Pandemic (4 page)

“Hey,” he said, slinging a plastic bag of groceries over his shoulder. “Heading home?”

I nodded.

“Want one?” He held out the pack.

Smoking on the street corner behind school seemed different than walking brazenly through town with a cigarette in my mouth, but at the moment I didn’t care. I slid one out of the pack, hoping he wouldn’t notice my shaky hands.

“Here,” he said, lighting it for me.

I inhaled deeply.

“Big plans for the weekend?” he asked.

While we smoked and walked, I glanced around discreetly, but didn’t see Mr. B. “No, I’m babysitting tonight.”

“Me too. I was supposed to see that pirate movie with Derek and Ethan, but my little brother’s sick.” He held open his yellow shopping bag to show me children’s pain reliever, a coloring book, crayons.

For once, I welcomed Jay’s chattiness. It gave my heart rate a chance to slow to normal.

“Strep throat,” he continued. “My aunt planned to go to a fundraising dinner dance, so big brother to the rescue, you know?”

“Not really. I’m an only child.”

“Oh.” He glanced at my bags, rolls of TP poking out of each one. “I thought maybe you had a huge family.”

I envisioned my cheeks flushing from pink to red. At least today wasn’t a tampon-shopping day.

“Big sale,” I said. “And I like to have extra stuff around. Have you ever been in a store right before a hurricane? The shelves empty in hours. In a disaster, batteries, flashlights, and even everyday things are hard to come by. And I saw this freaky movie last night about the end of the world. What if our food supply was disrupted? You can never be too prepared.”

He glanced over at me, but I couldn’t quite read his expression. He could either be fascinated by my unique perspective or doubtful of my emotional stability. I wasn’t sure which.

“So, you think the world’s going to end?” he asked. “And you’ll need extra toilet paper to see you through?”

I almost smacked him in the head with a pack of UltraStrong. Why didn’t I stick to my usual un-conversational ways? But it was too late. I paused, choosing my next words carefully.

“It’s not that the world’s going to end, exactly. But the future is too uncertain. I don’t think we can guarantee that life will continue the way we expect.”

There was more, of course, that I didn’t explain. Like how I used to care about being Good with a capital G: the hard-working student, the model daughter, the loving girlfriend who didn’t go too far. In exchange for my Goodness, all I expected from the universe was safety. It seemed fair enough, in the ways of karma, religion, fate.

But life wasn’t fair. Or very safe.

So all deals with the universe were off. Only worrying, preparing, and planning for any possible disaster made me feel better. That, and the searing warmth in my lungs when I inhaled, the welcome rush from the nicotine.

We reached the stoplight and waited for it to turn green. I glanced around again. Still no sign of Mr. B.

“Shit happens,” I concluded.

“True.” He took a drag of his cigarette, looking away.

“You agree?” I expected a debate.

“My mother . . . she died within months of finding out about the cancer. So one day life is great. The next, you don’t know.”

“I’m sorry,” I said, for lack of anything original.

“Pancreatic cancer is a nasty disease. The survival rates totally suck.” He didn’t make eye contact, but he kept talking, as if now that he started, he felt driven to explain. His voice sounded hollow with grief. “After we stayed with my grandparents in Phoenix for a few years, we moved here to live with my aunt.”

His aunt worked as the nurse at the high school. I’d been to her office plenty of times as part of my class-cutting this semester.

“My brother doesn’t remember Mom as much as I do,” he said. “I’m not sure if that’s good or bad.”

Where was his dad? It wasn’t something I could politely ask. I slowed my pace, wondering how I could survive without either of my parents, wondering how Jay held it together.

Sometimes I envisioned getting the phone call that my parents had died. I played the scenario out in meticulous detail: answering the phone on the second ring, the solemn male voice breaking the news. In my warped imagination, they were killed in a car accident like Megs’s dad. But while she still had her mom, in my case, the funeral arrangements, the grief, the day-to-day survival all became something for me to handle alone. It was a morbid fantasy, but Dr. Gwen explained that it wasn’t uncommon. After one trauma, the mind might vividly imagine others as a way to feel prepared.

Did Jay ever imagine someone else in his family dying? He seemed so stable and responsible, but maybe it was only sadness in disguise.

“I didn’t mean to be all serious.” He flicked his cigarette away as we neared our street. “So, when did you start smoking? It’s a disgusting habit.”

“A few months ago.”

“Is that when your shit happened?”

And just like that, a jolt of fear short-circuited my other thoughts. Mr. B flashed through my mind again, his breath in my ear, the unwanted kiss. Afterward, Dr. Gwen had said it was a choice whether to view myself as a victim or a survivor. As if I really had an option. The decision never felt like it was mine to make.

I shuddered but tried to cover it with a shrug. I couldn’t fake an answer, couldn’t carefully compose one. “There are some things I’d rather not discuss.”

“Fair enough,” Jay said. “If you ever want to talk, I’m a pretty good listener.”

I nodded as if considering it. But this wasn’t a topic I’d change my mind about. Jay’s listening skills would never be enough to drag my secret into the open.

C
HAPTER
4

Prior to the Blue Flu, the most deadly pandemic in the United States was the Spanish Flu in 1918. It claimed the lives of over half a million Americans. The projected totals for the Blue Flu are expected to easily surpass that.

—Blue Flu interview, government official

B
abysitting someone new was always awkward, but Cam and I broke the ice after playing five games of Pretty Pretty Princess. Then I gave her a manicure, alternating Cotton Candy with Fuchsia Fiesta on every other nail. That sealed the deal.

“You are the Best. Babysitter. Ever.” She beamed at me, a big smile that revealed a few missing baby teeth.

Mom had gotten me the babysitting gig for Ms. Schiffer, a single mom who waitressed after her nine-to-five job. It was Mom’s way of encouraging me to be independent, to continue some of the activities I’d done before the incident. Not having brothers or sisters to annoy me at home, I always liked caring for other people’s kids. At least temporarily.

“We have an hour until bed time. What’s next?” I asked.

“Can we play another game?” Cam opened a cabinet in the den to reveal princess versions of both Memory and Chutes and Ladders.

Uh oh. Princess overload. But I knew all about being an only child and the excitement of having someone over to play with.

“How about one more game, some fruit, then educational television?” I asked, half-joking.

“How about two games, ice cream sundaes, then my favorite dance show saved on the DVR?”

“All right. You’ve got a deal.”

Cam had great recall for a six-year-old and I lost both games of Princess Memory.

“Did you let me win?” she asked as I scooped vanilla ice cream into a bowl.

“Sadly, no. You beat me fair and square.”

Cam drowned her ice cream in strawberry syrup and rainbow sprinkles. “Let’s eat while we watch TV,” she said. “Mom always lets me have snacks in the den.”

The couch was a pristine cream color. I doubted Cam ate messy food on it, ever. “Why don’t we eat in the kitchen while you tell me about the photos?” Snapshots of Cam covered the refrigerator door, held in place by various insect magnets: butterflies, ladybugs, dragonflies.

“OK.” In between spoonfuls, she explained each picture. “That’s me at the Turtleback Zoo. The monkeys are my favorite,” she said. “The hayride was at the pumpkin farm. We picked our own pumpkins. Mom carved a jack-o-lantern for outside, but then the squirrels chewed it. I was sad, but she said squirrels need to eat, too.”

“Who’s that?” I pointed to a picture of her sitting on a man’s shoulders.

“That’s Uncle Robbie, Mom’s older brother. Sometimes he comes with us on our weekend adventures. Mom said since I don’t have a real dad, it’s good for me to spend time with him. But when he burps super loud, Mom gets annoyed. She said he has bad manners and did he want his only niece belching like that?”

“What did he say?”

“He said burping was natural. So was passing gas.”

I laughed. “Your uncle sounds funny.”

“Yeah, I love him a lot. Mom says since we have a small family, the love is extra strong.”

Next to the snapshot with her uncle, there were birthday pictures and holiday ones, too. She pointed to a formal photo of her in a short black-and-white dress with a top hat. “That’s from my dance recital. I take classes at Miss Lauren’s School of Dance.”

“I like your costume. You look pretty.” I cleaned up our empty bowls.

“And I’m talented, too,” she said.

We sat on the couch and watched her favorite dance reality show, cozy under a homemade afghan. Cam had a lot of opinions about whether the judges were right. When the program ended, she hopped onto the coffee table.

“Want to see my talent show number, Lil?”

“Sure. You can dance on the way to bed.”

Cam wiggled, shook, and twirled down the hall of their one-story house. She had a cheerful bedroom, with a fluffy pink throw rug and a comforter with big bright flowers. The walls were decorated with her artwork, hung in plastic frames.

“Now it’s your turn,” she said once I tucked her in.

“How about a sleepy dance?” I turned off the overhead light and switched on her butterfly nightlight. I remembered being six, thinking that the little glow would keep all kinds of troubles away.

“Come on, Lil.”

I shook off the gloomy feeling. Not wanting to lose my Best Babysitter status so quickly, I did a short version of the robot.

“Wait!” Cam said. “Milkshake missed it!”

“Milkshake?”

She pulled a worn-looking brown-and-white stuffed cow from under her covers. “Do it again so he can see.”

“OK, but then it’s lights out.” I danced again, while Cam made Milkshake bounce up and down.

“This is his cow dance,” she said. “I taught him everything he knows.”

“He’s got some cool moves. Now goodnight, Cam. Goodnight, Milkshake.”

“Goodnight, Lil. I hope you babysit me again soon so I can give you some dance lessons.”

“I hope so, too.”

With Cam finally asleep, I checked my phone. My heart jumped a little when I saw a text from Ethan. After our conversation yesterday, I didn’t think we’d talk again anytime soon. I was instantly sucked back into the reality of being sixteen again instead of a carefree six-year-old. Talking with Cam was straightforward. With Ethan, I had to interpret what he wrote and what he really meant.

Clever. Kind of a loaded question in disguise. Either that or he really cared about my lost-and-found search, which I doubted.

I could ask him how the pirate movie was, but then I’d have to explain about walking home with Jay, which would be easy to misinterpret. Jay seemed closer to Derek than to Ethan, but he was still part of that friend group. I didn’t think they had much in common, but guy friendships seemed to form a lot easier than girl ones.

He answered a few minutes later.

That made me pause. Yesterday was more of a veiled fight than a pleasant chat. He did get one thing right during that conversation, though: I had drifted away on purpose, causing the breakup by default. After the situation with Mr. B, being with Ethan overwhelmed me, his every touch sending me into a panic. Since I didn’t trust him enough to tell him what happened, our time together became colored by little lies. What started as a solid relationship began to crack and chip. The end was inevitable.

Yet he hinted that maybe he knew the truth. Well, he certainly didn’t learn it from me.

Where was he going with this? Since we’d broken up, he’d only had a five-week relationship with a vapid girl named Cassandra. It had been weird to see him with another girl, to watch as they walked down the hall with his arm slung over her shoulder. It was like a mixed up out-of-body experience, watching him with someone that should have been me. Right when I got used to it, their relationship ended. Some people gossiped about her dumping him, while others said it was his choice. I didn’t know which story was true and it didn’t really matter much. What mattered was that he had dated someone else, created new memories with Cassandra while I stayed stuck in the past.

Was he trying to reconcile with me now? Was I ready for that? It wasn’t like I could say,
No, I don’t think we should talk ever again
. And part of me wanted to get back to living, to move forward. I thought about how Ethan would gently push the hair from my eyes when I used to wear it loose and flowy.

Did I want to talk again soon? Yes, I could handle conversation. I could try.

And that was that.

Besides his texts, there was a less exciting email from Mom, explaining the time difference, offering souvenirs, ensuring that I was OK. So I went from the future possibilities with Ethan to the grounded details of my mother. It was actually easier to send her a message than to talk.