“That seems pretty normal. I do that all the time.”
“But at some point don’t you need to be able to figure out your shit when it’s happening?”
“Like right now?”
“I wish I had right now figured out.” His voice drifts. Like he’s trying to solve the mess we’re in.
“I can’t keep my eyes open, Charlie.”
“Rest. It’s your turn. I’ll try to figure out how to tunnel us out of here using mind control.”
“Okay.” I close my eyes. I slip.
HANDS
In the space between waking and sleeping, I let my thoughts float to Leo. Fireworks. Hot mochas. Kisses along my collarbone. My earlobe between his teeth.
Then the memory of only him and me. Two days ago. On Thursday. After my practice and before his. Curled up on my bed. My head on his chest. My breathing calm. My arm across his stomach. Content.
Until he pulled my hand to his. Glued us together palm-to-palm.
“Your hands are bigger than mine,” he said. I knew he didn’t say it to be mean. It was merely an observation. A thought bubble. But it hit me like a kettlebell to my stomach. He tapped his big toe to mine. “Your feet, too.”
I untangled myself from his arms and legs and moved to the edge of the bed. I sat with my back to him. He pulled up, put his hands on my shoulders.
“Hey, what is it? What’d I do?”
I felt the tears forming. I hated that I was crying. I pressed them back with the pads of my thumbs. My too-big thumbs.
One day I will meet someone with bigger hands than mine.
“Ruby, talk to me.”
“It’s nothing. I don’t want it to be anything.”
“But it is something. Is it about your hands? What is it?” He climbed off the bed, kneeled in front of me. Put his elbows on my knees. He looked up at me open and honest and true. His hair mussed. His big eyes shining. Showing me all the things that made me fall for him.
“You didn’t have to say it.”
“What?”
“That my hands are bigger.”
“But they are.” He didn’t understand what the problem was. He was just stating facts. No big deal.
“Yes, but you didn’t have to make a thing of it.”
“I wasn’t making a thing of it. I was only saying—”
“You were saying I have bigger hands than you.”
“You do have bigger hands than me.”
I pulled at my hair. He didn’t get it. He was saying things without thinking. “I know! But I don’t want to!”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. Oh.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . .” He pressed his fingertips into my calves, like he needed to have my full attention. “I was just talking. I don’t care if your hands are bigger than mine. It doesn’t bother me.”
“But it bothers me.”
“It shouldn’t.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know it shouldn’t. We’re all supposed to love every freaking thing about ourselves. We’re never supposed to have a negative thought. But . . . I don’t necessarily like my big hands. Or my big feet. Sometimes I hate being six feet tall. And I know it’s so nothing in the grand scheme of things. There are way worse things to feel bad about. But sometimes I wish I didn’t stand out.”
“But you don’t stand out because of your hands and feet or how tall you are.”
“So you can honestly say that you never notice my head bobbing inches above everyone else’s as I walk down the hallway?”
“Ruby.” His fingertips pressed again. “I wish you could know what I think when I see you walking down the hallway.” His tone flirted.
I pushed away. “You don’t get it.”
“No. You don’t get it.” He pulled me closer to the edge of the bed. Stood us up together. Tapped his forehead to mine because we were the same height. “You’re the only one I see walking down the hall. Because it’s you. And I really like you.” He raised my hand to his mouth. Kissed my knuckles. One by one. “A lot.”
Until my knees went a little weak. And I pulled him in closer.
“I really like you, too,” I said. “But you should probably go now. My mom’ll be home soon.”
“Okay. But you’re not mad, are you?”
“I’m not mad,” I said. And I wasn’t. But I was something. I just didn’t know what exactly.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
3:43 A.M.
I hear muffled cries for help, soft and far away. They are a whisper. Like bright orange autumn leaves fluttering to the ground. Like the first drops of rain that feel like mist from the spray of the ocean. Like dandelion fluff blown from the bulb.
Too small.
Too light.
Too subtle to even comprehend.
I call for Charlie, but when his coughing starts, I know it wasn’t him. The cry was only something my mind made up. There’s nobody here but us. That’s the reality of this situation. That’s the truth of where we are.
The broken walls. The creaking tables. The dark air. The stiff legs. The empty stomachs. The sticky tongues. The dusty eyes. The pee-stained pants.
Charlie mumbles. He says something that sounds like a promise. Rising and falling from his mouth and hitting the ground. His words don’t have anywhere to go.
“Who are you talking to?” I say.
“God.”
“Oh.” That’s not what I was expecting.
“What? You’re not chatting it up with The Guy in the Sky? Making all your bargains? It’s emergency behavior 101, isn’t it?”
“No.”
“What do you know that I don’t?”
“Nothing. I just don’t believe in God.”
“No?”
“Nope.”
“Huh.”
“Huh isn’t the usual response,” I say.
“It’s unexpected, I guess, but it’s all good. I mean, your life, your call, right?” Charlie rustles, attempting to shift positions. “Do you ever worry you’re wrong?”
I snort. “Like right now? Do you think I should be worried?” He’s silent. Too silent. “Go ahead. You can say it.”
“Haven’t you thought about what happens next if we don’t make it out?” He’s letting his pessimism seep in.
“I’ve thought about it. But prayers never entered my mind.”
“I don’t get why you sound so defensive.”
“I’m tired of explaining myself, I guess.”
“No explanation necessary. To be honest, I don’t even know why I’m praying. God shouldn’t forgive me.”
“Charlie, don’t.”
“It’s true, Ruby.”
“Charlie, why can I see so clearly that what happened to Jason isn’t your fault but you can’t?”
“You remembered his name.”
“Well, yeah. He was your friend. He’s part of your story. He’s part of you.”
“That’s a super-nice way to put it. And I appreciate that. You might want to think about majoring in being rad when you go to college.”
“I like hearing you talk about college. Because it means you can imagine the future.” But then I realize he didn’t talk about himself. He only talked about me and what I should do.
“Sure, Ruby. I can try.”
“You don’t sound very convincing.”
“What do you want me to say here?”
“You don’t have to say anything. But, the thing is, you still did. You told me what happened to Jason, and that makes me think there’s a part of you that actually wants to talk about it.”
“It’s easier to talk to you. I don’t know you.”
“Ouch.”
He coughs. “Sorry. I only mean. . . you’re not my parents. Or my brother. You didn’t walk into this laundromat with any expectations of me besides the hope that I’d buy you beer.”
“Which you wouldn’t.”
“I wouldn’t.”
“So what will you do?”
“What do you want me to do?”<
br />
“I want you to talk to someone who isn’t me. Or God. So you’re not holding all this guilt inside. I want you to realize God doesn’t need to forgive you. You need to forgive you.”
Charlie is quiet. Thinking. I hope he heard me. Really heard me.
CHAPTER TWELVE
5:00 A.M.
My skin prickles. Like thousands of tiny bugs have found my body and burrowed into every inch of me. They take up residence in the pinholes of my hair shafts. All over my scalp. Along my right arm. Deep down in the pulsing cut of my left arm. In each millimeter of stubble on my legs. My tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth. My left foot has been asleep and frozen for so long I’ve forgotten what it feels like. I twist it. Shake. I can’t feel it move. I kick again.
Too hard.
Part of this safe space crumbles. I squeeze my eyes shut. Turn my head. Shout. There’s nothing I can do. Nowhere I can go to save myself.
“What’s happening?!” Charlie yells.
I scream when something falls sideways and lands across my thighs. My body stills. Waits. I attempt to fathom how broken I am.
“The bottom half of the table fell on me. But there’s something else on top of it,” I say. If I push it away, everything else could come crashing down. I’ll be buried alive.
And then my fingertips hit something wet. Blood? It’s soaking my jeans. I suck in a breath, release a yelp.
“Dammit, Ruby! What’s going on?” The panic’s returned in the rise of his voice.
“I think I’m bleeding.”
I don’t even hear what Charlie asks me after that. He yells something about my arm but I can’t hold on to his words. Everything is numb. I might not be able to feel the pain of being broken. Maybe I’m impaled. Maybe my thighs are ripped open, exposing flesh and bone.
Maybe my mind is blocking out the agony to protect me.
“Ruby!” Charlie’s voice is so loud. It’s a roar. He’s a lion. Ferocious. I’m surprised it doesn’t break down these walls. “Are you okay?”
“I don’t know.”
The wetness keeps coming, stopping in a puddle against my hand. I dip my fingertips. Pull them to my face. Let them linger. Afraid to know. But finally, I bring them to my nose. Sniff. I expect the rust-and-salt smell of blood, but it isn’t that. It’s something else.
Soap.
I stick my tongue out, brave a taste.
Water.
“Water!” I shout.
It’s tinged with the flavor of laundry detergent but it’s so diluted I can’t imagine there’s much of it. I can’t feel actual soap bubbles. They aren’t popping on my tongue or in my hands. I dip my fingertips into the puddle again. Stick them into my mouth.
I try not to think of the filthy floor because the relief of something wet on my dry tongue and parched throat is too good.
“Water?!” Charlie shouts. “Where?”
“I knocked something over. With my foot. It opened up a space for water from a washing machine. It’s a little bit soapy.” It’s weird to think it might be from the load of towels I was washing. That moment feels so normal and far away now. A time when my biggest problem was my mom dating my coach. I walked into this laundromat trying to find the courage to ask a stranger to buy me beer, and now that stranger is my friend and I’m trying to find the courage to stay alive. Life can change in an instant. With a phone call like my mom got the day my dad was hit by a car. Like yesterday when the earthquake hit. I can’t help but rethink what matters and what doesn’t. What once felt so big suddenly seems so small.
And things I would’ve taken for granted, like water, are an enormous gift.
I cup my hand against the stream, suck down what I can get into my mouth, but the rivulet is running away from me fast. My heart races, terrified I’ll lose it before I get enough. My hands slap at the ground, collecting as much as I can.
“Ruby. Be careful.”
I freeze, my hand across my mouth, suddenly ashamed of my good fortune. Like I never should’ve spoken of it.
“Why?”
“I don’t know. The laundry detergent, maybe?”
“I can barely taste it.”
My washing machine was filling up when the earthquake hit. It’s mostly water. With traces of soap. But even if it tasted more strongly of soap, I’m not sure I would stop drinking.
“I’m glad you have water,” he says, but I can hear the break in his voice. The part I know he doesn’t want me to hear.
Why her and not me?
I want to know that, too. Why me and not him?
“Can you move something out of the way?” I say. “To make space for water to get to you?”
“I’m afraid to try. Things are pretty tight here.”
But I hear him rustling around. I hear him trying.
“It’s not getting to me,” he says.
I curve my hand against the puddle, trying to train it to run in Charlie’s direction.
“What about now?”
“No.”
I adjust my fingers.
The water is ice-cold. I hadn’t noticed before. It hits me now. Too cold to ever be blood. But it’s dangerous, too. Because I’m sitting in a near-freezing puddle of water in the dead of winter.
I lift my hand to my mouth, suck in another swallow.
It goes down my throat along with the guilt and the fear.
What’s one more ounce of guilt anyway? I’m already filled with it. I’m such a hypocrite to sit here and tell Charlie to stop feeling guilty when I carry my own around with me everywhere I go. Mila has made sure of it.
FAVORS
We followed the guy with our beer as he marched down the sidewalk toward the beach. Mila seemed fine with the plan. She even seemed into it.
“We have to be at this party,” Thea said, scampering behind Mila. “It’s my brother’s birthday.”
Not true. Thea didn’t even have a brother.
“I love a party. Where is it?”
I could just see it. The five of us walking into Cody Calabrese’s backyard with that guy. Mila and Iris with their skirts. Thea with her hair. Juliette with her smile. Me with my legs. And him. Everyone turning to look at us. Wondering why.
“It’s invite only,” Juliette said. “Sorry.”
He laughed. “What? Like there’s actually a list at the door like some exclusive nightclub? I’m sure it’ll be fine if I go with you. Are we heading in the right direction?”
“It’s in town. We should turn around,” I said. I knew it was better to be by lights and cars and people, so at least turning around would get us back there.
“You seriously want to go to the party?” Mila said.
“You seriously want to go to the beach?” I said.
“I seriously want that beer.”
“I’ll say,” Thea murmured.
The guy leaned back, looked us up and down. “Such indecisive girls. Come on, what’s it gonna be? Beach or party? Should we flip a coin?”
“We want to go to the party,” Thea said.
“Same.” Juliette.
“Yep.” Iris.
“Well, I’m going to the beach,” Mila said.
“Beach it is.” He hoisted the slipping bag of beer up under his arm and hooked his other arm around Mila’s shoulders. She actually leaned into him. And I didn’t even know what I was watching anymore.
I tried to communicate to Mila with my eyes. What are you doing? What are you thinking?
But I knew her focus was only on that bag of beer.
Thea, Iris, and Juliette had already turned around, ready to leave. Until Iris stopped. She asked, “Are you coming, Ruby?”
Mila looked at me. Challenging. Testing our friendship.
I couldn’t leave her.
Could I?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
7:02 A.M.
Light shoots through the crack above me.
It’s the sun. The sun!
I’ve been in the dark for so long I forgot light existed. I shut my ey
es. Wish for it to warm the frozen tip of my nose, the drenched cold of my thighs. I imagine Hawaii and summertime and a perfect August day. I hear Charlie move in the distance.
“Morning,” he says, like an acknowledgment and not a greeting.
“Do you see the sun?”
“One streak. Through a crack by my chest.”
Today is so unlike a normal morning in our town. Where the diner across the street from here has a line out the door and the smell of coffee and bacon seeps out to the sidewalk. My teammates and I pass it on our bikes on our way back from morning practice.
Hair wet.
Ugg boots working hard to keep our feet warm. I wish I were wearing them now. I can’t even feel my toes anymore.
Sometimes, on Saturdays, we have time to stop. We load up on pancakes. Or scrambled eggs. And we never see the bottoms of our coffee mugs because the waitress tops us off with every other sip.
My stomach growls.
Then sinks.
What if the diner is no longer standing?
What if the fifties-style jukebox is broken? The hand-painted front windows advertising weekly specials shattered? Surely there were people eating there when the earthquake happened.
I think of everywhere I know. All the places in town. The places where my friends could’ve been. All the ways they could be hurt.
Dying.
Dead.
I would’ve been in the pool. Surrounded by my team. Would that have been better than being here with Charlie? Would we have survived? Or would we have been scattered like broken toothpicks across the pool deck?
“Do you hear that?” Charlie says.
Not far away there is noise. Shouts. I can’t tell what they’re saying, but whoever is making the noise is close to us.
My heartbeat kicks up. Hope. They’re looking for us.
“Help!” I shout.
Then Charlie: “Over here!”
There is relief in my muscles and bones over the realization that we’ve been found. Finally. Soft beds. Hot showers. Clean pants. Mountains of food. Help has finally arrived.
There are more hollers farther away.
The screech of a whistle.
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