- Part 2 -


Dysrhythmia


Just washing it aside,
All of the helplessness inside.
Pretending I don't feel misplaced,
Is so much simpler than change.
- Linkin Park


"I should warn you that there are roughly a hundred thousand people out there," Brian says as they step out into the hall.

Aubrey gives the safety of her hospital room one last farewell glance. When she turns around, Officers Drywood and Miller are standing in front of them. Miller. It reminds her too much of Sheriff Mills. It's all she can think about as they talk about walking to the car and not talking to the reporters – as if either she or Beca would want to talk to the reporters when they don't even want to speak to the police.

"You guys just face forward and walk to the car," Conrad says, squeezing himself between Miller and Drywood, "And let me handle the rest."

And, of course, Conrad's first name is Stacie's last name – and they still don't even know where she is, or where Sophia is.

Conrad's words get them all talking again, but about what, Aubrey doesn't know. She looks a mess – and they're about to take pictures of her and blast them all over the news. Beca looks awful too in an exhausted sort of way, but Aubrey looks like she was beaten up multiple times on some remote island with no escape. She would rather PukeGate become a viral sensation again.

"It's chilly," Brian says, draping his jacket over Aubrey's shoulders, "Don't drop it this time."

Drop it? Aubrey looks at him.

"You didn't give it back last time," Brian elaborates like she should remember this, "You just let it fall on the floor; my good, expensive jacket."

Aubrey vaguely remembers wearing it outside, and then not wearing it anymore when she got to Chloe's room for the first time.

"Just keep track of it."

Aubrey holds onto the zipper track with her free hand to keep it from falling.

"Hold on, I'm not ready," Conrad says, stopping them as they start to move. He pulls a mirror from his pocket and applies a fresh layer of some glittery lip gloss, then puckers up and admires his reflection.

"Dude, what are you doing?" Beca asks.

"I am saving you from having to see your face on the news for years to come," Conrad answers, "And stealing my opportunity to be in the spotlight. So many reporters, so many cameras. RuPaul must watch the news. This is my moment."

Brian rolls his eyes. "It won't be if we never make it outside, Laganja."

Conrad gasps. "You are a rude person." He tucks his things into his pockets, then turns and marches toward the elevator. "They're going to look at me and think 'Courtney Act', 'Miss Fame', 'Blair St. Clair'."

"They're going to look at you and think 'Lady Bunny'," Brian says, eliciting a high pitched scream from him as he slams his hand against the elevator button.

"We're going to have to ask you all to walk quietly toward the car," Drywood says, and looks at Conrad, "Especially you."

Seven people is a lot to fit in an elevator. Aubrey ends up in the front corner, opposite of the buttons. She closes her eyes and tries not to think about what would happen if the cable was cut, then opens them again when the elevator starts going down and her stomach tries to go up.

"You gonna be okay?" Julia asks, watching her face.

"I'm fine," Aubrey replies the moment she's sure she can say it without vomiting. Thanks to Xanax, she has no option not to be.

The elevator doors open to an empty lobby. The people roaming with their coffees and the nurses are gone, leaving one receptionist at the main desk answering phones. It doesn't take long to figure out why. The front door is blocked by several policemen. There is no one going in or out of this hospital – except for them.

"Everybody take a breath." Julia brushes some invisible dust from the shoulder of the jacket Aubrey is wearing.

"Just stay close," Conrad says.

"Sir," Drywood addresses him, and Conrad gasps.

"Did you just assume my gender?!"

"I'm sorry," Drywood apologizes, "Ma'am?"

"Excuse me, Ma'am-Sir? Do I look like a woman to you?"

Drywood looks at Brian. "Can you reign in your partner?"

"Do I look like I control this?" Brian asks, "What you should be asking is if you want him in the back of your police car."

Before Drywood can respond, Conrad is turning around and placing himself directly in front of the sliding glass door. "Is all this for me?!"

"This is a big hospital," Beca points out, "Are there not, like, other exits?"

"Reporters there too," Miller says.

"Right."

"We got this," Aubrey tries to be positive, "We just have to get to the car." That's all they have to do, right? Just get to the car. Just get to the car...

"There you go." Julia briefly rubs her back.

"Please, no autographs!" Conrad cries.

"What is he doing?" Beca asks.

Brian looks at her. "Being the star of the show."

"So you won't be," Julia adds.

The crowd outside can't seem to decide if they should be silent or in some kind of bewildered uproar. Someone yells above the rest, "This is not what we're here for!"

They should move before he gets eaten alive out there.

"You're right," Conrad responds, "You're right! How dare I just come out here and not give you what you want! What is wrong with me?! You all showed up here today for a news story – and by god, you will get a story! Brian! I need my music!"

Brian pulls his phone out of his pocket. "Rental car's got Bluetooth and some pretty impressive speakers."

Aubrey looks at him, feeling as perplexed as the crowd. "You could get fired for this." Whatever this is.

"You think our boss is going to fire me? Why do you think he's not here? Because he's in on it," Brian hisses, "Law isn't about following the rules, Aubrey. It's about learning how to get around them." He holds up his phone and turns on the music – further causing chaos amongst the crowd. "Welcome to your first drag show."

The police part for them, and Conrad strikes a pose as the music blares from the car's speakers. "You can slide your tips into my panties! I'm sorry, this was impromptu; I didn't have time to tuck my dick – but if you touch it, I won't judge you. You this is a judgement free zone, you guys!"

Julia places her hand over her mouth.

"You're judging," Brian deadpans.

"I-I'm not," she replies through her fingers.

Aubrey knows exactly how she's feeling – somewhere between thank God and what in the hell.

Conrad just starts leading them out like it's a runway he's been walking his entire life.

We are the crowd,
We're c-coming out.
Got my flash on, it's true;
Need that picture of you.
It's so magical;
We'd be so fantastical.

The questions and pictures start, but there is so much confusion and disruption among everyone, and Conrad sticks close – impeding their view. It has to be impossible to get a single shot without him in it, and the music is louder than most of what they begin trying to shout at Beca and Aubrey.

Leather and jeans,
Garage glamorous.
Not sure what it means,
But this photo of us,
It don't have a price;
Ready for those flashing lights.
'Cause you know that baby I –

Conrad's hands are all over his entire body – fingers running through his hair then sliding down to just above his his crotch. "It's not lewd conduct if I'm not actually touching it! It's suggestive!" He bites his lower lip and growls.

Everyone, Brian excluded, seems equally as shocked and mortified – even the news crews who have no doubt seen some shit in their profession.

I'm your biggest fan;
I'll follow you until you love me.
Papa-paparazzi!
Baby, there's no other superstar;
You know that I'll be,
Your papa-paparazzi!
Promise I'll be kind,
But I won't stop until that boy is mine.

"Call me!" Conrad makes a telephone motion toward one of the camera men.

Baby, you'll be famous,
Chase you down until you love me.
Papa-paparazzi!

Brian opens the door for them, and Beca gets in first, followed by Aubrey and then Julia. He walks around to the driver's side to join them once they're in and the door is securely closed. For a second, it seems like Conrad is going to join them too, but once he gets to the passenger side door, he turns and begins strutting back the way he came.

I'll be your girl backstage at your show;
Velvet ropes and guitars,
Yeah, 'cause you're my rock star in between the sets,
Eyeliner and cigarettes.

Brian heaves a sigh and watches him from the open passenger side window.

Despite the back windows being closed and tinted, Aubrey sinks down in her seat – partially to avoid the reporters, partially because she doesn't want to be any more associated with this than she has to be.

Shadow is burnt,
Yellow dance and we turn.
My lashes are dry;
Purple teardrops I cry, it don't have a price.
Loving you is cherry pie.

Conrad kisses the lens of someone's camera, no doubt leaving pink glittery lip prints behind. "Hi, Mom!" He steps back, and announces, "I'm just kidding. My mom kicked me out when she found me trying on her heels and fancy underwear."

"Wow," Beca whispers.

"Can we please go?" Aubrey asks.

"He's not going to get in this car until this song is finished," Brian replies.

"Then turn it off."

"He'll sing it himself."

"Before you know it, we're going to be home," Julia tries to pacify her.

"Can you imagine having no sense of shame?" Beca asks.

"RuPaul, if you are watching this, my name is Sia Dickman." Conrad turns to another reporter. "Gurl, don't let anyone fool you into thinking Madonna created voguing. It was the gays. You owe your stolen culture to Harlem's Black and Latinx Ballroom gays, Honey. Paris is Burning!" He snaps his fingers then begins to vogue his way to the car.

Real good,
We dance in the studio.
Snap snap to,
That shit on the radio.
Don't stop,
For anyone.
We're plastic but we still have fun!

"Goodnight, Gentlewomen!" Conrad hops up onto the ledge of the car window as the last chorus plays, and tries to fold forward and slide in through the window.

Brian grabs the back of his shirt and gives it a hard yank, pulling him down across both front seats, so his head is on Brian's lap and his feet are dangling out the window.

"There's too many women in the car for us to be in this position, Brian," Conrad admonishes him, then shrieks and sits up as Brian nearly closes his legs in the window.

"Sia Dickman?" Beca asks immediately.

Conrad turns around. "Do you like it?"

Beca's eyebrows shoot up in entertainment.

"Put your seatbelt on," Aubrey commands, ready to go.

Conrad spins around in his seat and buckles up. "I'm ready."

Brian turns the radio off, but Aubrey's head doesn't feel any less loud. She turns and watches out the back window as the police as well as a majority of reporters pile into their cars to follow them toward the airport. They're going to follow them…

Conrad sticks his hand out the window and begins to princess wave, stopping when Drywood and Miller put on their siren. "Brian, we're being pulled over. What did you do?"

"I haven't even left yet. They're telling you to keep your hands and feet inside the vehicle."

"Don't they have a megaphone?" Conrad signs and puts his hand back in the car. "This is why the police aren't needed at Pride – or anywhere. They have people to protect and apprehend, and here they are caring about where my hand is. Let me tell them, it's been in worse places – places with far less air. People have paid good money for this hand."

How did Aubrey get stuck in the middle? She didn't even have to sit in the middle as a child; Liam sat there to separate her and JJ most of the time. She wishes Liam would have shown up so she could give him a piece of her mind. You fucking stupid kid. She tries to get more room for herself, eliciting an 'ow' from Beca. "Well, move." Shouldn't somebody be separating the two of them?

"Move where?" Beca asks.

Aubrey reaches over like she's going to open the door and push Beca out as the car starts to move. (She isn't actually going to do it. Not with a cop behind them anyway.)

"Dude!" Beca turns sideways to fight her off, wresting her good arm back to the middle.

"Hey," Julia scolds them and holds Aubrey tighter.

Aubrey sighs and leans her head back, looking at the light in the middle of the ceiling as a thousand thoughts plague her – from considering the car could be rigged with an explosive to thinking Chloe might be dead by now. She might be dead. She tries to access her feelings, because feelings about Chloe are necessary ones. Screw the rest of them.

"Let's listen to some music," Julia suggests, "Soft, quiet music."

Brian turns the volume on the radio down before he begins searching for a station.

They're quiet for a moment, before Beca's fist connects with Aubrey's thigh with a, "Punch bug, no punch back."

"What the fu-heck, Beca?" Aubrey turns and smacks her in the shoulder.

"I said no punch backs!"

"Girls," Julia is reprimanding them again, "Stop."

"How far is the airport?" Aubrey asks, expecting an answer from Brian, but Julia answers her instead.

"It's about twenty minutes."

Twenty minutes, stuck between two people in this hot car that already doesn't seem to hit any red lights to give her a break from the motion. She puts her head back again and closes her eyes as she pinches the bridge of her nose, like that will somehow ease her stomach sloshing around. "It's a hundred degrees in here," she complains, not hot, just needing air, "Can you at least crack some windows?"

Everyone moves at once to comply, opening all four windows part of the way. That helps somewhat.

"Go to sleep," Julia suggests to both her and Beca, and Aubrey can feel Beca shift around to get comfortable – a luxury that Aubrey isn't sure her body will ever be able to completely feel again, "Before you know it, we'll be in Queens."

xxxxx

The ride to the airport takes more than twenty minutes – Aubrey is sure of it. Every time it feels like twenty minutes must have passed and Beca has definitely fallen asleep beside her, she opens her eyes to see five minutes have gone by and Beca is still awake with her forehead pressed against the window. And the farther they get, the more Aubrey feels like she left something important at the hospital and they need to go back. Because she did leave something important behind. Chloe. She left her behind. They all did. They just left her there. And for what reason? Aubrey's desperation to be back in New York.

xxxxx

Aubrey does fall asleep eventually, and so does Beca – about three minutes before they reach their destination. Moments after all of her thoughts and discomfort fade along with consciousness, it all comes rushing back as Julia is gently shaking both her and Beca awake again.

"I'm up," Beca snaps irritably, bumping Aubrey as she tries to knock Julia's hand away from her shoulder.

Aubrey doesn't want to leave the car. Just let her go back to sleep. Her head droops forward as she nearly drifts off again after sitting up, then snaps back up before her entire body can fold downward with it. That hurts enough to wake her, but opening her eyes still requires a tremendous amount more effort than she can immediately find.

Beca seems to be having an equal amount of trouble. Despite her claim about being awake, she ends up slouching sideways against Aubrey, then stills again.

"Girls." Julia is rubbing Aubrey's side and doing something with her other hand that makes Beca try to shove her away again. "You can go back to sleep on the plane. Come on."

"I said I'm up." Beca sits all the way up, and Aubrey manages to crack her eyes open and see her just sitting there with her eyes shut.

Aubrey looks around, slowly taking in their surroundings. The car is idling outside one of the entrances to the airport, and police are all around, holding off the reporters and news crews again. One of the first things that occurs to her is that they can't keep people out of the airport the same way they can out of the hospital – but they'll be okay once they get past security, unless the reporters have bought plane tickets to get them through as well. What if they get on the plane and follow them back to New York?

She rubs her eyes with her palms, and tries to wake up so the next news report isn't about how she returned a zombie.

"I'll grab the bags, and print our boarding passes from one of the kiosks when we get inside," Brian says, then turns on the radio again so he has to almost shout, "Save me a spot in the line."

It's not like they have a choice if he has their tickets to get passed TSA.

Conrad bursts out of the car to hold off a mob of the same, now irritated, people – and a guy wearing a rental car uniform comes to meet Brian at the driver's side door for the keys.

How much is Aubrey going to owe for her rental car? She's going to have to call them and try to explain. She should have listened when Chloe couldn't understand why she didn't want to just take a taxi from the airport to the ferry – but Aubrey had wanted to feel like some sort of escape plan was available to her. In the end, the car was useless on the mainland anyway.

"We have to go," Julia says, giving them no more time to wake up. She opens the car door and steps out, then waits for them.

Aubrey and Beca both end up sliding across the seat to avoid getting hit by traffic and get out on the same side (not that Aubrey has much of a choice about sliding across the seat, seeing as they stuck her in the middle).

Whatever Conrad is doing doesn't grab her attention the second time around. She walks between Julia and Beca to the door, so close to Beca that their hands are almost, but not quite touching. They go straight for the line to security.

And Aubrey can't quite be sure, but the moment they're standing in line, it seems like people immediately begin to look at them and whisper.

Ignore them, Aubrey. They must have no lives if they need to be so invested in yours.

xxxxx

"Hi, Aubrey!"

No. Aubrey raised her book higher in front of her face, blocking out the overly-happy guidance counselor as she walked across the basketball court. The day had been going so well. The other fourth graders were running amuck, enjoying the Primary School Graduation Rec Day, and Aubrey had hours to sit on a bench and read her book. Who celebrated graduating elementary school anyway? Her father said it was just another type of participation trophy to make the mediocre feel like they had accomplished something.

"How are you?" Mrs. Grady gushed, getting closer so Aubrey had no choice but to be polite.

Aubrey slowly lowered her book to her lap and put on a smile. "I'm fine, Ma'am. How are you?"

"Oh, I'm doing great," Mrs. Grady replied, "Are you excited that you're just a summer away from middle school?"

That was one word for it, but sure. The work would be more challenging, and Aubrey was sure the library would have more advanced books. "Yes, Ma'am."

"You don't want to go play?"

There it was. "No, Ma'am."

"But everything looks so fun!"

Aubrey looked around at the face painting and the sack races and the inflatable bounce houses that she had been trying not to see, then looked back down at the words on the pages.

"What are you reading?" Mrs. Grady asked.

"Wringer by Jerry Spinelli."

"I don't think I've read that one," Mrs. Grady said, "What's it about?"

Aubrey traced her finger gently around the outside of the page she was on, being mindful not to get a paper cut. "It's about a pigeon festival," she answered, "Every year, the town raises money by releasing pigeons in the air to be shot."

"Oh. And that's from our library?"

Aubrey nodded.

"So, what happens?"

"When boys turn ten, they can become wringers who kill the injured birds that didn't die, but the main character is nine and he doesn't want to kill birds. He ends up with one as a pet. But he feels like he has to kill them once he turns ten, because his friends want him to and his father was once one of the best wringers there was."

"That sounds like quite a moral dilemma," Mrs. Grady replied, "Do you ever feel that way? Like you don't want to do something, but everyone is pressuring you to do it?"

Aubrey sighed, placed her bookmark between the pages, and closed the book. "Yes," she answered in a strong voice, "Like how I don't want to go play." She quickly shut her mouth, her breath catching in her throat. I didn't mean to talk to you like that. Don't call my dad.

Mrs. Grady breathed a quiet laugh instead of getting angry. "Are you sure it's not the opposite where you want to go play, but you're being pressured not to?"

Don't walk away. You can't walk away from adults. "Yes, Ma'am. I'm sure."

"Well, I am requiring you to get up and find something to do," Mrs. Grady announced.

No. She couldn't do that. She wasn't Aubrey's teacher. She wasn't even a real teacher at all.

"My teacher said I could read."

"I'll hold your book for you. What do you want to do?" Mrs. Grady stood up. "Go bounce in the bounce house?"

Aubrey stared at her, high key considering just ignoring her. "No, Ma'am."

"Okay, then I'm going to choose for you." She reached down for Aubrey's hand.

Aubrey stood up on her own and shuffled a few feet away from her. Like it wasn't embarrassing enough just to be seen with the school guidance counselor, and now she wanted to hold Aubrey's hand? Didn't she know these stupid kids already made fun of her enough?

Mrs. Grady dropped her hand. "You can't just sit here, Aubrey."

"I'm not." Aubrey wasn't just being lazy. She was doing something.

"Or you're going to have to come sit in my office."

That wasn't fair. That wasn't fair at all. This was school, and she was getting a head start on her summer reading. She was at school, doing schoolwork. Aubrey trudged after her as she started walking away. Guidance counselors were supposed to be nice, but apparently this lady didn't know that, because she was always mean. She was nothing like Aubrey's teachers, who loved her and were content to just let her read.

"Do you like animals?" Mrs. Grady asked.

"No, Ma'am."

"Why not?"

"They're dirty, and they bite, and they carry diseases."

"The boy in your book didn't seem worried about those things if he kept a pigeon as a pet. You know, a lot of people have pets, and they never catch a disease or get bitten."

Aubrey accidentally locked eyes with a group of girls from her class. She quickly turned her head and tried to make it look like she and Mrs. Grady just happened to be going in the same direction. But it was too late. When she glanced at them again, they were still staring at her and talking amongst themselves.

"Do you want to ride a pony?"

Ride a what?! Aubrey faced forward and barely managed to hold back a moan when she saw where they were going. The petting zoo.

"Do you think we could just pet that one?" Mrs. Grady asked a young man leading a tired looking pony away from the ring, probably to rest – or maybe he was going to shoot it, because it no longer held any immediate use to him.

Aubrey stared at it, feeling sick, praying he said no.

"Of course!"

Mrs. Grady eased Aubrey's book from her hands. "Go ahead."

"Don't be scared," the guy said.

Scared? Aubrey Posen was not scared of some midget horse. Not completely. There were just a lot of ways it could kill her. It could bite her. Or stomp her to death. Short or not, it looked heavy. She stepped forward, stopping several inches from it, and avoided making eye contact with it. Making eye contact with animals was exactly like not making eye contact with people. It was practically asking to be stomped to death.

"Here, just take your hand…" The guy reached for her.

"I can do it myself," Aubrey announced, clasping her hands together.

"Alright then, just pet her right here." He stroked the horse's side.

It was just a stupid horse. Grow up. Baby. Be a man. Aubrey reached out and gave the horse a single pet, then quickly drew her hand back, holding it in front of her chest. She was going to have to wash it fifty times later.

The horse puffed out some air and stomped its foot, not seeming happy with this at all.

"She's mad you stopped," the guy said, "Keep petting her."

"It doesn't want me to touch it," Aubrey said, ignoring how the horse seemed much happier when the guy started scratching its neck, "This is animal cruelty. I do not condone this. I'm reading a book about people who are unkind to animals right now." She turned to Mrs. Grady. "I pet the horse; I would like my book back now."

"On one condition."

She had to be kidding.

"You go read it in there."

Aubrey looked at the fenced in area full of hay bale seats and…baby animals. This lady really had to be pulling her leg.

Mrs. Grady offered her the book back.

Aubrey took it from her and hugged it against her chest.

"It's there or my office."

Aubrey weighed the pros and cons. Fine. She turned and marched, definitely not stomped, in through the gate. The last thing she needed was this woman suggesting a family meeting about why she didn't want to play with the other kids again. Last time, she had to play soccer at recess for an entire week to convince her not to call home. It had been fun, and she had been disappointed to stop – but it wasn't worth being smacked over ripped tights. She sat herself down on a bale of hay – scooting away from a kitten that went right for her. "Hey, stop it."

The kitten didn't care. It climbed right up the hay then toppled onto her lap and tried to bat at her necklace.

"Stop." Aubrey put her book down beside her, and covered her necklace with her hand. "This is special." She couldn't believe she was talking to a cat. Once she was sure it wasn't going to go after her necklace again, she picked her book back up.

"How about you read to it?" Mrs. Grady suggested.

Read to it?! "It doesn't understand English. It's a cat."

"But it also isn't deaf. It can still hear your voice. If you read to it, I'll go away."

Fine. Aubrey opened her book. She stared down at the words, finding that they suddenly felt too personal to read them out loud.

"I bet that horse and her are related."

Aubrey looked up, watching as the girls from her class walked by, no doubt knowing she could hear them.

"I know, right? They have the same mouth!" One of them pulled in her upper lip to make her front teeth and gum line more prominent.

Aubrey pressed her lips together. So what? Maybe there were parts of her body that she hadn't quite grown into yet. She was a late bloomer when it came to losing all of her baby teeth, but once she did and her permanent teeth grew in, she wouldn't look so dumb. She found herself trying to stretch her upper lip down lower.

"Ignore them, Aubrey. They must have no lives if they need to be so invested in yours."

xxxxx

"ID," Julia says.

"I'm sorry, what?" Aubrey snaps out of her thoughts.

"Your ID, Sweetheart, here."

Oh. Aubrey takes her ID from Julia.

"Beca, do you have yours?"

Beca waves her wallet.

Chaos begins to surround them. The reporters and news crews try to make their way inside, and people definitely start to talk. It's just not yet apparent if anyone actually knows what's going on or who they are.

"Once we get through, we can find some breakfast and some privacy," Julia whispers.

One of those things sounds appealing.

They keep moving forward, about halfway through the line when Brian and Conrad push past several aggravated looking people to join them.

"That would have gone a lot smoother if someone hadn't brought the maximum amount of luggage," Brian says.

"I need to look beautiful." Conrad makes a space for himself, his backpack, and his carryon in line. "You're allowed to have two free checked bags."

"Here." Brian hands Julia her carryon as well as the blanket and alligator.

"Thank you."

He passes out all of their boarding passes, then adjusts his tie and tries to smooth the wrinkles out of his shirt that must have come from hauling luggage. "Look at that. We're on our way home."

"Finally, right?" Julia rubs Aubrey's back.

Aubrey forces herself to pay attention and nods. Chloe should be here in this line.

"You feel okay?" Julia asks.

Aubrey nods again, but judging by their looks, not a single one of them believes her.

"Hey, Aubrey!" Shit. The reporters know her name. Of course they do. They ignore the police trying to barricade them outside, and yell from the sliding glass doors. "Did anyone else make it out alive?"

"How were you the only one out of all those people who survived?" someone else yells.

The only one. Beca looks at her.

Fucking JJ…

"What can you tell us about Jesse?"

"Is it true you were running around on that island for days?"

"How many people were involved?"

"How did you manage to call for help?"

Everyone looks around, talking now, drowning out the questions as they keep pouring in – some of them eyeing Aubrey's telling injuries while others still look confused.

"This way." One of the men who works for TSA, along with Drywood and Miller, show up and unhook one of the barrier ropes to let them through to an empty line.

"Is it true your girlfriend died on the island?" someone manages to yell above the commotion.

No, she did not. Chloe is not dead. Before Aubrey can turn around and set the record straight, Julia is guiding her forcefully beyond the barrier to where a different TSA agent is waiting on them. She roughly pulls away from her once she has the space to break free. "They think she's dead?"

Brian turns his back to the people. "Whatever keeps them away from the hospital is a good thing."

"So you told them she's dead?"

"I have not spoken to them about anything. They're speculating from what your brother told them."

"I'm confused about who is and who is not your family," Conrad says, "I need to understand all these relationships with some string and thumbtacks."

"I think my head is exploding," Beca says.

"We'll get you some Tylenol, Peanut."

"No matter what they yell at you, it's best to just lie low."

"They don't know I'm alive, but they know Aubrey is?"

Aubrey takes her shoes off and places them on the conveyor belt then hands over her boarding pass and ID.

"Are we going to tell them I'm alive?"

"Do you have anything in your pockets?"

"Is this not your real mom?"

"That's Chloe's mom."

"Why didn't I know this? When did you figure this out?"

"Can we address that everyone thinks I'm dead?"

"Raise your arm out to the side and spread your legs."

Aubrey grabs her things, draping Brian's jacket over her shoulder rather than going through the embarrassment of trying to wrap it around herself again, and looks at her boarding pass as she puts on her shoes, then keeps walking.

"Aubrey, wait, please."

"Dude, Aubrey, wait!"

The TSA agent who led them through a private line steps in front of her, blocking her way. "We have a VIP waiting lounge," he tells the whole group, "You are all welcome to use it."

"Thank you." Julia catches up. "That's very kind. We do still need to grab breakfast first."

"There is a private dining area inside. Breakfast will be on the house. May I see your boarding pass?" He takes Julia's ticket and looks it over. "You have a transfer in Chicago. I'll call ahead and see if they'll allow to access to another private waiting area."

Aubrey looks up at his badge and sees that he isn't a TSA agent, but rather some sort of manager.

Julia thanks him again and takes her ticket back, and Aubrey is forced to wait as the rest of them get through security.

"I do apologize. We were unprepared for the people outside," the manager tells them.

Brian exhales a loud puff of air as the rest of them catch up. "So were we."