Lockdown on London Lane

I need a mask, just to be able to breathe through it. I pull the Ramones shirt up over my nose instead, chin tucked down against my chest.

When I arrive at the front door, I find the caretaker looking even more like a serial killer this time, in a yellow onesie made of thin plastic. It’s even got a hood, which is pulled up over his head.

I snap a quick, sneaky photo. Nate definitely needs to see this. And I’ll totally share it with Lucy, once I’m out the other side and I can admit to her I got quarantined with a one-night stand she told me, in no uncertain terms, not to go and see.

“What’s up, Walter White?” I ask him, announcing my arrival.

He turns around, looking less than impressed, and he obviously recognizes me by the way his frown deepens. “Ramones,” he greets me, and then points a gloved finger accusingly at the plastic bag full of clothes. “I’m guessing this is yours.”

“Yup. Took your advice. Ordered some clothes to see me through the week. And I see you did the same. I’m loving this look, mister. It’s very pandemic chic.”

His face twitches, but since his mouth is covered by a white papery mask, I’m not sure if he smiles or if it’s more a look of deep disdain he’s got going on under there.

He dunks a sponge into a bucket of soapy water, and starts scrubbing viciously at my delivery. So viciously, in fact, that by the time he takes several large steps back and lets me pick it up, he’s rubbed the ink clean off the postage label.

I salute him and start back upstairs.

Except as I’m getting to the first floor, one more staircase to go, voices drift down through the stairwell.

And I definitely recognize one of them.

Actually, come to think of it, I recognize both of them.

Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

They sound close enough that if I carry on going upstairs to Nate’s apartment, I’m going to run into them. Which I guess is a slight issue because, like, there’s an extremely contagious virus on the loose in this building, and whatever, but mainly, it’s a problem because Lucy cannot know I’m here.

And Lucy is on her way downstairs right now.

And Lucy is going to give me such a lecture, and this might actually be the thing that makes her finally lose her shit with me because even I can admit it’s pretty goddamn reckless, and I’ve already got to deal with Nate sighing at me all week.

Oh fuck.

“ . . . like it’s my fault she’ll never find anyone she likes enough to invite. What was I supposed to do? Give my best friend a wedding invitation and not give her the option of a plus one? I just wanted her to have the choice, that’s all.”

“I’m sure she knows that,” Lucy says, ever the mediator.

Her future sister-in-law, Kim, possibly the most uptight and boring person I’ve ever met, barely acknowledges her. “The wedding’s not for six months yet, anyway! She’s got plenty of time to find someone! And it’s not like she even has to bring anyone, or like anybody will care either way, but she acts like I’ve done something really . . . really, malicious, you know? Like I’m trying to show her up, or put her on the spot, and that’s absolutely not what . . . ”

I tune her out and make the snap decision to bolt back downstairs.

I almost barrel right into the doors, where Lucy’s big brother, Jeremy, is now waiting. A couple of bags of shopping rest by his feet. He’s on his phone, though, too busy to notice me, thank God.

The caretaker notices me, though.

“Ramones, what are you—”

“You didn’t see me here,” I tell him, and I dive under the stairs, out of sight, just as I hear Lucy and Kim starting down from the first floor.

Just in time. I could give James Bond a run for his money, I reckon.

I hunch as far under the staircase as I can get, cramped and trying not to eavesdrop as the girls greet the caretaker, explain who Jeremy is, and wait while knock-off Walter White disinfects their stuff. He does leave the door open for them, though, letting them talk to Jeremy for a little while.

Jeremy says something to Kim about how, maybe, they’ll have to think about postponing the wedding. Save some money, just . . . take precautions. Maybe they can even negotiate not losing their deposits, under the circumstances.

“What?” she whimpers, sounding on the verge of tears.

“I just want to toss it in the ring,” he says, with that same everlasting patience as Lucy has. “Put it on the table. Something to consider. This is just looking really serious right now, Kim, that’s all. I don’t want us to have to cancel the wedding, either, believe me, but if we did have to postpone it, it’d save us some money, that’s all I’m thinking. And if that is what we need to do, I’d rather give all the guests as much notice as we can. Some of them are going to need hotels and taxis and . . . ”

My phone buzzes, and I get it out of Nate’s hoodie pocket as quietly as I can. I turn off the vibrate so it doesn’t give me away, then check the notification.

It’s a text from Lucy.

Wedding drama on the horizon. We’re just picking up some food Jere brought us and he said something about postponing the wedding, which was maybe a bit my idea, a little, to save them money and hassle in six months if all this carries on, and now I think Kim might cry. This is like some horrible reality show. Send Ant and Dec in now, please. I’m a bridesmaid, get me out of here.

Uh-oh

Tell me everything

As if I don’t already know exactly what’s going on.

But, ever the dutiful best friend, I let Lucy vent over text while she stands by and waits for their shopping to be disinfected, reassure her that it’s not her fault if they decide to postpone the wedding, all while Kim and Jeremy have a tense conversation about doing just that. I feel only a little bit shitty that I’m lying to her.

Well. I guess it doesn’t count as lying, so much as embellishing the truth.

And is it even embellishing the truth if I just . . . neglect to tell her something?

They’re there for what feels like forever. Once Jeremy is gone and the girls have collected their safely sanitized shopping, and I can’t hear their footsteps anymore, I crawl out from under the stairs. My neck is stiff and my legs have pins and needles, both so numb I stagger and fall over when I try to stand up.

The caretaker sighs at me. “I don’t even want to ask.”

I dust myself off and hug my ASOS package to my chest.

“Thanks for not giving me away, Walt.”

“That’s not my . . . ” He sighs again, and I have to wonder what is it with everybody sighing at me this week? “Yeah, yeah, just wash your damn hands when you get back inside. And stop lurking in my hallways.”





apartment #17 – serena





Chapter Eighteen


“I need some of your clothes.”

“What?”

Zach looks at me, first with confusion, pulling off his gaming headset, and then an expression of terror crosses his face.

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