Authors: Emmy Laybourne
“Totally! Sorry. My apologies, everyone.”
“Dude,” Jake said. “She’s right, sit down, bro. This is mano a mano. Me and Niko only.”
Brayden went and sat down in a booth to the side.
“Now, just to be clear,” Jake rambled on. “I don’t see this as just a
football
training camp—though I think we got the makings of a great team here—but every kind of sport. I even think we can make the things like cleaning up and cooking and all that crap, that stuff can be fun, too! We can have teams and have contests and prizes. Stuff like that!”
He grinned at us all. Then gave a thumbs-up.
“Okay,” Josie said. “Is there anything else you’d like to say?”
Jake thought about it for a moment.
“Vote for me and we’ll par-tee!” he said.
I hope he was improvising because as a slogan, it pretty much sucked.
Jake just stood there with his thumb still up. The kids gave a deflated cheer for him. They were following his cues, but they didn’t seem to buy it a hundred percent. I certainly didn’t.
“All right,” Josie said. “Then let’s hear from Niko.”
“Great!” Jake said.
Niko stood and walked over to stand next to Josie, but Jake didn’t sit down. He was just kind of standing there, fidgeting, throwing the ball in the air.
“Jake, why don’t you sit down while Niko talks,” Josie said, showing Jake where to sit.
The little kids giggled.
Jake was acting really stoned.
I wondered if this would help him or hurt him at “the polls.”
“Hey, guys,” Niko began. “It was a really cool idea to come in costume. I wish I thought of it. Though I don’t know how cool you would think it was if I came in my Scout uniform…”
He looked up at us.
Niko was trying to crack a joke, I realized too late.
Someone needed to work with him on his delivery.
“But, you know, maybe Boy Scouts isn’t cool to some people, but the training I got as a Scout has really helped me here. And all of us. You know, I know first aid and I helped us to get out of the bus and stuff.”
Brayden whispered, “Yo!” to Jake and held his hands out. Jake passed him the ball.
“If you pick me, it’s not going to be all games and playing,” Niko continued. “I think we need order and structure. Everyone’s gonna have to work if we’re going to make it. That’s just what I think.”
The kids were looking down at their laps. A couple were starting to fidget.
Niko’s eyes glanced over to Josie and I saw her make a little motion with her hands, like, Give us more.
Niko took a deep breath. Then he seemed to pull himself together. He stood up straight. He looked out at all of us.
“I am not good at making speeches. I’m not the most popular kid at school.”
Brayden snickered off to the right.
“But I know what needs to be done here,” Niko continued. “I know how to organize and delegate. I know how to ration food, so we’ll be able to stay well fed for as long as possible. I know how to keep my head in a crisis. I think you all know that about me already.
“I know how to survive and I’ll teach you all how to survive. That’s what we need to learn now. I think we are all a lot luckier than pretty much everyone in this part of the country.”
He looked out and his gaze traveled over each of us. His posture, his straightness, seemed to magnetize us somehow and we all sat up taller in our seats.
“We are going to honor those who have died by surviving. All of us. That’s my promise to you. If you elect me, we’re all getting out of here safe and sound.”
Niko strode to the back of the tables and sat down, alone.
Josie passed out pens from a new box of ballpoints and little scraps of paper. Each one was numbered.
“All right,” she told us. “Write the name of the boy who you want to be our group leader until Mrs. Wooly comes.”
There was a moment of circular scribbling as everyone got the ballpoints to flow.
Then there was a pause, while people thought, and eventually they started writing.
I watched the kids writing. These stupid little kids. How could they know enough to make a good choice here?
If they chose Jake, we were in serious trouble.
Niko was the only rational choice, but he hadn’t played to the kids. He hadn’t promised them a good time.
What would the little kids pick? Good times or survival skills?
I wrote Niko, and I underlined it several times.
Then I rose and put my vote into the empty personal-size pizza box Alex had created as a ballot box.
Alex retired to the corner booth, where he counted and recounted dutifully.
He rose and walked to the front of the room.
I tried to catch his eye, but he kept his gaze on the floor.
Alex whispered the results to Josie.
She took a moment and then spoke.
“This was a really close race, and that speaks to the fact that both our candidates are such good guys. Let’s not let there be any hard feelings, guys…”
She looked out at Jake and Niko.
“The winner is Niko.”
There were some cheers and a couple of boos. Brayden pronounced the election bull— (such a vocabulary!), but Jake rose to shake Niko’s hand.
“Congratulations,” Jake said. “Let me know what I can do to help, all right, man?”
Jake was sort of dancing on the tips of his toes. He had that much energy.
“Yes. Thank you,” said Niko.
Niko’s straight hair fell into his eyes and he pushed it back. Everything about Niko was straight. His hair, his posture, his whole way of being. The kid was utterly straight and totally trustworthy.
“Come on, man,” I heard Jake say to Brayden as they walked away, “let’s go get drunk.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GREENWAY 2.0
What was I dreaming of? Plumes of deadly ink? Astrid’s wild wavy hair draping across my face? A murderer rattling a gate?
I don’t know. When Niko nudged me awake, I sat up so fast I shook it all out of my head.
“What time is it?” I mumbled, squinting in the low light of the store.
“Seven,” Niko said. “Seven-oh-eight. I need your help in the Kitchen.”
“Are you kidding me?” I asked. “Come back in two hours.”
I closed my eyes and rolled over on my air mattress.
Niko just stood over me. Hands on hips. Just waiting.
“Okay, okay,” I said.
“Meet me in the Kitchen,” he said.
* * *
He had two giant poster boards and a set of colored Sharpies. He was putting the finishing touches on a map of the store and this detailed daily schedule.
Niko had spent yesterday afternoon walking around the store with Alex, while I helped Josie with the kids. Dinner had been fairly uneventful, with Jake and Brayden off drunk and doing God knows what; Sahalia skulking around our perimeter, pissed off at everyone; and Josie being the loving mother to her large brood.
Yawning, I started a fresh pot of coffee.
“Why did I have to get up this early?” I asked him.
“You’re the cook,” he said. “I need you to get breakfast ready and then we’ll wake everyone up and I’ll give them their assignments for the day.”
“Man, they’re gonna love that,” I said.
“Structure,” Niko said. “Children need structure.”
“You’re not going to try to get Jake and Brayden to follow your plan, are you?”
Niko brushed his brown hair out of his eyes. He glanced at me.
“Not so much,” he said.
“Good,” I replied instantly.
It was funny and we laughed.
I think it was maybe the first time we’d ever laughed together.
I heard another voice join our laughter and turned to see Ulysses. He was wearing Batman pajamas, his round little belly showed under the top.
Trust Ulysses to join in laughing when he didn’t even know what the joke was.
“
Soy tu
‘helper’!” he said. He pointed to his chest. “Ulysses help today.”
“Yes, that’s right,” I said, tousling his hair. “What should we have?”
“Huevos rancheros!”
“Okay,” I said. “You know how to make?”
“Sí, sí!”
he chirped.
“Let’s go get eggs,” I said to him.
I nodded to Niko as we left. He was busy with his charts.
* * *
If huevos rancheros is scrambled eggs with salsa on top, then Ulysses did, indeed, know how to make huevos rancheros.
* * *
“Okay, team.” Niko addressed us after everyone had assembled and eaten breakfast. “We are going to do two things today. We are going to begin restoring and cleaning up the Greenway. And we are going to assess our resources.”
Chloe groaned, “Awww,” as if assessing resources was a chore her parents made her do every Sunday morning.
“Alex, you and I will take an inventory of our power and security. The rest of you will begin Operation Restock.”
Niko took the top poster board away and he showed us all the map of the store. Each kid’s name was on a sticky note and was placed in an area.
Sahalia—Media Department.
Chloe—Pharmacy.
Max and Ulysses—Automotive.
Batiste—Toys.
The McKinley Twins—Home Improvement.
Me—(surprise, surprise) Food and Drinks.
“Why doesn’t Josie have an aisle?” Chloe asked.
“I have a secret project,” Josie told us.
“Oooh, what is it? What is it?” the kids demanded.
“You’ll see,” she answered with a wink.
Niko went on with our assignments—we were to restore each aisle exactly to how it had been before the earthquake.
Niko stood up and gestured over to the cart corral right next to our dead school bus.
There were six stocked shopping carts lined up. Each cart held a mop, a broom, a dust pan, 409 spray, Pine-Sol, paper towels, rags, and trash bags—lots of trash bags.
First, Niko told us, we should load up carts with everything broken and damaged, then haul it over to the stroller aisle—now dubbed the Dump. Then we were to go back to our aisles, replace the remaining items on the shelves, and clean up.
This was for nine a.m. to noon. Then we’d have lunch. Then rest time.
Josie nodded. It was clear she’d been consulted in this plan of Niko’s.
And then another three-hour work shift on Operation Restock.
Then the kids had free play until dinner.
I expected total rebellion from the kids. But they took their carts willingly.
Okay, everyone except for Sahalia. She took hers unwillingly and crashed off, spitting curses under her breath.
The little kids seemed pretty psyched to have a job to do.
“I’m gonna clean my aisles the fastest,” boasted Chloe.
“Nuh-uh,” answered Max. “Me and Ulysses are the team to beat!”
* * *
Jake and Brayden, of course, did not participate.
They had made themselves a little bunker in the Sports aisle and were busy drinking beer and playing laser tag. It was as if they had decided not to recognize Niko’s leadership.
Throughout the day we heard them shouting and cursing as they tromped around. It sounded like they were breaking stuff, in the course of their game.
Which was just what we needed—more to clean.
It also sounded like they were having fun.
But restocking the aisles was sort of fun, too, in its own way.
Niko taught everyone how to read the labels on the shelving units, so each Polly Pocket set went to the right space; and how to face the products out, so you could find said Polly Pocket set with ease. He was a perfectionist and asked for nothing less than total commitment to detail from each of us.
“Caroline, I see that you have these sheer drapes organized, but I noticed that the cream sixty-inch drapes are in with the white forty-eight-inch ones,” Niko would say.
“We were wondering about that!” Caroline would chirp from atop her step stool.
And then they would take out the cream ones and find where they went and put them there and it was better.
“Hey, Chloe, see how these Advil have this child-safety lid? They go right here. These other ones, with the easy-off lid, they go over here.”
“Whatever,” Chloe would groan.
But she would stomp over and take them and put them in the right place.
It was very calming to have this repetitious work to do. I could have gone on inventorying forever.
* * *
After serving the cheese enchiladas Ulysses and I made for dinner and cleaning up, I was nearly asleep on my feet but I wanted to look for Astrid. I took a plate of enchiladas, covered in foil.
“What are you doing with that?” Niko asked me.
“I’m leaving them out for Astrid,” I said.
“Good idea,” Niko said, yawning. “She’s on my list.”
Yeah, I thought to myself, she’s on my list, too.
I had no doubt that she was still in the store—there was no way for her to leave, and why would she?
But where was she holed up? Even after a day of cleaning, the store was pretty messy, it’s not like I could look for clues.
I set up a stool in the center of the main food aisle and just left the plate there.
No note. Too tired.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
THE
POWER
OF
PANCAKES
I woke up to the
beep-beep-beep
of my Panasonic travel alarm clock. Everyone else got to sleep until eight, but for me and my little kitchen helper, whoever it turned out to be that day, it was up at seven. We had to make breakfast for the troops.
“Batiste,” I whispered to the sleeping boy. With his face softened by sleep, he looked less superior and judgmental. He looked sweet, curled onto his side, with his two hands placed under his cheek as if in prayer.
“Batiste.” I nudged him with my sneaker. “We have to make breakfast.”
He opened his eyes and looked straight at me.
“Stuffed pancakes with fresh berry syrup.”
“What’s that?” I asked.
“Breakfast. I already planned the menu.”
“Okay,” I said. “Do you know how to make that?”
“Duh,” he answered.
Okay. I guess it was a stupid question. Still there’s nothing like sarcasm from an eight-year-old to make you want to wring their neck. Especially at seven in the morning.