Pandemic (5 page)

The email felt only slightly fake, like I was trying too hard. But it would make Mom happy if I sent more than eight words. I clicked send before changing my mind.

The rest of the weekend was dull, filled with my lame attempt to catch up on all the homework I’d been ignoring. My assignments had somehow multiplied in my backpack, like mold in a damp, dark place.

Monday would have been more of the same, except for the headlines. I didn’t need a special alert about diseases anymore. The situation in Maryland had hit the mainstream news.

C
HAPTER
5

The US government recommends keeping at least a three-day supply of food and water on hand for emergency situations. How many Americans have done even that much?

—Blue Flu interview, survivalist blogger

M
y mouth dropped open in horror as I read the news after school. At least a hundred people in Maryland had fallen ill with flu-like symptoms. Apparently, a married thirty-something couple had died from a respiratory illness in coastal Virginia last week, but had been buried before the disease became big news, so no tests were done. A few instances of flu had been reported in Delaware, too, as if the illness had quietly snuck up the coast in a secret invasion. The article closed with a reminder for people to practice healthy hygiene by washing their hands frequently and covering their coughs, which didn’t feel quite lifesaving enough.

I called Dad. He wasn’t at his desk, so I tried to leave a casual message. “Hi, it’s Lily. Call me when you get a chance.” I ended with a cheerful lilt to my voice, then paced around the house until the phone rang a half hour later.

“I have to work late tonight,” Dad said. “Can you make yourself something for dinner?”

“Sure. Don’t worry about me.” I waited to see if he would mention the illness on his own. Mom had coached him not to alarm me, and anyway, I’d get more information if he thought it was his idea to discuss it.

“Um, good. That’s good,” he said.

“Is everything all right?” I could hear the tap-tap of typing in the background. “You sound distracted.”

“A little. Angela’s out sick when I need her the most.”

I always liked his assistant. When I was younger and school was closed on a workday, I’d go to Dad’s office. Angela would let me write on the conference room whiteboard with colored markers or photocopy my hands and feet. She’d drawn the line at the butt copy. Her baby was due next month and I could tell she’d be a good mom.

“You’re busy getting ready for the conference?”

“Yes, that, and following this illness in Maryland. It’s unusual.”

“What’s going on?” I asked, trying to keep my voice light.

But Dad must have heard the panic because he reined it in. “It’s OK, Lily. The CDC is investigating all unusual respiratory ailments in the region.”

He cleared his throat nervously, as if realizing his mistake a moment too late. Any mention of the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention was worrisome for me. Very worrisome.

“Why would they be involved?” I asked.

“This disease is similar to seasonal flu, only worse.”

“What makes it worse?”

He paused. “It’s more deadly. And given Avian’s proximity to Washington there’s some paranoia about bioterrorism.”

I knew all about paranoia. “On a scale of one to ten, how concerned should I be?”

“I’d prefer that you concentrate on school. I checked the online gradebook. Not good.”

Ugh. I’d hoped my grades would go unnoticed for a few more weeks. And now there was no way to continue the conversation about the flu.

“Could you hold off telling Mom about school? You know how she worries. And I spent a lot of time on homework over the weekend.”

“Hmm,” he said. “I guess I can wait until she gets back from her trip.”

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll study extra tonight.”

I did try. But my mind kept drifting to various disaster scenarios. Dad’s distracted attitude didn’t help. My grades would normally require a thirty-minute discussion, so this disease was definitely on his mind. I rechecked the news about Maryland several times throughout the evening, but there wasn’t much new information, only a rehash of what I’d already read.

At least the local news was uneventful. The town news site,
Portico Press
, profiled the bird-banding extravaganza Mom had missed, complete with a photo. In the group shot, I recognized a few of Mom’s environmental friends and Dad’s assistant, Angela. I emailed Mom the article link and reassured her that Dad and I were not malnourished.

Giving up on academics, I texted Megs.

I gathered my books and left. Two blocks from Megs’s house, a girl with long black hair crossed the street in front of me. My stomach lurched. It was Kayla. Before turning the corner, she glanced over and registered my presence. Then she looked away, as if I were a stranger. She and Megs were the trusted allies who knew what happened in the fall, the two friends I had painfully confided in.

Only Megs had believed me.

The night before my dreaded return to school, Megs and Kayla visited me, both squishing onto the end of the bed.

“You look like crap,” Kayla said. “But I’m glad to see you.”

“Thanks, I think.” Nervous, I tried to smile, but my mouth felt stiff.

“Not contagious anymore?” Megs asked. Mononucleosis was my cover story for missing school after Mr. B.

“No.” When I wasn’t pretending to be sick, there were secret meetings with the principal, the school superintendent, my guidance counselor, and a therapist. Dr. Gwen had encouraged me to be honest about what happened, whenever it felt safe. It had been harder to lie to my friends than to Ethan. It was time to let them know.

“I was never really contagious,” I said. “The mono-thing was, um, not exactly true.”

“It’s something really bad, isn’t it?” Kayla asked.

I nodded.

“Oh my God. A terminal illness?” Megs grabbed my hand. “You don’t have something life-threatening, do you?”

I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. The whole situation was so absurd, yet incredibly painful.

“No, it’s not medical.” I took a deep breath, trying to summon my courage. “Something . . . something happened after school last Friday.”

They waited through my long pause.

“With Mr. B.”

Kayla sucked in her breath.

I told them, in halting words, what he had done, what he had tried to do, skipping most of the physical details. Numbness settled over me as I spoke, as if it had happened to someone else, to another trusting girl.

Megs squeezed my hand. “That’s horrible.”

“You two are the only friends who know. You can’t tell anyone. I’d die.”

“You reported it to the police?” Megs asked.

I nodded. “I didn’t talk to your mom, though.”

“How come this isn’t all over the local news?” Kayla sounded upset that she hadn’t known about it sooner.

“I don’t know the details exactly, but my dad said it is being kept out of the press while they investigate. To protect me, I guess, or maybe to protect Mr. B until they figure out if they have enough proof to arrest him. It’s kind of my word against his, so he’s on some type of leave while the police try to gather evidence. But at least he’s not teaching.”

Kayla finally spoke. “That’s awful.”

“I know. I’m doing better, though.”

“No, I mean, he’s such a talented teacher.”

I narrowed my eyes at her. “He’s a total creeper.”

“Everyone knows he’s hot. If you didn’t want to be with him, all you had to do was say no.”

Her words stunned me. She couldn’t be serious.

“I would have said no if he had bothered to
ask
instead of . . . instead of groping me. There wasn’t a lot of conversation going on, Kayla, before he shoved his hand up my skirt.”

She stood. “Well, maybe he misinterpreted, thought you were interested—”

I stood, too, straightening out my pj top, smoothing the wrinkles with great care, as if that would stop the anger from consuming me. “Then he could have asked me on a date and I could have stopped it right there. Why are you interrogating me?”

“I think—” Megs started.

“I’m not interrogating you,” Kayla said. “I just have trouble seeing it play out like that. I’ve been in meetings with him, been alone with him for a whole year. He’s never tried anything.” She flipped her long hair.

I had been prepared for questions, sympathy, and hugs from my two best friends. Of all the possible reactions, disbelief was not one I had anticipated. Kayla doubted me, choosing to side with our teacher instead.

How could she? How dare she? My face flushed. “Are you calling me a liar?”

“No, I don’t think you’re lying exactly—”

The shock of betrayal surged through me. That’s when I slapped her. I’d only seen it in movies, but it felt damn good.

Megs gasped.

Kayla raised her hand to the cheek where I’d hit her. She grabbed her bag and left without another word.

Megs was typing on her computer when I arrived. I could tell by her grin that she wasn’t doing math homework.

She looked up and must have caught the expression on my face. “What’s the matter?”

“I saw Kayla on the way over here.”

“And?”

“She pretended not to know me.”

Megs frowned in sympathy, motioning for me to take the stool next to her.

“Something’s been bothering me,” I said.

“The fact that our former BFF lacks a brain?”

“Seriously. Do you think I could have somehow, unintentionally, brought on the whole situation with Mr. B—given him the wrong idea?”

“No way.”

I must not have looked convinced.

“Did you like him like that?” Megs asked gently.

“No.”

“Did you ever think, ‘if only I was older?’”

“Never.”

“You can’t blame yourself. And what he did was wrong—illegal—no matter how you analyze it.”

“But . . . why do you think Mr. B . . . I mean, why did he pick me?” I weaved my fingers together, forced them to rest quietly on my lap. I watched them carefully as if my hands held the answers. “Kayla thought he walked on water. There were prettier girls and certainly more willing ones. . . . I don’t understand why. Maybe if I knew that, understood what I could’ve done to prevent it, I could let the whole thing go.”

She reached over and squeezed my shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault,” she said softly. “I don’t think there was anything you could have done. It was a bad situation, but not something you could have seen coming.”

“But do you think I seemed weak or something? Like an easy target?”

She shook her head.

“My parents won’t talk much about the investigation, but I know it’s taking longer than they thought. That can’t be good. If no one else comes forward and he starts teaching again—”

“Don’t think about it.”

“Well, I never want to be the victim of any more bad situations. If that means keeping an emotional distance and stocking up on canned food, so be it.”

“We’ll never understand what he was thinking. But you’re one of the strongest people I know.”

I met her eyes, checked for judgment. But there was only support. “Strong? I can’t even open the pickle jar,” I said, trying to lighten the mood.

“You have inner strength. Remember when I broke my wrist? And the bone was pushing out of my skin?”

“I told you the plank wobbled too much to make a good balance beam.”

“You didn’t even panic. You wrapped my arm in your sweatshirt and brought me to my mom,” she said. “Give yourself a break, Lil. You’re strong and good-hearted and giving. Maybe he wanted to corrupt that somehow.”

I breathed deeply, considering what Megs said. “Do you think I can ever walk around like a normal person without having flashbacks? The memories ambush me out of nowhere.”

She swiveled her stool back and forth. “I don’t know. Maybe the feelings take time to fade, like grief. You still have the sadness with you, but it recedes into the background more. You never forget, but you function. At least that’s the way it was with my dad dying.”