“Okay, but when climate change has destroyed life as we know it and we’re all fighting to survive, you can’t favor your natural children over my poor little loaner.”
He laughs, and I notice a couple of other kids turning to look at us. I guess the sound of David Fields laughing is unfamiliar enough to draw attention. His laugh is unexpectedly warm—?I’ve heard it a few times now, but its richness still surprises me.
“Someone’s been reading too much dystopian fiction,” he says.
“Yeah, don’t get me started on the zombie apocalypse.”
“What’s to get started on? All you need is an axe and you’re good.”
“You need some chain too.”
“For what?”
I roll my eyes. “To chain up your loved ones when they get bitten. Duh.”
“Why even bother fighting? Why not just give in and all become zombies? Nothing would change—?most of the kids here would already tear out each other’s flesh if it meant they had a better chance of getting into Stanford.”
“Yeah, but their parents would never let them eat any old brains—?they’d have to be organic.”
We go on like this for a while, and then, since English is next, we walk over to class together, stopping by each other’s lockers to pick up our books.
Inside the classroom, we separate automatically to go to our normal seats—?his by the wall, mine near Sarah and James. He’s got his laptop open before I’ve even made it across the room.
“We missed you at lunch,” Sarah says as I slide into my seat.
“Sorry. I got into a conversation.”
James says, “We noticed.”
Camp calls for attention, so we can’t talk more, but after class is over and we’re standing up, I say to James, “You’re not going to start being all possessive, are you?”
“You can talk to whoever you want; just don’t take me for granted.”
“I never have,” I say. “I never would.” I raise myself up on tiptoes to give him a reassuring quick kiss, but he grabs me and presses me tightly against him and turns it into something that’s dramatic enough to inspire a couple of kids to clap and whoop as they’re leaving the classroom. I get the sense he’s sort of marking his territory, but what the hell—?it feels good from where I’m standing.
“Lovely,” says Camp, as we walk past her together. “You guys give my heart hope. So long as two beautiful young people can still walk hand in hand, there’s good in the world.”
“We’re beautiful,” I say to James outside her classroom.
“Yes,” he says. “Yes, we are.” He squeezes my hand and kisses me fiercely and then we say goodbye and go to our separate classes. I pass David huddled against the wall, checking something on his phone, but he doesn’t look up as I go by, and I decide to just keep walking.
Twenty-Four
IVY WAKES UP super early on Saturday morning and immediately starts talking to herself in little whispers that I can’t quite make out but are just audible enough to wake me up.
I’m tired and want to sleep more. James and I stayed up late the night before, first at a friend’s party, and then watching scary movies at his house and stalling until the rest of his family went to bed, so we could have some time alone.
All evening long, I felt some weird unspoken pressure to reassure him that everything was good between us, flirting with him like he was a new conquest and not my longtime boyfriend. He seemed to enjoy being freshly seduced. And I enjoyed the hours I spent at his house entwined with his muscular body—?I have to remember to appreciate it more and as often as possible.
But right now I’m tired, so I hoarsely beg Ivy to either leave the room or stop whispering. She stomps out of the room, making it clear she’s hurt that I would imply she was bothering me, and I go back to sleep for a couple of hours. When I finally come downstairs, she’s not in the kitchen, but Mom and Ron are at the table drinking post-workout protein shakes. I stumble past them on my way to the coffee maker.
They’re wearing matching outfits—?black sweatpants and white T-shirts. I hope it was accidental. If they’re going to start dressing like twinsies, shoot me now.
“You have fun last night?” Mom asks. “You got home late.”
“Can’t talk,” I croak. “Need coffee.”
Ron says, “A run would perk you up more than coffee. Why don’t you try that first?”‘
“Great idea. I’ll do that.”
There’s a pause while they try to figure out if I’m being serious or sarcastic.
Here’s a hint: I’m being sarcastic.
“Where’s Ivy?” I ask, yawning as I pour milk into my coffee.
“Where do you think?” Ron says. “Watching TV.” He turns to Mom. “That’s why she can’t lose weight, you know. She spends all her free time sitting in front of the TV. You have to get her to move more.”
“I know,” Mom says. “You’re right. I just don’t know how to make that happen. She doesn’t like exercising.”
I leave the room with my mug before he can launch into a lecture.
Anyway, he’s wrong—?Ivy is moving. Even though the TV’s on, she’s not watching it: she’s wandering around the family room with a jerking, half-skip sort of a gait, muttering to herself, her hands fluttering at her sides, occasionally slapping against her legs.
She doesn’t hear me the first time I say her name. I repeat it more loudly, and she jumps in the air and whips around, ending in a terrified crouch. She’s still in her pajamas—?flannel ones with a sushi design. (Another Mom pick—?Ivy hates sushi.)
“You scared me,” she says accusingly.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean to. What’s going on?”
“Nothing. I’m just watching TV.”
I perch on the arm of the sofa and take a sip of coffee. “Is something worrying you?”
“No.”
“You sure?”
“I’m okay. We have to go meet Diana soon.”
“Not for another, like, three hours.”
“I don’t want to be late.”
“We won’t be.”
“You say that sometimes and then we are.”
“Hey, I’m doing you a favor driving you. Don’t make me regret it.”
“Okay.” There’s a pause. “You should probably go shower,” she says.