a million directions. I sucked in a breath.

I stuck my head out the window on the Brooklyn Bridge. Of course my hair's a mess.

I ran my hands through my windblown hair in an effort to tame it, but my fingers were quickly tangled. I flipped my hair over and was furiously fighting a knot when I noticed Travis giving me a once-over. I paused, my head bent over at an unnatural angle.

"What?" I asked him through a curtain of hair.

"You can't fix ugly."

I rolled my eyes and continued finger-combing. "I hope for the sake of your ego no one saw us out tonight."

"No one I know gets dollar pizza in Chelsea."

I sighed and, satisfied with my semi-tamed hair over my shoulder, fell back against the car door. "Not 'til me," I said absentmindedly. I looked out the window and gasped, slapping the pane. "Woah!"

"What the hell?" Travis started.

I marveled at the view I somehow hadn't seen earlier. Beyond the rows of standstill cars behind us, the New York City skyline dazzled against the cloudless black sky. I could see the Empire State, its spire glowing blue and orange, and the Chrysler Building a vision in white. The East River stretched endlessly in either direction of the bridge we sat on, the caps of waves illuminated by the city lights. I marveled at the Williamsburg Bridge nearby, disappearing into the wall of buildings on the edge of the island, and watched boats and ferries glide on the water below it.

I rested my chin on my arm. "I've never seen the city from here before."

After a moment of silence, Travis cleared his throat and said, "How? You live here, don't you?"

I smiled. I do live here. I live in the greatest city in the world.

I turned back to Travis, whose dark eyes were fixed on me. I cocked my head at him. "Don't tell me you don't love it here."

"I don't love the traffic," he grumbled.

As if on cue, the brake lights in front of us began to turn off one by one, and the cars began moving. We inched forward after them, and Travis let out a heavy exhale when we finally reached the end of the bridge.

"Not to worry, Vanderbilt. Just a few more minutes and you'll be rid of me."

He ignored my comment. "Just tell me where to turn, stupid girl."

"Oh," I said, chewing my lip. "Just.. drop me at the Montrose Avenue station."

He made a right turn and glared at me. "What, you live at the train station now?"

"I don't want you to know where I live."

"Are you kidding me?" He asked for what felt like the hundredth time tonight, voice raised.

"No!" I protested. "I'm still not convinced that wasn't your plan all along."

"That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard," he said harshly.

"Just do it!"

"Fine." He pulled the car over in front of the entrance to the subway and slowed the car to a stop.

"Thank you," I replied. I jumped out and shut the car door before he could get in the last word, then ran to the street corner. I waited, watching at the silver sports car to make sure it wouldn't follow me. After a moment, the car roared to life, pulled away and disappeared down the street. I exhaled and ran a hand through my hair.

At least I kept my promise.