The Reverse of Everything Page 12

  Her stare met West’s as they both hesitated and lowered their guns.

  “Seriously!” The guy with the dog turned back to us and smiled. “Anyway, I’m Milo.” He held a hand out.

  “Owen.” Owen took it, shaking.

  “Lovely to meet you.”

  West took a step back, sneering at the guy and Owen.

  The guy’s face flushed as his eyes lowered as though he was ashamed of something.

  A light dinged on in my head as I realized what he thought. Of course he did. Look where we were. “He’s not homophobic,” I said before I thought and my mouth sprung into recovery mode, “I mean, I know it’s Virginia and a small town, but he’s just—there was a prison break and we’re all a bit worried. And we just buried a friend.”

  “Dear God, would you stop?” Owen laughed at me. “Sorry, she gets nervous and talks and he gets nervous and shuts down. And between the two of them, they’re trying to ruin my apocalypse.” He chuckled and the guy with the still barking dog joined him but then they stopped, and we all stood watching each other, awkwardly.

  The front door opened, unleashing the barking dog. He ran at Milo and sniffed, likely checking on him. He let Owen pet him but didn't come close to West or me.

  “This is Stan. Stanley, you be polite. This is their house.”

  “Zoey’s. This is Zoey’s house. I’m Owen and this is Westley.” Owen introduced us.

  “I’m Milo, which I’ve already said, haven’t I?” he chortled nervously and glanced at me. “I’m also an incredibly nervous talker and I get irritable bowel.” He was breathless and biting his lip a lot. “This is Rozzy and—”

  “I’m Celeste. And we are so sorry for trespassing. We assumed—”

  “Yeah, lots of that,” Owen said like he knew what she was talking about. I didn't. I wanted to know why she was in my house.

  Rozzy was feisty and strong in that obvious way. But Celeste was beautiful in that head cheerleader sort of way. If I had to guess, I would say Rozzy was a city girl with a lot of common sense and little compassion. Milo was from somewhere nice, a sunny place where people were happy. He lived at the beach or in a cute little suburb. And Celeste was a princess. She was dressed down right now, but she had spoiled rich girl written all over her.

  “We should probably be talking inside,” Owen offered a hand toward the door and began walking. “The prison break and all.”

  Stan made his way to me, sniffing and eventually letting me pet him. His fur was dense and soft but his body wasn't fat. He was thick. His neck fur was so thick I couldn't get to skin.

  “He’s a Maremma,” Milo offered quietly to me as I dug my fingers in for a good scratch. “I think they’re some type of farm dog, sheep dog, or something. Hunter wanted one so badly. He had visions of himself curled up in all that fur on the sofa.” He wrinkled his nose like Elaine always did when she spoke of patients. “So now he thinks he’s a lap dog. It’s ridiculous. He’s a hundred and fifty pounds and a lap dog.”

  “He’s so cute.” I smiled at Milo, loving the way he made me feel comfortable even though he was a stranger. “Did you have a farm?”

  “God no. Hunter was an architect and I’m—” he paused, smiling like he was seeing something in the distance. “We lived in Florida, Jacksonville. I was a realtor.” Bam! I nailed that one. I knew he had a sunny place and Home and Garden written all over him. Elaine loved that channel. We watched all the flipping shows and house-hunting ones. “Not very useful now, I suppose.”

  “I think it’s nice,” I offered as we all walked in. West kept checking back on me. I smiled at him to put him at ease. He’d been weird since the prison break news.

  We sat down on the sofas as Owen invited everyone to sit and started getting warm sodas and waters.

  “Is that your RV?” Rozzy asked, pointing out the window.

  “It is,” I said. “We’re leaving in it tonight. Heading west. We want to see something cool before we die. And the prison had a break. So a friend mentioned we should probably leave before they all got out.”

  “Oh, that’s creepy and convenient. We also wanted to head west, minus the prisoners,” Milo said with a pleasant smile. He still seemed a bit nervous, though he was making me calmer.

  Celeste, the one I wasn't sure about, nodded. “I have family there. I’m from Eastern Washington.”

  “Spokane?” Owen asked.

  “Yeah, you been?”

  “Once. Weird family trip,” he said with just enough of a hint of discomfort I assumed it was a bad one. Which was a safe bet. They all were. “And you’re from New York?” he asked Rozzy.

  “Yeah, Manhattan. We went to college together at NYU.” She waved her fingers between Celeste and herself.

  “And they met me on the road during a bout of upset stomach troubles. There had been a group of rather frightening hillbillies and some running and then—the stomach.” Milo waved a hand and laughed, making us all laugh. Something about him lightened Rozzy too. Her dark eyes were genuinely less stormy.

  “I know this is crazy and forward, but can we come with you?” Celeste asked after we’d all stopped laughing.

  “Of course. Safety in numbers.” Owen decided for everyone. “We’d love to have the company.” His eyes darted to Milo who was oblivious to it.

  West didn't have the same convinced smile on his face. “We’re leaving now though. You okay with that?”

  “Yeah. Sure. We can all take turns driving.” Celeste got up. I noticed their footprints, the squished cushions, and a couple of new crumbs and white dog fur everywhere. It would take me at least fifteen minutes to get this place straightened up.

  “Why don't you show them around, and I’ll help Zo get the place locked up again.” West gave Owen a quick glance.

  “Of course, come this way.” Owen got up too excitedly and headed for the front door with the three of them and Stan hot on his heels. Stan paused in the doorway and stared at me, almost telling me to come too.

  “Okay, Stan. We’ll be there in a second,” I said and he hurried after Milo, as if he understood.

  “I’ll help you tidy up.” West grabbed the broom and started sweeping again.

  “Thanks.” I hated that he could tell I needed this. But there was no point in fighting his help. I smoothed the cushions and dusted, put the soda cans in the recycling, and wiped the counters once more.

  We were a two-person storm on the house, getting it back to the way Elaine liked it. As we finished, I raced upstairs to check the remaining rooms. My journal was on the bed where I’d left it, but it was in a different position.

  Someone had read it.

  My money was on Celeste.

  That burned me, but there wasn't time to be upset or embarrassed.

  Hurrying back downstairs, I locked the front door and turned to West as we headed to the door to the carport.

  “Ready?” he asked, his eyes shining in the glow coming from the RV headlights.

  “I guess.” I reached out, touching his arm. “I wanted to say before we go, I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  “That I’m not good at this. At this end-of-the-world thing. I’ve read eight million books and I can recite Sylvia Plath, but I can’t fight or drive an RV or kill someone. I don't even like guns, West. As much as Owen boasted about me being some stone-faced killer, I’m not.”

  “Zo, it’s fine—”

  “No, it’s not. I need to be stronger so I can help and not be the girl you’re taking care of. I’ll try harder.” I hated offering the apology because I hated being feeble.

  “You ever think maybe I enjoy taking care of you?” He leaned on the door and offered me a smile.

  “I’ll try harder,” I promised, wondering if everyone in the RV could see my cheeks burning even as I lowered my gaze.

  He stared for a moment longer before he turned and sauntered over to the RV.

  I stayed at the door, pausing to gather my thoughts.

  Stan ran over and pressed
his wet nose against my hand. He nudged me like Owen always did, pushing me to move.

  I sunk my hand into his thick fur and let him pull me to the RV.

  West climbed into the driver’s seat and everyone claimed their spots. Owen was navigator and Celeste and Rozzy chose the top bunk bed at the back. Stan and Milo climbed into the bottom bunk.

  It left two spots, the bed at the front of the RV, atop the driver’s seat in a weird loft or the table.

  I was sacked and needed something resembling sleep, not to mention I didn't want to face whoever had read my journal. What if it was Westley or Owen? My stomach ached as I pulled myself into the bed and watched out the window while he backed up and my house got smaller.

  I decided to leave the journal and the worries attached to it there, in the past where they belonged.

  We had weeks left, I wasn't going to add burdens I didn't need to carry.

  I closed my eyes and hoped when I woke we were somewhere much cooler than here.

  15

  Road trippin’

  Celeste

  I slept the entire way from Marion to some place called Poseyville. From the back window, it looked as exciting as it sounded. I stretched and for a second, I half expected to be in my apartment back home, listening to Julia sing in the shower while she did one of her hair masks. I always laughed at how easily her hair became manageable with some simple little packet of hair mask. That had never been my fate. Brazilian blowouts were my one true love. I would miss them for the next couple of weeks. Every day I slept without my wrap or silk pillowcase was another day my hair slowly reverted back to a fro. Not that I minded my natural hair, but the between stages were horrid. And a lack of product wasn’t awesome. But I couldn’t complain. I was driving west with food and what seemed like a nice group of people.

  And honestly, the RV moved so smoothly that the drive lulled me into the deepest sleep I’d ever had, despite waking with the weight of the moment on me.

  Two weeks.

  The forties died last night. I had two weeks of life left.

  And Julia was dead.

  Audie and Roland and Michael were next. Even Michael’s ex-wife would die next week. I’d never liked Sierra, but I didn't want her to die.

  They were all thirties, leaving behind me, Rozzy, Bethany, and Milo.

  The other kids in the RV would go after that with my niece, Hannah, leaving my poor nephew Marshall alone for a whole week.

  Rozzy was right. This was shit.

  The RV handled smoothly, making wide turns and bumps feel like they were waves on the ocean. Riding on the smaller roads near Marion was one thing, jerky and bumpy, but the open road was another. It was quite pleasant driving on the freeway.

  I climbed out of the bunk to find Milo driving, Westley sleeping in the bottom bunk with Stan, Rozzy in the front seat navigating, and the girl, the Bella Swan girl, sitting at the table staring out the window. Owen was asleep on the top bunk.

  I climbed in across from Zoey, smiling and trying not to feel guilty for reading the stupid journal. Another part of me was sort of glad to know the dynamics of her. I might have judged her before, I had a habit of it, but knowing her sad story made me sympathetic to her.

  She was sort of in love with Owen, who was madly in love with West. And though she seemed oblivious to the fact, it was obvious the West kid was into her. They were a weird crew.

  Small towns . . .

  Her father had left a few years ago and never came back, forcing the mom to work nonstop. And then, the week the eighties died, her mom filled the house with food and bailed. Leaving her alone to die. She and the mom had tension, but she hadn’t bothered to write down what their issues were.

  But without knowing the details, I could see the poor kid had been through some bullshit. No wonder she was such a little Bella Swan sad sack.

  “Did you sleep all right?” I asked her, pulling my hair into a bun.

  “I did. It was weird. I slept like a log. You?”

  “Same. Like the dead. I didn't even know we switched out drivers. Where are we? I saw the sign for Poseyville out the window, but I don't know where this is.”

  “We’re just about to cross into Illinois,” Rozzy said loudly.

  “Oh excellent.” I lifted my eyebrows and noted the hunger pains in my stomach. “Can we eat or do we wait until we stop?”

  “I don't know.” Zoey glanced around. “I think we can eat.” She got up and grabbed a few bowls from weird cupboards that clicked shut so solidly they sounded like they were slamming. She grabbed milk from the fridge, one of those weird milks in the little cartons that you always saw on the shelf with the dried goods. I’d never had it before. I didn't get how they didn't need to be cold. It was science but not the kind I cared about. She pulled a huge Rubbermaid tote of cereal out and slid it at me with some spoons.

  “Are those—Froot Loops?” I asked with a smile.

  “Yeah. Elaine didn't let me have them except as a treat. So when she left, she bought a bunch.” She said it with a scowl but didn't explain any of it. Fortunately, I’d read the journal so I knew what that meant. I wasn't supposed to so I asked, “Who’s Elaine?”

  “My mom.” She almost whispered that part as she poured the three bowls and grabbed the milk which she shook first, making it even more frightening, before adding it to the bowls. She plunked spoons in and passed me one.

  “Thank you.” I took a bite as she carried one to Rozzy. She handed Milo a protein bar so he could eat and drive.

  “Thanks,” they said in unison.

  She sat back across from me, closing the milk and the cereal.

  “This milk tastes real,” I said with excitement. “And it’s cold from the fridge. This might be the best thing I’ve eaten in a week,” I moaned into the bowl, savoring the sweet and crunchy cereal with the icy cold milk.

  We all ate loudly, crunching away. Even Milo as he kept getting bites from Rozzy who fed him while he drove.

  This was bliss.

  A new definition of it, of course. It wouldn’t have registered on my bliss scale before, riding in an RV with a bunch of strangers, driving through Poseyville eating Froot Loops with milk from the shelf.

  But now, it was as close as I would get to best-day material.

  I could have easily lied to myself and said this was a college trip and these were friends and we were road tripping. It wouldn't have been hard at all.

  And what a cast of characters, every one of us unique in a fun way. And no one was horrible.

  Westley, the brooding and absolutely stunning guy, woke up as we were finishing eating. He climbed out, rubbing his eyes and sat next to Zoey, forcing her to move over with his body as he nudged himself in beside her. Without speaking a word, he took her bowl and filled it for himself, moaning as he ate a massive bite with her dirty spoon. He chewed and I tried not to add myself to their weird love triangle. They didn't need more participants in the awkwardness.

  But damn . . . as Rozzy would say, he was fine. And looked twenty-three at least. I was struggling with him and Owen, the beefcake, being only seventeen. Especially since Milo was twenty-four; they looked five years older than him, hands down. He was baby-faced like Zoey who could pass for thirteen compared to the big boys.

  I’d never seen teenaged boys with bodies like theirs. My friends back home senior year had been fit, but Owen and Westley were model attractive. If they’d been in the city, they would’ve been famous, and not just Instagram famous.

  “This is so good,” Westley mumbled between huge bites. When he finished, he drank the milk, wiping his juicy lips and giving me and Zoey both a confused glance. I realized we were staring, watching him eat.

  Even Rozzy was watching.

  “What?”

  “You’re a pig, that’s what. Did you even breathe?” Zoey asked, but there was no mistaking the emotions in her eyes. She was crushing on him too. Something had changed in their relationship since she’d written in the journal all those weeks ago.r />
  His cheeks flushed and he smiled, asking, “So if I pour a second bowl will that make it worse or better?”

  I damn near sighed. I was pretty sure Milo did, and he couldn’t even see this show.

  “Just eat,” Zoey joked.

  “Food?” Owen popped his head down from the bunk. “You guys are eating without me?” He scrambled down as Milo pulled over on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere.

  Owen used my bowl and poured himself a mound of cereal and filled Westley’s bowl again.

  The two of them ate, sighing and moaning, and we all watched.

  “How were the roads?” Owen asked Milo.

  “Great. Hardly any cars on the freeway. It’s almost creepy. No construction. No accidents. No abandoned cars. It’s like the cleanest apocalypse ever. In the movies it’s always chaos, but this is quite nice.” Milo smiled and got a bowl of water for Stan who lapped it up almost as fast as the boys ate. “The tank’s still over the halfway mark too. This is one impressive rig.”

  “My dad was all about keeping up with the Joneses.” West rolled his eyes. “We used it three times, maybe. I think it cost a hundred grand.”

  “That’s going to suck leaving it somewhere when we run outta fuel,” Rozzy added, folding her arms over her chest.

  “Well, maybe we’ll find a gas station that still has fuel.”

  “How do you pump with no power?” Owen asked Zoey who clearly hadn’t thought that out.

  “Siphon?” she answered faster than I expected. “The gas reservoirs are in the ground. Take off the lid, drop a hose down in there and use one of those hand-pump siphons. We could break into a Home Depot and steal one.”

  We all stared at her. She was a quiet little thing, always blushing and staring off into space and yet there she was, full of answers no one expected.

  “I read it in a book,” she offered with her telltale blush.

  Westley beamed at her. “We might have to rethink making fun of her for all that reading,” he said to Owen. “She’s starting to know things.”