The Last Boy and Girl in the World (11 page)

This used to be how we always spent our sleepovers before boys and before Elise. But that afternoon, maybe because of the rain and the fact that we weren't supposed to be on the roads, that's what we did. We were halfway through the second film in a Witches block, and Morgan's laptop was low on battery, so I hurried downstairs and got two matching bowls.

The ice cream had begun to soften, so it was easy to scoop. I added a thick drizzle of Hershey's chocolate syrup and some crushed-up peanuts, and then sprayed a dollop of Reddi-wip on top. In the fridge door, I spotted a glass jar of maraschino cherries. There was only one inside, so I cut it in half and nestled a piece on the very top for each of us.

I thought about doing a video for Jesse, me filling my mouth with Reddi-wip and licking my lips. Funny but a little bit flirty, too. But that couldn't be the way to reach out to him, not after his silence. Not if he didn't like me the way I'd convinced myself he did. Then I'd just look pathetic. I imagined him and Victoria watching the video and laughing at how clueless I was.

The power came back on again as I was passing through the living room. Mrs. Dorsey was asleep on the couch and she didn't wake up when the television flickered on to The Weather Channel. I stood there with the cold bowls chilling the palms of my hands and watched the bottom of the screen, where there was a running clock with urgent red numbers tracking how many hours, minutes, seconds it had been raining.

Above that were loops of Waterford City footage. Waterfront real estate flooded up to the doorman lobbies, the doors of beautiful glass office buildings sandbagged shut, people dressed in suits and ties and fancy dresses trying to wade through flooded streets. Caution tape roping off the train stations and the wharf. An airport full of stranded travelers.

Then they switched to Aberdeen, cut to a live shot of the river. The sandbags had seemed almost stupidly far from the banks when we'd stacked them last week, but now there was river water splashing over the tops in waves.

My phone was upstairs. I felt the pull to check in with my mom and dad, to make sure they were okay. But mostly, I left the room because the news was depressing me even more than I already was and our ice cream was turning to soup.

•  •  •

Saint Ann's offered a Sunday Mass at 4:30 p.m., and they held a dinner and youth group meeting after it. I usually stayed at Morgan's house all day and then got dropped off on their way out of town. We'd be lounging around pretty casually, but sometime around three, Morgan would start getting ready. I knew she took the church aspect of it seriously, a thing I always reminded myself of when she'd ignore me to be on the phone with Elise while she got ready, doing her makeup or her hair. She got more dressed up for church than she did for school. If I had my book bag with me, I tried to catch up on homework or whatever. But I didn't that day, so I just packed up my things.

I decided to leave my Spring Formal dress at Morgan's house, because I knew my mom would be upset that it'd been ruined. If I couldn't find a dry cleaner to fix it, I would buy myself another dress so Mom would never know this one was ruined. I'd use the money I earned from my summer job. It was supposed to be college money, but I had to do that for her or the guilt would eat me alive.

Then, because Morgan was still on the phone, I wandered downstairs.

Mrs. Dorsey stared out her kitchen window at a huge oak tree. “I keep telling myself I should take that thing down. Do you think it's swaying more than it should?”

I went up beside her. “No, I don't think so.”

Even though dinner would be served at the church, Mrs. Dorsey was fixing my mom's favorite dish, baked ziti. Aside from two scoops for her and Morgan that went into her fridge, she told me to take the rest home. “This will give your mom the night off,” she said. “But don't let her have a single bite unless she promises to do nothing but lie on the couch with her feet up.”

Morgan finally came down. She had on a cap-sleeve blouse under a navy jumper, paired with her green galoshes with cream knee socks. Her hair was bouncy, she'd tried hot rollers. I felt like a kid sister next to her, still in my pajamas, no makeup. I tucked my sweats into my rain boots.

Then the three of us got in the car and Mrs. Dorsey drove me home.

Though it was still raining, a few people dressed in rain gear were prepping their houses, laying down their own sandbags. The water rushed down the edges of the streets like rivers, so we drove in the very center of the street. There were bits of broken branches and bark sprinkled over the ground, like tree confetti.

I leaned forward to Morgan. “We never went to look for your shoe in the parking lot.”

“Don't worry about it. I never wear them anyway.”

“Oh. Okay.” But I didn't like the thought of that shoe out there. I didn't want to see it on Monday morning when we got to school. It was just a reminder of Jesse and how things had gone so off the rails.

She looked at me out of the corner of her eye. “What's with the sad face? Have you not heard from him today?”

I avoided the question. “I don't even know if I like him anymore.” This, I thought, would be a great plan. To extricate myself from Jesse. Make Morgan think it was my decision, not his.

“What? Shut up! You do too!”

“He's honestly not that cute or that funny now that I've gotten to know him.”

Morgan turned around to face me. “Are you talking like this because of what Wes said about you? Because if you are, then I want you to cut it out right now.”

Mrs. Dorsey's eyes found me in the rearview mirror.

I knew Morgan and her mom talked about everything, but somehow I thought this might be off-limits. And if Mrs. Dorsey knew what Wes had said about me, did she also know what I had done to Wes to make him so angry? My stomach twisted into a big fat knot. “No. I'm just saying . . .”

“Good. Because I couldn't imagine a more perfect boy for you.”

Me either, which really sucked.

•  •  •

When I came up our walkway, the curtain in our front window was pulled aside. My mom met my eyes and smiled. She was going to want to talk with me about the dance, how crazy everyone went for my dress. She'd want to see pictures. I realized the only ones I'd taken were when I was in Morgan's car. After my rain dance with Jesse, I'd looked like total crap. I didn't want to lie to her, so my plan was to get up to my bedroom as fast as I possibly could.

I started peeling off my wet layers as soon as I walked in.

Mom was on the couch, typing on her laptop with two fingers. That was just the weird and inefficient way she typed. “Just give me one second to finish this last chart!” Mom works as a nurse, the kind who travels to people's homes and cares for them there. She loves her job, loves being there for her patients, but she sucks at the paperwork part.

Dad was on his computer too, a small off-brand laptop he'd gotten at a Black Friday sale. Since he could no longer work as a carpenter, my dad had taken a liking to politics, even though he thought most of the people in charge were a bunch of liars. Local, national, international . . . he was a junkie for all of it. He also didn't trust news reports, preferring instead to get information through message boards. If there was something shady going on with the government of Ireland, he'd find a message board and talk to the people who were there, living through it. Israel, South Korea, Mexico—you name it. My dad liked to say he had friends all over the world. Probably because he didn't have many left in Aberdeen.

It wasn't always that way.

My dad had been relatively successful before the accident. If people didn't know him personally, they at least recognized the Hewitt name, and they trusted it. My family went back a long way in Aberdeen. Grandpa and Great-Grandpa had both worked at the mill. Dad, too, right out of high school, until it closed eight years later. Then he became a carpenter. Dad was strong then. Muscular and always tan from working outside. Now he barely left the house except for town meetings.

“Hey, Keeley,” he said to me, without looking up from his screen.

“Mrs. Dorsey sent food over. Ziti.” Mom's eyes lit up, which made me laugh. I set the baking tin on the counter. “But she says Mom can't have any unless she doesn't work tonight.”

Mom smiled to herself. She shut her laptop.

“How come I can't ever get you to do that?” Dad said with a smirk.

Mom picked up her phone, presumably to text Mrs. Dorsey a thank-you, and asked me, “Is your phone working, Keeley?”

“Yeah, why?”

“Some people are saying service is being affected by the constant cloud cover. Satellites can't pick up the signals.”

“Oh,” I said, cheery now. Maybe that was why I hadn't heard from Jesse. “Did you guys lose power?”

“Our lights flickered a few times,” Mom said. “But we've been lucky. How was it down in the valley?”

“Lots of flooding and downed trees and stuff,” I told them. “And it's supposed to rain more tonight, you know.”

“We know,” Mom said, pausing to rub her tired eyes. “It's the only thing on the news. This storm is actually starting to scare me.”

Dad laughed. “That's what they want to do. Scare you into watching.” Mom slid her glasses down from the top of her head and pointed knowingly at the newspaper next to him on the desk. Grumbling, he flipped it over to hide the headline,
IS ABERDEEN SINKING?
in big bold type.

Sunday, May 15

EMERGENCY BROADCAST SYSTEM ALERT
: As of 11:00 PM, Governor Ward has issued a mandatory evacuation for Aberdeen County, as well as those residing in Zone A of Waterford City. Emergency shelters are open and operating, and local police and fire are working to inform residents and provide transport as necessary. This order is scheduled to expire by 6:00 AM, but may be extended as needed.

Just before midnight, a loud knock at the front door jolted me out of sleep. I sat straight up in my bed. No one ever came to our house, and definitely not this late.

I heard my mom get out of bed and race across the room for her robe. My dad got up too, slower and with a little more effort, from his seat downstairs in the living room.

I hurried to my window and looked for any cars parked in our driveway or on the road, but I saw nothing but darkness and rain. I grabbed a sweatshirt from the back of my chair, crept out to the top of our stairs, and leaned over the railing.

Mom still managed to beat Dad to the door. She pulled it open and there stood Sheriff Hamrick. He was in uniform, with the same rain slicker Levi had shown up wearing to Spring Formal and a wide-brim hat covered in plastic wrapping, like a shower cap. He was glistening.

“Is everything okay, Matt?” Mom asked, breathless.

“I'm sorry to disturb you, Jill, but the river breached the sandbags a few hours ago.” He pressed his lips together and shook his head sadly. “A good portion of the lower valley is completely flooded. We've even had a few homes washed clear off their foundations on the south end of town.”

My mom gasped. I did too. We were on the north end, near the top of town. I tiptoed back into my room and tried to find my cell phone in my covers to see if anyone had texted me, but it was dead. I had it plugged in, but the power was out, so it never charged.

I heard my dad say, “We're fine here. Appreciate you checking in.”

I went back out to the stairs. Dad hadn't opened the door any wider for Sheriff Hamrick.

“Do you have water in your basement, Jim?” he asked my dad, craning his neck to try and see into our house.

“We're fine here,” Dad said again, but colder, and that time, he closed the front door ever so slightly. Behind him were boxes Mom and I had carried up before bed. After ziti, Mom and I had spent the rest of the evening on chore duty, trying to divert the water that had begun to pool around the basement window wells with old boards and bricks.

“This is a mandatory evacuation, Jim. You don't really have a choice in the matter.”

“Mandatory? According to who? Mayor Aversano?” Dad folded his arms.

Sheriff Hamrick shook his head, incredulous. He couldn't have been surprised, though. He looked at my mother. “It's an order from the governor,” he continued.

“Where are we supposed to go?”

“We've set up temporary shelter at the high school and—”

“The high school?” Dad scoffed. “That's on lower ground than we are here. How is that safer than us staying in our home?”

Looking back, the things my dad was saying, they did make sense. But in the moment, I was just annoyed with him. I was used to my dad being argumentative with people in town, speaking his mind, but not fighting our sheriff during a mandatory evacuation.

“Trust me. I know it's a hassle and that, but look. Things aren't safe right now. Anyone who lives in the valley is in imminent danger. And we've got to assume that the rest of the hill isn't much safer. We may have even lost some lives tonight.”