The Last Boy and Girl in the World (13 page)

Lisa put a finger to her lips and
shhh
ed me.

“Are you guys still there?” said a very small, shaky voice.

Someone was on speaker.

Morgan took my hand and pulled me over to where a phone had been placed on a desk. “We're here, Elise.”

I looked around. Elise wasn't there in the room.

Shit.

“We're honestly so lucky,” Elise said, sniffling. “I mean, we left church the same time as Morgan did, but my dad had the idea to hit up the Walmart for groceries and stuff because it wouldn't be crowded. If we'd gone straight home . . . we probably would have died.”

I forced a swallow.

“Don't even say that,” Morgan said, gripping my hand.

“Our house flooded, and then . . . then the ground started to shift, to give way underneath it. Everything's gone. Like, everything.”

Something popped into my head. A joke, about how Elise's mom was going to love shopping for new furniture. She was obsessed with those decorator-on-a-budget shows. It seemed like something good to say, something to brighten the mood. But I swallowed it down.

“Where are you right now?” I asked, and plugged in my phone.

“We're at a really nice hotel in Ridgewood,” Elise said, her voice lifting into a register that sounded more normal. “You know, the one near the mall? They have a rooftop pool. An indoor one. It's closed for the night, but they let my brothers in to swim in their boxer shorts because of what happened to us.”

I nudged Morgan. “She sounds good!” I whispered.

Morgan shook her head, like I was an idiot. “She's in shock, Keeley.”

Then Emma leaned close to the phone and asked, “When are you coming back?”

The silence crackled between us, and I was about to repeat the question when Elise broke apart. Between heaving sobs, she managed to say, “I'm not sure if we are. We don't really have anything to come back to.”

•  •  •

Morgan and I hit the bathroom together. I wanted to talk about Elise, maybe call her again now that it was just Morgan and me, but there were a bunch of women already in there. One was old, like a grandmother's age, the other two were younger than my mom. They had one of the windows cracked and raindrops were spraying the floor at their feet. The women blew the smoke from their lit cigarettes into the night.

It dawned on me that they probably went to our high school years ago.

Morgan and I quietly set up at the sink with our toothbrushes.

The older woman kept touching the back of her hair gently. “Governor Ward is planning to do something big. Why else would he be coming here tomorrow to make an announcement?”

The other two silently considered this as they puffed.

And then the one with long brown hair said, “Funny that he didn't come once during his campaign, but now he wants a photo op.”

The third woman rolled the tip of her cigarette along the wall, clearing the glowing tip of ash. “Some photo op. Look at this school. Practically falling down. Ridgewood gets all the funding, they have a damn television studio in that high school, and meanwhile our kids get the old computers they were going to throw out.” She peeled a piece of cracked paint off the wall and tossed it carelessly onto the floor, where it shattered into tinier pieces, like glass. I glanced over at Morgan, but she kept her eyes on the sink. “We're even worse than the schools in the city, and that's saying something.”

The older woman nodded. “It's the land that's worth something to them, controlling the river. They're going to try and squeeze us out.” Then she gestured at me and said, “Ask Jim Hewitt. He'll tell you. He's the one that just tricked Sheriff Hamrick into admitting that the governor is coming to address us personally in the morning. Why would they be keeping secrets like that from us if there weren't something shady going on?”

I quick spit into the sink and dried off my toothbrush, even though I'd only brushed my bottom teeth. “I'm going to check in on my parents.” I was already pushing open the bathroom door.

“I'm just going to wash my face and I'll be right there!” Morgan called after me.

I walked quickly over to our cots in the gym. My mom was asleep, her laptop open on her chest, light glowing on her face. Mrs. Dorsey was next to her, awake, with a book open. But she wasn't looking at the pages. She was watching my dad.

He was over by the coffee table talking to some people. He was pointing his finger through the air. I thought he was just doing that to illustrate a point, but then I realized he was looking right at Sheriff Hamrick. The sheriff had his arms folded, and he was a few feet away from Dad, so they weren't having a conversation. It was clear my dad was openly talking shit about him. And Sheriff Hamrick was not happy about it. Levi stood next to him and glared at me the same way his dad was glaring at my dad.

I spun around and bumped right into Jesse Ford. He was holding two Styrofoam cups, and both sloshed about half their liquid onto his sneakers.

“I'm so sorry!”

Jesse peered into the cups. He poured one into the other to make it full and slid that cup into the empty. “No, it's cool. I was just complaining that I wasn't wet enough.”

I laughed too hard. Jesse gave a tight-lipped smile and tried to step around me, but someone was walking past us and made it so he couldn't. “I can get you another drink and bring it to your cot.”

“No big deal. Don't worry about it.”

“I . . . I'm sorry,” I repeated, that time for what I'd said to him at the dance, or whatever it was that had suddenly put the chill on us.

Again, Jesse looked as if he was going to walk away, but then seemed to decide against it. Maybe because I looked so desperate. Whatever the reason, he leaned down close to me and whispered, “Cots are for suckers anyway. I scored a cave.”

“A cave?”

Jesse pointed to a blanket draped over the space between two chest-high stacks of gym mats. Light glowed out from the seams. He nudged his chin toward it. I tentatively walked over and peeled back the blanket. Julia was asleep inside, curled up on a gym mat. Jesse had his laptop open on the floor, facing her. I knew it must be his, because he had a soccer ball sticker on it.

“It took her twenty-three videos of pigs cuddling with other animals before she fell asleep,” he whispered.

“Is that all?” I whispered back. “Amateur.”

Jesse laughed. It felt good to make him laugh again. I knelt down, unzipped my book bag, and handed him the Mad Libs. “This is for when Julia wakes up. Or when your battery runs out. Whichever comes first.”

He looked surprised. Genuinely surprised and also a little embarrassed. He mumbled, “Thanks. That's really cool of you.” Then Julia twisted, groaned. We both held our breath as she settled back down, her breathing turning heavy again.

I couldn't tell if I'd just managed to fix whatever was broken or not. I don't think Jesse knew either. But before either of us said anything more, Dad shouted out, “Keeley!” He was walking away from the people, toward my mom and Mrs. Dorsey. “We're going home.”

His words seemed to echo throughout the gym. A lot of people were asleep, but the ones who were still awake lifted their heads and turned to see what was going on.

“Holy shit,” Jesse said. “Is that your dad?”

I didn't answer him. I was hustling over. Mom sat up. She'd been asleep. “Jim, what . . .”

Mrs. Dorsey said, “Come on, Jim. Just relax.”

If Dad heard Mrs. Dorsey, he didn't show it. He handed me my raincoat.

Sheriff Hamrick came up. A few of the other officers were behind him. “Jim, put your things down.”

“I know my rights,” Dad said.

“This is a mandatory evacuation,” one of the other officers said, puffing up and stepping forward.

Dad wasn't intimidated. He stayed focused on putting his laptop back into the Viola's plastic bag and calmly said, “Just because it's mandatory doesn't mean you can forcibly detain me here. That's the law.”

Sheriff Hamrick put his hand up to settle his officer. To my dad, he pleaded, “It's just a couple more hours. You'll be allowed back by morning.”

Dad folded his arms. “I don't trust that you're being honest with me, or with anyone in this gym for that matter.” I didn't know what trusting them had to do with anything. It wasn't like the flood was some elaborate fake-out. My friend's home was gone. This was clearly, undeniably real. “Tell you what. I'll put my things down if you answer this honestly. Does the governor coming here tomorrow have anything to do with those surveyors that were down by the river, taking measurements earlier this spring?”

I vaguely remembered my dad being worked up about that. He'd brought it up at a town meeting. Mom usually took Dad to them, but that time I was allowed to do the driving with my brand-new learner's permit. I sat in the back row, doing my homework. Dad wanted to know who they were and what they were up to, but no one had much of an answer for him. Honestly, I was barely listening, it was all so boring.

I swear, you could have knocked Sheriff Hamrick over with a feather. He looked at my father for a few seconds, blinking, and red tinged his cheeks. “Jim, come on. Be reasonable.”

“That's what I thought,” Dad said. He turned to Mom and said, softly, “Okay, Jill?” When she didn't answer, he reached out his hand to her. “You know I would never put you or Keeley in danger.” His eyes were big and bright.

“I know that,” Mom said.

And I knew it too. But still . . .

Mrs. Dorsey let out an uncomfortable laugh. “Jill! Please talk some sense into him!”

Mom shrugged. “Keep your phone on, Annie.” To me, she said, “Kee, get your things.”

Morgan appeared just then, her face pink and freshly washed. “What's happening?”

“Umm, I think we're leaving.” It came out sounding like a joke, but it clearly wasn't because Dad was already walking across the gym, his head held high, the tip of his cane tapping the hardwood floor.

Morgan was aghast. She looked at her mom, but Mrs. Dorsey had sat back down on her cot, making the metal springs squeak.

Following Mom, I walked past Jesse, who watched me with his mouth hanging open. I gave him a little wave good-bye.

Levi Hamrick peeled off from the other officers and hustled over to the gym doors. My gut squeezed, wondering if he was going to try and stop us, even though the other officers weren't. He beat us to the door but he just stood there, watching, as Dad pulled it open. I even waited for him to say my name again, like he had in the hallway at Spring Formal, but he just looked down at his shoes as my family stepped into the rain.

I shrugged off my book bag and balanced it on my head as the water climbed higher and higher up my legs. Each step forward was slick and muddy, and I couldn't see where my feet were landing. It was significantly deeper than it had been when we first arrived at the gym. And it was still pouring. A few times I nearly bit it going over the curb or one of those slabs of concrete that mark a parking space. Still, I tried to be quick about it because . . . we were on the run.

Dad stopped when he reached the boats tethered to the school's bike rack. Neighbors had brought their own rowboats, dinghies, and kayaks. But Dad chose to untie one of the police boats, a long canoe, and he guided it away from the others.

“We're stealing a police boat?”

He tipped the canoe on its side to drain the water that had collected in the well. “Borrowing. We're borrowing it.”

Mom scrambled into the canoe and carefully sat down on the wooden plank seat at the very front, in the hopes of steadying it. “Here,” she said, “pass me your bag.” I did, then climbed in after her and took the plank in the middle. My leggings were caked with grit, my sneakers, too.

Dad tossed in his cane. Mom reached out to help him, but he climbed into the boat on his own—a little too eagerly, considering his physical state—and nearly tipped us over. He had to sit with one leg stretched out, as stiff as the paddle next to him. After the wobbles settled, Dad untied the rope and began to use the paddle like the pole of an Italian gondolier, plunging it into the parking lot lake until it hit pavement, and then leaning against it to drive us out into even deeper water.

He was already soaked.

I craned my neck to see past him to the gym doors. I figured any second the cops would find us with their flashlights in the misty dark and shout for us to stop. But they never did. Instead, my high school shrank farther and farther away, until I couldn't see the building through the dark, just the glow from the parking lot lights through the rain. Those got smaller too, fuzzier, like stars.

By then my dad was paddling us down Main Street.

There were two distinct parts of Aberdeen—the valley and the hill—and the shape of our town always reminded me of a skateboard ramp. Most of the hill was still densely forested, from the tippy top until about three-quarters of the way down. That's when you began to see a few houses pop up, linked by winding country roads.

But the majority of people in town lived in the valley, on a mile-long grid of residential streets that went from the bottom of the hill to the river. At the very center of the grid was Main Street, with its shops and stores and the movie theater. In all the years of flooding we'd had in Aberdeen, I never remembered the water reaching Main Street. But now Main Street looked like a stream.

Which meant at least half our town was flooded.

We paddled up to Main Street's one traffic light, that red blinker, but the light was out. Dad stopped paddling for a second and let us drift. We all looked at the bright floodlights shining up through the trees on the hillside, likely set up by emergency workers near where the slide had taken place.

I wondered if that would be enough for Dad to turn the boat around and bring us back to the gym.