This World We Live In (The Last Survivors, Book 3) by Susan Beth Pfeffer Page A
Book: This World We Live In (The Last Survivors, Book 3) by Susan Beth Pfeffer
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Authors: Susan Beth Pfeffer
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my
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privacy, or at least the privacy of my diaries. We don't have any other privacy. It feels strange sharing the sunroom with Jon but not Matt. Less crowded but more intimate somehow.
"I can't get over your hair," I said. "How long it is.
How pretty."
"Hair is an asset," Syl said. "You should grow yours."
"Maybe someday," I said. Someday when water isn't gray.
We rode silently for a while, and I waited for Syl to ask me questions the way Jon said she did. But I guess I wasn't as interesting as basebal .
It didn't matter. Once we started breaking into houses, I could see how good Syl was at things. At Mom's insistence we entered each house together, but thanks to Syl, there wasn't a wasted moment.
We went through a dozen houses, top to bottom, inch by inch, garages and sheds included. We didn't find that much, and we didn't celebrate when we did find something. No bursting into song over half a rol of toilet paper.
We did find two electric space heaters, though, one for each of us to bike home with. Now, if we ever have electricity, we'l be able to warm up the kitchen and the dining room.
When we got back home, I went up to my room and hid al my diaries in the back of my closet.
They're my thoughts and I want to keep them that way.
May 17
I wish Syl hadn't said anything about my diary. I can't blame Matt for tel ing her, but I real y wish he hadn't.
I'm writing this entry in the kitchen using one of the flashlight pens Jon found for me. Mom's asleep in the sunroom, not that it ever mattered before. I've written in
69
my diary with her and Matt and Jon in the room for months now. But even though I know Syl's in Matt's room probably asleep, I feel like somebody's looking over my shoulder.
Last summer Dad and Lisa were here, on their way out west. With six of us in the house I felt more private than I do right now with just three of us here.
Not that I have anything to write, except to say these diaries are mine, for my eyes only.
May 18
Today's the first anniversary of the asteroid hitting the moon.
A year ago I was sixteen years old, a sophomore in high school. Matt was in his freshman year at Cornel and Jon was in middle school. Dad and Lisa had asked me to be godmother to their new baby. Mom was between book projects.
I know I've gained a lot in the past year, but I woke up this morning and al I could think about was everything I've lost. No, that's not right. Not everything, everybody. Everything doesn't matter, not real y. After a while you get used to being cold, and hungry, and living in the dark.
But you can't get used to losing people. Or if you can, I don't want to. So many people in the past year, people I've loved, have vanished from my life.
Some have died; others have moved on. It almost doesn't matter. Gone is gone.
I was lying on my mattress in the sunroom, thinking about how today was the first anniversary and whether I should mention it to Mom. I know dates because of my diary, but calendars vanished along with everything else during the past year.
Somehow I felt the anniversary was
70
like the mound of bodies, the kind of thing you keep to yourself.
But the one thing I've gained this past year is a sister-in-law, and over breakfast this morning (a shared can of sweet potatoes, not the breakfast I had a year ago), Syl brought up the subject.
"Today's the first anniversary," she said.
"Of what?" Mom asked. "Oh, it's been a week since you and Matt exchanged your vows. Wel , he'l be back tomorrow and you can celebrate then."
"No, Mom," I said. "Today's the first anniversary of when everything happened. It happened a year ago today."
"Has it only been a year?" Mom asked. "Time sure passes when you're having fun."
"May 18th," Syl said. "I've been keeping track of the days for a while now. I felt I should do something significant on the anniversary day."
"Significant like what?" I asked. "You got married a week ago. It's hard to be more significant than that."
"Something more
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privacy, or at least the privacy of my diaries. We don't have any other privacy. It feels strange sharing the sunroom with Jon but not Matt. Less crowded but more intimate somehow.
"I can't get over your hair," I said. "How long it is.
How pretty."
"Hair is an asset," Syl said. "You should grow yours."
"Maybe someday," I said. Someday when water isn't gray.
We rode silently for a while, and I waited for Syl to ask me questions the way Jon said she did. But I guess I wasn't as interesting as basebal .
It didn't matter. Once we started breaking into houses, I could see how good Syl was at things. At Mom's insistence we entered each house together, but thanks to Syl, there wasn't a wasted moment.
We went through a dozen houses, top to bottom, inch by inch, garages and sheds included. We didn't find that much, and we didn't celebrate when we did find something. No bursting into song over half a rol of toilet paper.
We did find two electric space heaters, though, one for each of us to bike home with. Now, if we ever have electricity, we'l be able to warm up the kitchen and the dining room.
When we got back home, I went up to my room and hid al my diaries in the back of my closet.
They're my thoughts and I want to keep them that way.
May 17
I wish Syl hadn't said anything about my diary. I can't blame Matt for tel ing her, but I real y wish he hadn't.
I'm writing this entry in the kitchen using one of the flashlight pens Jon found for me. Mom's asleep in the sunroom, not that it ever mattered before. I've written in
69
my diary with her and Matt and Jon in the room for months now. But even though I know Syl's in Matt's room probably asleep, I feel like somebody's looking over my shoulder.
Last summer Dad and Lisa were here, on their way out west. With six of us in the house I felt more private than I do right now with just three of us here.
Not that I have anything to write, except to say these diaries are mine, for my eyes only.
May 18
Today's the first anniversary of the asteroid hitting the moon.
A year ago I was sixteen years old, a sophomore in high school. Matt was in his freshman year at Cornel and Jon was in middle school. Dad and Lisa had asked me to be godmother to their new baby. Mom was between book projects.
I know I've gained a lot in the past year, but I woke up this morning and al I could think about was everything I've lost. No, that's not right. Not everything, everybody. Everything doesn't matter, not real y. After a while you get used to being cold, and hungry, and living in the dark.
But you can't get used to losing people. Or if you can, I don't want to. So many people in the past year, people I've loved, have vanished from my life.
Some have died; others have moved on. It almost doesn't matter. Gone is gone.
I was lying on my mattress in the sunroom, thinking about how today was the first anniversary and whether I should mention it to Mom. I know dates because of my diary, but calendars vanished along with everything else during the past year.
Somehow I felt the anniversary was
70
like the mound of bodies, the kind of thing you keep to yourself.
But the one thing I've gained this past year is a sister-in-law, and over breakfast this morning (a shared can of sweet potatoes, not the breakfast I had a year ago), Syl brought up the subject.
"Today's the first anniversary," she said.
"Of what?" Mom asked. "Oh, it's been a week since you and Matt exchanged your vows. Wel , he'l be back tomorrow and you can celebrate then."
"No, Mom," I said. "Today's the first anniversary of when everything happened. It happened a year ago today."
"Has it only been a year?" Mom asked. "Time sure passes when you're having fun."
"May 18th," Syl said. "I've been keeping track of the days for a while now. I felt I should do something significant on the anniversary day."
"Significant like what?" I asked. "You got married a week ago. It's hard to be more significant than that."
"Something more
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