I talked to Jonny about it this afternoon. He said he wasn't that crazy about going to school, but if he did, he'd rather go to Maple Hill. I guess it's because it's familiar to him.
Of course I'd rather go to the high school. Maple Hill is a real baby school: K through 3. I don't even know if I'd fit in the desks.
Which is pretty funny because Jonny's taller than I am.
August 28
An all-bad day.
First of all, my watch stopped. I guess it needs a new battery, only it isn't like I can get a lift to the mall and have a new one put in. The clock in my bedroom is electric, so that hasn't run for weeks now.
It used to be I could look out the window and get some sense of what time it was. Oh, not if it was 2 AM rather than 3 AM, but dawn looked different than midnight.
Only with the sky gray all the time, dawn's harder to recognize. You can sort of see the sky is lighter, but there's nothing like a sunrise anymore. So now when I'm in bed, I have no idea what time it is. I don't know why that should be important to me, but it is.
When I finally did get out of bed this morning, Mom looked super grim. We had a choice of bad news.
First of all, there was a killing frost last night. Leaves are already starting to fall off the trees and now any plants that were outside have died. It feels like late October and we all know if it's like this in August, it's going to be hell this winter.
Mom had brought in what she could of the vegetables she planted last spring, but of course nothing had done very well. Tiny tomatoes. Tinier zucchini. We were glad for them, and, sauteed in olive oil, they were a real treat. But her dreams of canning pints and pints of vegetables vanished, and I know she's worried about our food supply in a couple of months time.
We spent today digging out all the root vegetables, the potatoes and carrots and turnips she'd planted. They all looked smaller than normal, too, but at least they're something and we can eat them for a few days and save on the canned food. Then when Mom was through telling us about killer frosts, she said the past two days when she'd turned on the radio, she hadn't gotten any signal.
We have three radios with batteries, and she tried all of them. We all tried all of them, because nobody wanted to believe her. But of course she was telling the truth. All any of us got was static.
I haven't been listening to the news for months now. I haven't wanted to know any more than I have to. But I know Mom listens every morning for a few minutes and she tells us what we need to know.
Now we won't know what we need to know. I guess the radio stations ran out of electricity. Matt says even if the most powerful stations had their own generators, those generators have limited capacity.
But without hearing what's going on in the real world, it's easy to think there is no real world anymore, that Howell, PA, is the only place left on earth.
What if there is no more New York or Washington or LA? I can't even imagine a London or Paris or Moscow anymore. How will we know? I don't even know what time it is anymore.
August 29
Something scary happened today, and I don't know if I should tell Mom or Matt.
I volunteered to do the bike run into town today. I wanted to get the feel of biking to the high school, in case Jonny and I end up there. Maple Hill we'd do back routes, but it makes more sense to bike through town to get to the high school.
Also I had some library books to return. I don't know what we'll do when the library closes. It's open two days a week, Monday and Friday, same as the post office.
I bundled up (temperature was 42 degrees, and the way the air tastes and how dark it is all the time makes you feel even colder), loaded the bike, and started toward town. I was pedaling downhill on Main Street when I felt like something was different. It took me a moment to figure out what it was and then I realized I could hear people laughing.
Nowadays, because nobody is driving anymore, sound really carries. Only there isn't much sound to hear. There's always a crowd at the post office and sometimes there are people at the library but that's pretty much it for town. I guess the hospital is busy and noisy, but I haven't been there in a while. So even though you could hear noise, there usually isn't any noise to hear.
I didn't like the way the laughter sounded. It was scary hearing it, and I slowed my bike down and kind of hid in a place where I could look down the couple of blocks and see what was going on.
There were five guys on Main Street. I recognized two of them: Evan Smothers, who's a year ahead of me in school, and Ryan Miller—he was on Matt's hockey team. The other guys looked to be about the same age, maybe a little older.
Ryan and one other guy were holding guns. Not that there was anyone there for them to shoot. The street was empty except for the five of them.
Two of the guys were removing the plywood off storefronts.
Then one of them would break the pane glass and go into the store.
All the stores in town are empty. There isn't much to take out of any of them, so I don't know why they even bothered. It was the plywood they seemed most interested in. They'd remove sheets of it, and put it into a pickup truck.
I stood there watching for 5 minutes or so (now that I don't have a watch, time is a guess on my part). No one tried to stop them. No one even showed up on the street. For all I know, I was the only person who saw what they were doing.
Then I remembered if I backed up a block or two I could take the back route to the police station.
I don't think I've ever been so scared in my life. The gang didn't seem to realize I was there, but if they did, they could have shot me. Maybe they wouldn't have. Maybe they just would have laughed at me. There was no way of knowing.
But it made me so mad to see them destroying the stores and stealing the plywood and having a truck that must have had gas. I thought about Sammi and the guy she went off with and how gangs like this must be all over the place, taking things from people who need them and selling the things to people who could pay. However they pay.
So I got more angry than scared and backed up the hill very quietly and biked around to the police station. I had no way of knowing if the cops could get to Main Street in time, but at least I could identify two of the guys.
Only when I got to the police station, it was closed. The doors were locked.
I banged hard against them. I didn't want to yell because I was only a couple of blocks away from where the gang had been taking down the plywood and I was scared they'd realize I was there. I peeked into the window. Of course things were dark, but I couldn't see anybody.
It isn't like Howell has a big police department. We never needed one. But I figured someone was there all the time.
I guess I was wrong.
I tried to figure out where else I could go. My first thought was the firehouse. But then I remembered that the last time Peter came over he said that people were setting fires in their houses to keep warm and then the houses caught fire, and the firehouse had been closed and they were seeing a lot of burn cases in the hospital. We should be careful with fire.
It was a very Peter speech. At least he's stopped saying we should be careful with mosquitoes because they vanished when the frosts started.
Thinking about Peter made me think about the hospital. At least there'd be people there. I biked around an extra half mile or so to avoid going straight through town and went to the hospital.
Things really were different there from the last time. There were two armed guards standing in front of the main entrance and another two by the emergency door. There must have been 20 people standing by the emergency door.
I went to the main door.
"No visitors allowed," one of the guards said. "If you have a medical emergency go to the emergency door and wait for a nurse to admit you."
"I need to talk to a police officer," I said. "I went to the police station and there was nobody there."
"We can't help you," the guard said. "We're privately hired. We have nothing to do with t
he police department."
"Why are you here?" I asked. "Where are the police?"
"We're here to make sure no one enters the hospital who isn't in need of medical care," the guard said. "We keep out people who want to steal food and supplies and drugs. I can't tell you where the police are."
"They've probably moved out," the second guard said. "I know a couple of them took their families and started south about a month ago. Why do you need the police? Has anyone attacked you?"
I shook my head.
"Well, it's not wise for a girl your age to be out by herself," the guard said. "I won't let my daughters or my wife go outside anymore unless I'm with them."
The other guard nodded. "Times like these, you can't be too careful," he said. "No place is safe for a woman anymore."
"Thank you," I said, although I have no idea what I was thanking them for. "I guess I'll go home now."
"Do that," the guard said. "And stay home. Tell your parents they need to be more careful with their children. One day a girl like you might go out for a bike ride and never come home."
I shivered the entire ride home. Every shadow, every unexpected noise, made me jump.
I won't go to the high school. The only way of getting there is through town. But the only way of getting to Maple Hill is by back routes. And anyone could be there as well. It isn't like I can count on Jonny to protect me.
When I got in, Mom didn't notice that the library books were the same ones I'd taken with me. She asked if there were any letters from Dad, and I lied and said there weren't.
It probably isn't a lie, but I felt bad saying it just the same.
I don't know what to do.
August 30
At supper tonight, Mom asked Jonny and me what we'd decided to do.
"I don't think I'll go to school," Jonny said. "It isn't like anybody else is going to."
"You do realize you'll have to study here," Mom said. "You can't just sit around and do nothing."
"I know," Jonny said. "I'll work hard."
"What about you, Miranda?" Mom asked.
I immediately burst out sobbing.
"Oh, Miranda," Mom said in her Not Again voice.
I ran out of the kitchen and flew upstairs to my room. Even I knew I was acting like a 12-year-old.
After a few minutes, Matt knocked on my door and I told him to come in.
"You okay?" he asked.
I blew my nose and nodded.
"Anything bothering you in particular?" he asked and the question was so ridiculous I began to laugh hysterically.
I thought Matt was going to slap me, but then he started laughing right along with me. It took both of us a few minutes to calm down, but finally we did, and I told him about what had happened in town. Everything. I told him who the guys were and how the police station was closed and what the guards had said at the hospital.
"You didn't tell Mom any of this?" he asked. "Why not?"
"She has enough to worry about," I said.
Matt was silent. "The guards are probably right," he said after a little bit. "You and Mom shouldn't go out alone anymore. I guess it's safe going to Mrs. Nesbitt's, but no farther."
"So we're prisoners," I said.
"Miranda, we're all prisoners," Matt said. "You think I want to be living like this? I can't go back to Cornell. I don't know if there is a Cornell anymore, but even if there is, I can't drive there and I can't bike there and I can't hitch a ride there. I'm stuck, too. I don't like it any more than you do."
I never know what to say when Matt admits he's unhappy.
So I kept quiet.
"You're right about high school," he said. "It's not a good idea to go to town anymore. I'll go to the post office and library from now on. But if you want to go to Maple Hill, I'll go with you in the morning and pick you up in the afternoon."
I thought about it. It isn't like I was all that excited about going to school. On the other hand, it makes me mad to think of being forced to stay home. I may never leave Howell again. I'd like to at least be able to leave my house.
"Okay," I said. "I'll try Maple Hill. But don't tell Mom what happened. I don't want her to worry any more than she has to."
Matt nodded.
I guess tomorrow is my first day of school. Whoo-whoo.
* * *
FALL
Chapter Eleven
August 31
When Matt and I got to school this morning, I saw kids divided into three groups waiting to get in. K through 5 were in one group (by far the biggest), 6 through 8 were in a second, and 9 through 12 in a third.
I said good-bye to Matt and went into the third group.
The high school group counted itself and there were 31 of us. I recognized a few faces, but there was no one there I remembered taking any classes with, let alone being friendly with. Our informal survey showed 16 freshman, 7 sophomores, 4 juniors, and 6 seniors.
"I guess we won't have to worry about class size," one of the seniors said, which of course turned out to be completely wrong.
Eventually they opened the doors and we went in. The younger kids were told to go to the cafeteria, the middle school kids to the gym, and the high school kids to the music room.
When we got there, there weren't enough chairs for us, and what chairs there were, were mostly meant for 7-year-olds. So we sat on the floor and waited. And waited. And waited.
Of course I have no idea how long we waited but it felt like forever.
Eventually Mrs. Sanchez walked in. I nearly wept, I was so happy to see a familiar face.
Mrs. Sanchez smiled at us. "Welcome to Maple Hill High School," she said. "I'm pleased to see each and every one of you."
A few kids laughed.
"I know how difficult this is for you," Mrs. Sanchez said. "And I'd like to tell you things are going to get better, but of course I can't be sure that's true. All I can do is be honest with you, and trust you to make whatever decisions are right for you."
"There isn't going to be high school?" one of the younger kids asked. I couldn't tell whether that made him happy or sad.
"As you can see, not many of the high school age students have come here," Mrs. Sanchez said. "We've heard that forty-four ninth through twelfth graders are at the high school now. Obviously many families have moved away, and I suppose quite a number have decided to homeschool this year."
What we all knew but nobody was saying was that quite a number just didn't care about school anymore. And I guess some may have died. We certainly didn't say that.
"So we're it?" a kid asked.
"We don't know that for sure," Mrs. Sanchez said. "Not every parent attended the meeting. We certainly hope more students will show up."
"You should have offered free food," a girl said, and we all laughed.
"How many high school teachers are here?" the senior girl asked. "How are we going to be divided up?"
Mrs. Sanchez had that uncomfortable look I've come to associate with grown-ups. "That is a problem," she said. "There are four high school teachers at the high school. There's a chemistry teacher, a Spanish teacher, a math teacher, and a biology teacher. Here we have an English teacher and me. I'm certified to teach history, although I haven't since I became principal."
"Wow," the girl said. "Put all of you together and you practically have a faculty."
Mrs. Sanchez ignored her sarcasm. "Of course it won't be school as any of us remember it, but we should be able to cobble some kind of curriculum together," she said. "But that will only work if we're all in the same building."
"So we're not going to go to school here after all?" one of the younger kids asked.
"We think it makes more sense to put all the high school students in the high school," Mrs. Sanchez said. "Of course we'll be sharing the building with other students, but we'll have our own space. The idea is to teach two groups of ninth graders, and have the sophomores, juniors, and seniors take classes together. We'll know better after we've done it for a while."
I thought of the gang, of the two guys with guns. My stomach clenched.
"What if it isn't safe to get to the high school?" I asked. "I'd have to bike through town to get there and I was told by an armed guard that girls shouldn't go anyplace without protection."
I like Mrs. Sanchez and I know it wasn't fair to put her on the spot like that. It wasn't even sensible. Not everybody has to go through town to get to the high school. And I had Matt to protect me. But I couldn't shake the image of those two guys with the guns.
"We all have to decide for ourselves what's best," Mrs. Sanchez said. "There are no good answers to this situation. You do have the option of homeschooling. All you have to do is go to the office, tell someone there what courses you'd be taking, and your textbooks will be provided. That's the best we can do, I'm afraid."
"This is crazy," one of the older boys said. "I've been working my butt off so I can go to a good college. That's all I've ever heard. Get into a good college. And now you're telling me there are maybe a half dozen teachers, and I don't even know what level they teach. Are any of them AP math? AP history? AP physics?"
"What difference does it make?" another boy asked. "It isn't like there are any colleges left."
"I know how unfair this all is," Mrs. Sanchez said. "But we'll try to do our best for you. And we'll support any decision you make. If you do decide to go to the high school, please stay here. Anyone else, please go to the office and get your textbooks. I'll leave you now so you can discuss things freely among yourselves."
Most of the kids continued sitting. A few left with Mrs. Sanchez.
"How dangerous is town?" a girl asked me.
"I don't know," I said. "I heard there were guys with guns."
"I heard there are girls missing," one of the younger girls said.
"They could have just left town," I said. "Lots of people are leaving."
"Michelle Schmidt is missing," one of the girls said.
"You're kidding," I said. Michelle was in my French class.
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