Pandemic (19 page)

Then we passed the entrance to Mr. B’s old classroom.

I stopped in the doorway as if in a trance.

Miss Scher had taken over his teaching position and there were no signs that he had ever taught there. But the memories couldn’t be erased as easily as a whiteboard.

I’d worked with Mr. B before. He helped coach me before my speech when I won the town’s Teen Humanitarian Award. He was an affectionate guy, and even though I felt uncomfortable around him a few times, I doubted myself. I mean, students adored him. Mr. B was handsome in a rugged kind of way and he exuded positive energy that even the guys responded to. Sometimes you could almost see the passion for a project in his eyes. So when he asked me to help organize a Thanksgiving food drive, I couldn’t say no.

“You’re perfect for this project, Lilianna,” he said, his brown eyes intense as we discussed it in his classroom after school. “We can coordinate a great drive together. I’ve talked to all the English teachers. They’ll give a homework pass to each student who brings in at least three cans or boxes of food.”

Throughout November, the donations piled up. Right before Thanksgiving break, we drove together to drop the food off at the pantry. The coordinators there were thrilled about what we had donated. They said it would be one of their best Thanksgivings because they wouldn’t have to turn away anyone in need. I left feeling giving, generous, proud. Mr. B drove me home, singing to Top 40 radio in his tenor voice. He asked if we could stop by his house on the way.

Should I have known then what he was about to do?

We stood inside his kitchen, drinking a soda. “What a great event. And you were fabulous. Your energy, enthusiasm. I’ve worked with a lot of students, but none quite like you.”

I blushed. “Thank you.”

“Are you tired? It’s been a long day.”

“A little.”

He moved behind me, resting his hands lightly on my shoulders.

There is no reason to be afraid.

“I should be getting home,” I said.

“I give great massages.”

With my back to him, I couldn’t see his face. The way he brushed against me was unsettling, though. His breath in my ear set off a subtle internal warning signal.

“It’s getting kind of late,” I said.

He rubbed my neck. “You’re so tense. We’re both so tense.”

Before I could say anything else, his hands left my shoulders. They crept down the sides of my breasts until he stopped at my hips.

This cannot be happening.

“I need to go.” I tried to move forward but he pulled me back against him.

“You want to spend time with your favorite teacher, right? Lilianna, I work with beautiful girls all the time. So many beautiful girls. And I chose you. Do you know how special that is?”

My throat felt like it was closing. I could barely breathe.

“Let me help you relax.” He forced me around to face him. I tried to step back, but he held me tight, one hand sliding under my skirt. He kissed me roughly.

I jerked my face away, struggling to push my arms against him.

“No,” I said, but the word came out strangled in fear.

“No!” I shouted, louder this time.

He released my arm. I had to move, had to put distance between us. I took a step back. But he grabbed me again with one hand, the other fumbling with his zipper.

“No!” I screamed and this time the volume startled us both. I jerked away and crashed into the counter. The safety of the doorway was within reach. I ran out without looking back.

“Lil!” Beth yelled.

I jumped at the sound of my name.

“We have to leave! The janitor’s here.”

Everyone sprinted past the English room toward the exit, doors banging closed behind them. I couldn’t move at first, still trapped in the horror of the memories.

The janitor, Mr. Finley, loomed large at the end of the hallway, holding a jug of bleach. “What the hell are you kids doing?”

Uh oh.
I bolted through the door in time to see Derek’s pickup pull away.

C
HAPTER
19

I’m trying to focus on the Who, What, When, Where, and Why of this horrible disease. But I’m worried for the safety of my family and concerned we won’t all survive.

—Blue Flu interview, quarantined journalist

I
pedaled quickly, only glancing back toward the school once. Mr. Finley, fast for a big man, wasn’t far behind me. After turning the corner, I spotted Jay on his bike.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you,” he said. “It’s not safe to be—”

“The janitor’s after us! Go!”

We sped down the street next to each other, passing driveways with old newspapers. Jay’s face was pale. I could tell he wanted no part in this.

If Finley caught us stealing, he probably couldn’t even get the police to come arrest us. But he’d certainly tell the principal. Would theft become part of our permanent record? Someday the flu would end and I’d be applying to college. Wouldn’t I?

“This way,” Jay said.

I couldn’t keep the pace much longer. Jay turned onto the street behind ours. No time to question. He raced up a driveway, jumped off his bike near the side of the house. No kickstands. Our bikes toppled. We left them behind and ran through the connecting backyard. I followed him to the front of the next house.

The red maple beckoned with its familiar canopy. He ducked under, grabbed my hand, pulled me with him.

Under the tree branches, it was quiet except for our breathing. We didn’t talk for a long time. I didn’t want to jinx our successful escape. Jay still held my hand. It was sweaty where our skin touched.

Jay had waited to make sure I stayed safe. He sat close enough now that I could feel the heat from his body. Holding his hand made me feel happy. Almost at peace. And slightly guilty, too.

What would Megs think of this? Would she blame me? Encourage me? Hate me? And now Kayla was involved. Not that I felt any loyalty to her. But Megs . . . I closed my eyes, letting myself feel the warmth from Jay’s hand one last moment before I eased mine away, brushing the hair from my eyes as an excuse.

A motor rumbled past us and we peered out. Derek drove by, heading toward my house. Part of me wanted to stay under the safety of the branches with Jay. But I couldn’t hide forever.

“I have to go meet them. Thank you . . . for riding with me.” We locked eyes. I looked away first. When we retrieved the bikes, there was no sign of the janitor.

“See you soon?” Jay asked.

“Yes.”

When I reached home, Derek and Ethan fist-pumped about a hundred times. Ethan grinned. “That was awesome!”

“You made it OK?” I asked.

“We didn’t see that dude again once we left the parking lot,” Derek said.

“Pull into the garage just in case.”

Once inside, I closed the garage door behind us. The four of us unloaded the boxes of food. I couldn’t wait to see what was in each box.

“Where are your folks?” Derek asked.

“Away,” I said. “Here. Take some of the canned soup over to Jay’s to hand out this afternoon.” I pulled some paper shopping bags out of the recycling basket. “Everyone should bring some home. We can move the rest of it into the house. It will be too easy to steal if we leave the food in the garage.”

“Where do you want it, the kitchen?” Derek asked.

I shook my head. “Looters robbed us. But they missed things upstairs in my closet and under my bed.”

“You want us to drag this all up?” Beth asked. “You know, I better get home before my parents start worrying.”

Derek offered to drive her, so that left Ethan and me to deal with the food.

Ethan and I carried the items upstairs without saying much. It took several trips and we were both out of breath as we made room on my closet shelves.

“It won’t all fit,” he said.

Despite the exertion, I grinned. It was nice to see food packed in there. Even if it wasn’t all mine to keep, the sheer quantity made me feel much better.

“What?” Ethan asked.

I shook my head, not wanting to explain. “We can slide the rest under my bed.”

Ethan paused in the center of my room. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been in here.” He nodded toward the playpen TK slept in each night. “Nice addition.”

“Ha ha. Help me slide this under.”

We knelt on the floor, pushing the food back by the bottled water I had hidden beneath my bed.

“So,” he said.

The phone rang. I jumped at the excuse to move away from him.

“Hello?”

Cough, cough.

The line went dead. I checked the caller ID.

Dad.

I tried to dial his number, but pushed the wrong keys. I hung up, tried again. Busy signal.

“Who was it?” Ethan asked.

“My father. He’s quarantined in Delaware. He sounded awful.”

I paced around my room, straightening the pillows, aligning the book spines on my shelf.

Ethan sat on the floor with his back against the bed. “Do you want to sit a minute?” He motioned next to him. “We should talk.”

I knew him well enough to see where this was going. “About what?” I stalled.

“Look, it’s hard to start over. You already know everything about me—my annoying mother, my lunatic brother. You’ve had Sunday dinner with my grandma. And I know all about you, too,” he said. “In crazy times like these, there’s comfort in that, don’t you think?”

“I’m not sure you can ever know everything about a person. There’s always something left unsaid.” In cases like ours, that something was significant.

“Look, I realize what happened, why we ended.”

“Really?” I frowned. Had Kayla gossiped about me? Because Megs and I hadn’t told a soul.

“After this flu, school will never be the same for us. I see that now. We should ignore the past and move on.”

“What do you mean, ignore the past?” I pressed my palm to my forehead, confused.

“If you cheated on me and that’s why we broke up, I’d be willing to forgive you. Just tell me the truth. Even if it’s someone I hang out with.”

“I didn’t cheat on you.”

“What about Jay?”

“What about him? We’re friends.”

“There’s nothing going on between you two?”

So that’s why Ethan had been so tense around Jay during the backyard meeting. But it was a complicated question. There was how I felt about Jay while dating Ethan, which amounted to nothing. Then there was the thrill when he held my hand under the tree less than an hour ago.

Ethan waited for an answer.

“No, there’s nothing going on,” I said.

“OK.” He relaxed his frown.

The phone rang again.

“Dad?”

“Lily,” he answered in a gruff voice. “I’m glad I reached you.”

Leaving Ethan in my room, I moved to Dad’s office and plunked into his chair. “You sound terrible.”

“I’m a little under the weather.”

I hadn’t noticed the absence of his messages. When did they stop? I got used to them, took them for granted, the same way I’d taken for granted the school bell ringing, the stores stocking food, people not dropping over dead.

Dad coughed—a wet, hacking sound.

“You’ve got the flu, don’t you?” I stayed perfectly still.

“Afraid so.”

“No,” I whispered.

“They’re checking for hospital beds, but even if there is one available, I’m not sure there’s much more they can do. I haven’t been able to reach Mom.” More coughing. “I wanted to tell you how much I love you. You’re the best daughter a father could ever ask for.”

“Dad, you have to get better!”

“Be strong,” he said before the coughing overcame him and the phone went dead.

I tried calling him back, but there was no answer, so I stayed in Dad’s office, looking at the folders I had restacked after the looting, some notes he’d jotted in his neat penmanship. He couldn’t be dying. He couldn’t be. Instead, I imagined him growing stronger, getting healthier, slowly recovering. I didn’t move until Ethan finally roused me from my stupor.

He stood in the doorway. “Did you hear me?”

“What? No, I didn’t.”

“Do you want to come back to your room and talk for awhile?”

“Um, my dad . . . he has the flu.” I sat with my head in my hands.