In the After by Demitria Lunetta Page B

good in school and having friends who were also good in school. We were, to put it simply, arrogant little know-it-alls. But I miss that.
    Amber, on the other hand, is the girl who hung out with the football players. She is the one who squeaked by with a D average and was thrilled to get the occasional C. She didn’t think about college, and probably never faced the eventuality that high school would one day end. I would have made fun of her behind her back, while I secretly envied her popular, carefree life.
    But we aren’t in high school, and having to deal with a self-centered dimwit can have deadly consequences. I have to make her understand.
    The first thing I show Amber is the electric fence and warn her not to touch it. I am a bit dramatic with that, pointing at the fence and then clutching my hands to my neck, my tongue hanging out. I am pretty sure she gets the idea. Then I show her the small area around the lock where it is safe to touch.
    In actuality, the fence won’t kill her, or anyone. The shock isn’t pleasant, and if you hang on for long enough it will take you out of commission and leave you unconscious. I tested it out once when I was twelve and my arm was numb for a couple of hours. My dad totally freaked out on my mom then, told her he didn’t want us living in a “gold-plated prison.” I thought for a little while they were going to get divorced over it, but they made up eventually, like they always did.
    The fence’s real purpose was to stop people from trying to break in. It was hooked up to an alarm system that alerted the police if someone touched it. There is no one to come running now when They try to get through, but the shock seems to stop Them, move Them on their way. Unless, of course, we are standing right in front of the creatures’ beady yellow eyes; then nothing can break their focus. I don’t want to test just how much damage the fence can take, so I still need Amber to be quiet.
    We set her up in the basement with the couch as her bed. I let her wear my clothes at first, but I eventually allow her to raid my mother’s closet. Amber is beside herself. My mom had good taste and bought expensive things, but I’d always thought of it as “middle-aged fashion.” Amber loves it all, especially the Dolce & Gabbana skirts and the DKNY jeans. That is another thing that shows we would not have been friends Before. I would not have been caught dead wearing designer anything. My dad always assumed it was because I shared his eco-sensibilities, that I would rather spend the money to plant a tree or save a whale. Truthfully not all my friends were as wealthy as we were and I didn’t want them to know how much money we had. I didn’t want them to think I was a snob, especially Sabrina.
    It’s weird to see Amber wear my mother’s shirts or scarves, but I find it strangely comforting too. I’ve avoided going through my parents’ closet for years; mostly I stay away from their room altogether. It’s all too painful, but giving Amber free range of my mother’s things breaks that spell.
    After Amber picks out her new wardrobe, I show her the rooftop garden and she gets to work at once, which I am grateful for. The garden is a chore I never enjoyed, even though I recognize the need for fresh vegetables. Amber seems to know what she is doing and I leave her to it. She likes to be up on the roof, especially during the day. She comes downstairs, sunburned and glowing. Three years without any sunlight is a long time.
    At first, I am afraid to leave her alone with Baby. I imagine every horrible thing that can happen. Amber accidentally letting Them inside. Amber convincing Baby to eat some questionable canned food. Amber letting it all get to her and going crazy, maybe trying to end her own life and not caring who she hurts in the process.
    All these thoughts rumble around in my head while I watch Amber playing with Baby, eating