Emmy Laybourne - Savage Drift

“You know,” Mario says, scratching his head. “A better thing to do might be to try to talk to one of the cafeteria ladies. They like me.”

“Maybe they would smuggle a note out!” Lori says.

“Yeah!” Freddy shouts.

Fine, let him sweet talk the lunch ladies.

Maybe it would work.

On the way to breakfast we have to pass through the Men’s hall and I nearly bolt.

The men are already out, but still, my heart races to be there.

Lori takes my hand.

I don’t want to hold her cold-fish hand, but I do.

We see Venger, too, out in the courtyard, talking with some guards.

I keep my head down. Don’t make eye contact.

He can think me cowed.

That is just fine. Lori squeezes my hand.

I try to walk like I’m not falling apart at the joints.

As we enter Plaza 900, Brett sidles up alongside me.

My Gram used to call kids like him gankly—gangly and lanky. Awkward for sure.

And the ratty little mustache isn’t helping his look.

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey,” I make myself say back.

“Can I talk to you a minute?”

Mario looks over, a question mark in his eyes.

I shrug.

“I’ll catch up,” I tell Mario.

My guard is up. He is going to make some demand. What does Carlo want?

Brett motions me off to the side, near the restrooms, where we can talk.

“You really know how to handle yourself,” he says, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down as he gulps. Is he nervous, somehow? “I thought you were a goner last night.”

I shrug.

“What do you want?” I ask. My mouth is dry.

“Look, this is a weird way to say it, but you should get with me. Like, be my girlfriend.”

I must have shot him a shocked look, because he gets red in the face.

“I can protect you. Me and the Union Men. It’s not such a stupid idea.”

“No, no. It’s not that,” I stammer, stalling while my brain catches up with this bizarre situation.

What is bizarre is that the kid seems sincere. He is stroking his pathetic mustache.

“It’s just—have you looked at me?” I ask him. “I look like the walking dead.”

He smiles.

“You look pretty good to me.”

He puts his hand on my shoulder and pulls me into his body.

I can’t help it—I push him away. Elbow his ribs and pushing myself off him. My heart is pounding.

“Don’t be like that,” he says.

“Sorry,” I mumble. “It’s just—I’m not—”

And then I hear the other Union Men come into the entranceway.

“Watch yourself, Brett. She bites.” Carlo laughs.

“She’ll eat you for lunch, man,” another one jokes.

Brett’s face goes all red.

The moment slows down and with my eyes I try to say, I’m sorry. Wait. Of course I can’t “be with him.” But maybe…

Maybe we can be allies? Friends? Is that insane?

But the light in his eyes goes out. They turn flat and hard.

“Your loss, rabbit,” he says.

I sag against the wall and he rejoins his gang.

In the entry foyer there was one of those black dry-erase boards that you write on with neon markers.

It said in bubble writing:

No decaf No sodas! But we got milk!

“They sure do like exclamation marks,” Astrid said wryly. There was an edge of nervousness in her voice.

“We’re cool,” I said. “No one would have any reason to question us being here.”

“It is a little early for us to be out, don’t you think?” she replied.

“We’ve been out all night partyin’,” Jake said, throwing his arm around her.

“That’s one word for it,” she said with a laugh.

I rolled my eyes and pushed open the second door.

Inside it was busy. You could almost, almost forget there’d been a huge national emergency. Waitresses in uniform carried glass carafes of coffee (not decaf) to busy tables.

But there were a few striking differences.

There was a section of the wall near the restroom that was covered with bits of paper scotch-taped or pinned to the wall. Above it a sign made from three sheets of computer-paper taped together read:

RIDE SHARES.

There was also a big sign taped up over the register:

NOTICE: Prices are set as per printed menu. Report any discrepancies to the Price Gouging Hotline.

It listed an 888 number.

“Good morning, y’all,” the bottle-blond waitress greeted us. Her roots were way, way grown in. “Who’s paying this morning?”

We must have looked startled because she laughed.

“No offense, kids. We just need to see the cash up front.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Jake said. He fumbled to get some out of his pocket.

“Y’all want coffee?”

Astrid glumly said she’d just have milk, but Niko and Jake asked for coffee so I did, too.

I kind of wanted to ask for hot cocoa, but knew Jake would make some stupid crack.

When she returned with our coffees, she gave us the options. She said we could have eggs, French toast, regular toast, pancakes, or oatmeal. So much for my Spanish omelet and Niko’s Belgian waffle.

Niko and I ordered eggs and toast. Jake and Astrid ordered French toast.

The coffee was watery and bitter, but I put a whole lot of milk and sugar in it. It made it drinkable.

Of course Jake had to look at my coffee and chuff disapprovingly.

“My granddaddy drank his coffee black, my daddy drinks it black, and I drink it black.”

Imagine if I’d ordered the cocoa.

“Is it just me, or has Jake’s Texas accent come back a thousandfold since we landed?” I asked Niko and Astrid.

“Would you two please shut it?” Astrid said.

“I’m sorry,” I said. I put my hand on the back of her neck. She shook me off, putting her hand on her belly.

“Baby’s doing back flips in there,” she said.

“She loves Denny’s, just like her pop,” Jake said.

Did I mention Jake thinks the baby’s a girl? And I’m sure it’s a boy. Insert irony here.

I gritted my teeth and looked away. I was not going to let him bait me.

“I’m going to go check out the ride board,” Niko told us.

He edged out of the booth.

Astrid leaned back and shut her eyes.

Jake and I sat there in silence, trying not to look at each other.

Before the catastrophes, I remember feeling left out, watching groups of kids from my high school out together, sitting in booths just like this one, laughing and teasing each other in a rough, jocular way. They seemed to know each other so well.