last year, The Morning After , about a Soviet nuclear attack on the United States. She watched the cloud swell and blister, sensing its tremendous heat. She began to smell it, even, a smell of death and—
“Oh, before I forget.”
Janis found herself staring at Margaret, who was snapping her fingers.
“Alpha meeting this Friday at lunchtime. Don’t make other plans. Understood?”
It took a moment for her sister’s words to compute. When they did, Janis stifled a groan. Alpha was a service/social organization for girls—scratch that—for popular girls. This would be Margaret’s second year as president.
“Alpha has its share of athletes, and it’s never been a problem,” Margaret said, preempting Janis. “It’s not going to interfere with your soccer or softball or whatever other games you decide to play.”
“ Sports .”
Janis was also tempted to throw in that cheerleaders, while athletic, maybe, were not athletes—not as far as she was concerned. But she bit her tongue. She felt a little more forgiving toward Margaret today. A little more… protective? In her gut, it seemed like the right word. But it didn’t make sense. Why would Margaret need protection? Something to do with the nightmare? Janis fought to think, but all she could dredge up were fragmented images of cockroaches and rotten sacking. Her mind recoiled from them.
“Understood?” Margaret said. “Friday at lunchtime. Don’t forget.”
* * *
Students poured from the classrooms on all sides of Scott, like water through just-opened sluice gates. He fidgeted with his watch and adjusted his glasses, but his legs remained rooted. To that point, he had known more or less where to go, first period to second to third to fourth, the crumpled schedule his compass. But now, with the start of lunch, he hadn’t the slightest idea where to aim himself.
“I’ve got shotgun!”
Scott flinched back before realizing the guy with the orange, flipped-up collar was talking about riding in the front seat of someone’s car. He shouldered ahead of his buddies who, laughing, grasped for him and gave chase. A group of girls followed closely, shoes clacking, gum smacking, making loud plans for the Wendy’s salad bar.
Scott let the girls’ raspberry scent pull him into their wake, into the general flow. He tried to make himself just another droplet in the gushing current. Nothing to see here, folks. Then it dawned on him that the current he’d entered was pulling him toward the senior parking lot.
You have no car, Scott. No ride, either.
He stopped and, his head buzzing with sleep deprivation, wheeled to go back the way he had come. He didn’t see the solid guy in the pink Polo shirt until it was too late. The impact knocked Scott sideways and as he danced a circle to stay upright, he felt the guy moving in.
Here we go.
Scott cringed and raised a forearm. But when Polo Shirt grabbed him, it was to help steady him. “Oh, man, I totally didn’t see you,” he said, his brow furrowing above indigo eyes. “You all right?”
Scott fixed his glasses. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Cool, man.” He clapped Scott’s shoulder. “Catch you later.” Polo Shirt resumed his athletic trot down the hallway. Scott stared after him, as stunned by the collision as by the fact that the guy hadn’t called him geek or dweeb or just pummeled him outright.
Around Scott, the flow of students tapered to trickles. He craned his neck, hoping to spot Craig or Chun, even Wayne. But whatever plans they had made for lunch hadn’t found Scott’s ears—by design, of course.
Things had gone badly that morning in their computer programming class. When Scott had attempted to sit beside him, Wayne threw his backpack over the seat and refused to look up. “Reserved,” was all he would say. And when Scott proceeded to try and warn him about the phone tap, Wayne closed his smudged-in eyes, plugged both ears and began humming the tune to Dr. Who . Scott ended up spending
“Oh, before I forget.”
Janis found herself staring at Margaret, who was snapping her fingers.
“Alpha meeting this Friday at lunchtime. Don’t make other plans. Understood?”
It took a moment for her sister’s words to compute. When they did, Janis stifled a groan. Alpha was a service/social organization for girls—scratch that—for popular girls. This would be Margaret’s second year as president.
“Alpha has its share of athletes, and it’s never been a problem,” Margaret said, preempting Janis. “It’s not going to interfere with your soccer or softball or whatever other games you decide to play.”
“ Sports .”
Janis was also tempted to throw in that cheerleaders, while athletic, maybe, were not athletes—not as far as she was concerned. But she bit her tongue. She felt a little more forgiving toward Margaret today. A little more… protective? In her gut, it seemed like the right word. But it didn’t make sense. Why would Margaret need protection? Something to do with the nightmare? Janis fought to think, but all she could dredge up were fragmented images of cockroaches and rotten sacking. Her mind recoiled from them.
“Understood?” Margaret said. “Friday at lunchtime. Don’t forget.”
* * *
Students poured from the classrooms on all sides of Scott, like water through just-opened sluice gates. He fidgeted with his watch and adjusted his glasses, but his legs remained rooted. To that point, he had known more or less where to go, first period to second to third to fourth, the crumpled schedule his compass. But now, with the start of lunch, he hadn’t the slightest idea where to aim himself.
“I’ve got shotgun!”
Scott flinched back before realizing the guy with the orange, flipped-up collar was talking about riding in the front seat of someone’s car. He shouldered ahead of his buddies who, laughing, grasped for him and gave chase. A group of girls followed closely, shoes clacking, gum smacking, making loud plans for the Wendy’s salad bar.
Scott let the girls’ raspberry scent pull him into their wake, into the general flow. He tried to make himself just another droplet in the gushing current. Nothing to see here, folks. Then it dawned on him that the current he’d entered was pulling him toward the senior parking lot.
You have no car, Scott. No ride, either.
He stopped and, his head buzzing with sleep deprivation, wheeled to go back the way he had come. He didn’t see the solid guy in the pink Polo shirt until it was too late. The impact knocked Scott sideways and as he danced a circle to stay upright, he felt the guy moving in.
Here we go.
Scott cringed and raised a forearm. But when Polo Shirt grabbed him, it was to help steady him. “Oh, man, I totally didn’t see you,” he said, his brow furrowing above indigo eyes. “You all right?”
Scott fixed his glasses. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Cool, man.” He clapped Scott’s shoulder. “Catch you later.” Polo Shirt resumed his athletic trot down the hallway. Scott stared after him, as stunned by the collision as by the fact that the guy hadn’t called him geek or dweeb or just pummeled him outright.
Around Scott, the flow of students tapered to trickles. He craned his neck, hoping to spot Craig or Chun, even Wayne. But whatever plans they had made for lunch hadn’t found Scott’s ears—by design, of course.
Things had gone badly that morning in their computer programming class. When Scott had attempted to sit beside him, Wayne threw his backpack over the seat and refused to look up. “Reserved,” was all he would say. And when Scott proceeded to try and warn him about the phone tap, Wayne closed his smudged-in eyes, plugged both ears and began humming the tune to Dr. Who . Scott ended up spending
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