You & Me at the End of the World

by Brianna Bourne

  I put the crochet book down and shoot her an experimental smile. She stiffens, her spine going even straighter than before.

  Shit. I’m starting to suspect Ballet Chick is going to be no fun at all.

  “Have you seen anyone else besides me?” she asks.

  I was right about her voice. The raspy, low timbre would sound incredible in a recording studio. It only adds to the unfairness of it all. Couldn’t I have found someone fun?

  “Uh … no,” I answer.

  “I haven’t seen anyone either,” she says. “Not in five days.”

  Five days. Is that how long it’s been? Sounds about right. I haven’t really been keeping track. It’s all been kind of a blur. I’m not high right this second, but I have been smoking a lot of weed. Can she smell it on my clothes? It’s our first conversation, and I don’t want her to think I’m just an idiot stoner musician.

  I take a half step back. I don’t exactly have a reputation for being calm and composed, or having the best sense of balance, so it’s basically a disaster.

  First I bump into the table next to me, and a stack of books slides off onto the floor. When I bend down to pick them up, my guitar case snags on something behind me. Just when I think I can’t get any more bull-in-a-china-shop, my foot slips on a bundle of pages that have fallen out of one of these crusty old books, and I start to go down.

  Her hand shoots out to catch my elbow, and it stops me midfall, frozen in a scene like pressing pause on the remote.

  Steadiness spreads into me where we’re touching. The warm pressure of her hand keeps me upright. Girl has serious balance.

  Her eyes lock on mine. Big, hypnotizing green pools of concern.

  “I think I’m stuck on something,” I say, and it sounds like I mean her but it’s my guitar case—

  I twist my head around. My case is stuck to a weird yarn tapestry thing on the wall that looks like it was made by a bunch of kindergarteners.

  Ballet Chick reaches out before I can say anything.

  “The zipper’s stuck in the yarn,” she says, and then she sets to work behind me to untangle it. A minute later, I’m free. I stand and realize the strap on my guitar case is twisted, digging painfully into my shoulder, but before I can fix it, Ballet Chick reaches out for me again. This time, I flinch.

  “I’m just going to—”

  Her hands flicker deftly at my shoulder as she straightens the strap.

  It’s such a … nice thing to do. It makes me uncomfortable.

  She’s so close. She smells really clean, like a just-ripe pear. She’s wearing a tight cream-colored shirt thing that could possibly be a leotard, and right at the edge of her lacy sleeve is a constellation of four freckles.

  Crap. Leave it to Leo Sterling to end up alone with a pretty girl. Recipe for disaster.

  Ballet Chick—Hannah—gives my shoulder a little pat when she’s done. The gesture is so foreign I can only swallow.

  There’s a long, awkward silence, and this time she’s the one who breaks it, leaning down to pick up the books on the floor by my feet. I crouch to join her, and neither of us talk until they’re all back on the table.

  She avoids my eyes, looking instead out the window at the sun-drenched street.

  “So … what do you think is going on?” she asks.

  I bristle. That’s one of the few questions I don’t want to answer. I’ve been trying to ignore the whole situation.

  “I think it’s pretty obvious,” I say. “We’re dead.”

  I shrug my shoulders. Dead. Whatever. No big deal.

  She takes a shaky breath but then gathers herself. “I thought so too, for a while. But I … I feel alive. Everything’s the same, there’s just nobody here.”

  “I guess I haven’t really thought much about it. I’ve been a little busy. Spending a lot of time playing guitar.”

  “That song you were singing before—”

  “Oh, that was nothing—” No one was supposed to hear that.

  “It was beautiful,” she finishes. “I probably would have kept hiding if I hadn’t heard you singing.”

  “So singing equals trust, huh?”

  “More like … it proved you were human and not a zombie.”

  “Is that what you’re thinking? Zombies?”

  “Not really.”

  That doesn’t seem a hundred percent true, because as she says it, a little shiver runs through that straight spine of hers.

  “I’ve kind of been hoping there was an evacuation we missed somehow,” she says. “For a hurricane or a tornado or something.”

  “I guess those are possibilities. It’d be a lot cooler if we were in the Matrix, though.”

  Hannah considers it. “Some kind of virtual reality is on my list. Maybe we’re pawns of a higher intelligence, and they’re sitting on their hovering chaise longues light-years away, staring at holographic projections of us, clicking and dragging our bodies around. But maybe they didn’t realize there’s a glitch that made all the other characters invisible, or maybe they’re kid aliens and they got grounded and aren’t allowed to play with us.”

  I can’t stop the laugh that burbles up out of me. What a fucking weird thing to imagine.

  I like it.

  I wonder what her aliens are doing now. Right-clicking on my head and telling me to take three steps to the left? Maybe they could do me a solid and have me stop staring at the way her wrist floats like a falling feather when she reaches out to straighten a stack of books.

  I tap out a rhythm on the edge of the nearest bookshelf. I’m staring at that constellation of freckles on her arm again when the windows behind her go dark.

  Like, for real dark. It looks like the middle of the night outside. One second ago, it was a scorching bright afternoon, and now it’s … not.

  We both freeze and look at each other. Her cheeks glow orange from the nighttime streetlights shining in through the windows. I can’t see her freckles anymore, but I can see the WTF written all over her face.

  I bolt for the window and press my hands against the glass. Outside, the street has been transformed into a strange, electric night.

  This can’t be happening. Suns don’t just wink out, they go down slowly. Has a cloud passed over? But the sky was clear when I rolled up, and it’d have to be a really big-ass cloud to make it this dark.

  I push open the door. Hannah yelps, “No, don’t,” but I blaze out onto the street anyway.

  As soon as I’m outside, everything snaps back to normal. Fast as a hit on a snare drum. Beat one: dark as midnight. Beat two: bright as noon.

  I close one eye against the glare of the sudden light, like I do when I’m hungover and forget to tape my blackout blind up.

  Hannah steps out onto the sidewalk with the grace and suspicion of a cat.

  “What the hell was that?” I ask.

  Hannah’s forehead creases with worry. “I’ve been seeing shadows, but I thought it was because I’ve been … on edge. But it’s never been dark like that.”

  We both search the sky, but it’s clear and blue. I imagine the sun with its hands tucked behind its back, whistling and pretending to be innocent. Like it didn’t just massively screw up its one job.

  “It must have been an eclipse,” Hannah says. “Right? It must have been.”

  I walk out into the middle of the street and spin to look the other direction, over the roof of the store. The Houston skyline is cut out sharp against the blue. No sign of the moon anywhere.

  Hannah sits down on the curb. She closes her eyes and starts doing this weird thing with her hands. Moving them really fast in swishing patterns.

  I adjust the strap of my guitar case and clear my throat. “Hey, um, anything I should know about? Like … are you a witch or something?”

  “What?” She blinks open her eyes and stops moving her hands. “Oh, no, this is just what I do to calm myself down. I go over my choreography.”

  Her voice—and her hands—are shaky. In fact, she looks like she’s
about to cry. Shit. No, no, no, don’t cry.

  “Hey, we’re all right,” I say, rushing to her side. “It was just a little shadow.” I look around, panicked. There’s nothing here that can cheer her up. No tasty food. No TV, no music. Maybe I can play her something?

  My neck is getting all tense, and I don’t like it. So much for my visions of popping champagne and having a party for finding each other in the first place.

  Oh, wait! I twist around and pull an unopened can of Dr Pepper out of the front pocket of my guitar case.

  I pass it to her. “Here, have some sugar. Just, uh, pretend that whole eclipse thing didn’t happen.”

  Hannah eyes the can like it’s arsenic, then finally reaches out for it. She takes the smallest sip and the ramrod stiffness of her neck softens.

  “Carry drinks around in there all the time?” she asks, nodding at my case.

  “Oh, totally. Emergency rations. I’m basically a Boy Scout.”

  And then … she smiles.

  It’s just a tiny strum of a smile, but it makes something inside me stumble.

  It makes her look like a totally different person. A million times more gorgeous. But there’s more to it than that.

  For the first time in a long time, it makes me feel like I’ve done something right.

  I sit down next to her on the curb, shoulder to shoulder. Her crisp pear scent is everywhere.

  The corner of her mouth is still quirked from my joke. It hits me that I want to see another smile. And next time I want it to be more than a strum. I want it to be a full-on power chord of a smile.

  “You know,” I say, “whenever I’m upset, I do something fun. Something that feels good. I call it Leo’s LifeHack. What would make you feel better right now?”

  She thumbs the tab on the Dr Pepper can.

  “Come on,” I prod. “If you could go anywhere in the city, where would you want to go?”

  The smile I was working so hard to coax out drops right to the ground.

  “I want to go home.”

  Yeah … this is going to be harder than I thought.

  My words ring in the air between us. I want to go home.

  “It’s almost dinnertime anyway,” I add, shrinking at how pathetic I sound.

  Leo frowns. “Dinnertime,” he repeats, voice flat.

  I nod. “I eat dinner at five thirty.”

  He studies me warily, like I’m some kind of alien. “Let me get this straight. You can go anywhere in the city, literally anywhere, and you want to go back to your house?”

  “Um … yes?”

  Leo chews his lip. “Hannah?” He leans a little closer to me. I lean closer too, because it feels like he’s about to tell me a secret.

  “I’m not gonna let you hide out in your house!”

  Before I can jerk away from his outburst of energy, he slings an arm over my shoulder. “The world is ours! Please tell me you’ve done something fun. Please tell me you’ve left your house.”

  “Just to get food. Why, what have you been doing?”

  “Everything! Well, not everything. But I already raided my favorite record store, chilled out in my grumpy neighbor’s hot tub, and went a couple of rounds on the Ferris wheel at the Aquarium. I went a little wild last night and broke into the Marriott Marquis. You know, that hotel with the pool on the roof?”

  I blink at him. I would have never thought to do any of that.

  “Hannah! Come on. What do you want to do? Oh—something ballet-related, right? Let me think. Do you want to dance on that really big stage down at the Wortham or something?”

  “I already have.” He knows I’m a dancer, but he has no idea how serious it is. I made my professional debut as Clara in The Nutcracker at the Wortham when I was fourteen.

  “What, really? That’s awesome, and I’m gonna need you to tell me more about that later. But what else do you want to do?”

  I haven’t thought about doing anything fun. I guess he’s right, we can go anywhere we want. I drove all over town on the first day, but I was a little too busy freaking out to stop and relax.

  Now that I think about it, maybe there are a few places I’d like to go. The ice skating rink. The planetarium. I could have gone to a movie theater and watched a dozen films. I could have come here and drowned myself in all my favorite books.

  I look down at my feet. I’ve been such a wet blanket.

  “So? Where do you want to go?” Leo prods.

  “I don’t know,” I say.

  He studies me. “Hmm. Well, you’re in luck. I have big plans for today. Want to come with me?”

  “What are your plans?”

  “Well, before I died—sorry, before we died—my absolute favorite music festival was about to come to town. I know one of the bands, and the lead singer plays this extremely awesome guitar. I’m hoping the guitar is there already, locked up in their tour bus.”

  “And you’re just going to … steal it?”

  “Nobody’s around to stop me,” he says. “Wait, that sounds bad. Don’t worry, Bruce wouldn’t mind. He’d want me to have fun being dead. So are you in?”

  I dig my fingers into my ankles. I need to get back home. Back to my barre and my pointe shoes. The number of hours I have left before the audition on Saturday is shrinking. My piece is in good shape, but I still need to run through it at least twice a day to stay at peak strength and flexibility. I have to keep training as if everything will be normal by then.

  Leo nudges my shoulder with his, knocking me out of my thoughts. “Come on, live a little,” he says. He’s smiling, all bright and expectant.

  He’s … different than I thought he’d be. More complicated, more human. And he distracts me from the emptiness. My imagination is so close to slipping its reins, and dancing isn’t going to cut it anymore.

  I scrunch my nose up. “I feel like I’m going to regret this,” I say. “But okay. Yeah. Let’s go.”

  “Sweet!” The rings on Leo’s thumbs click together as he claps. “Come on, my car’s over here. This is going to be awesome!” He hops up from the curb and offers me a hand.

  I eye it wearily. Hannah. It’s just a hand. He can’t seduce you with a hand.

  I take it. The pressure of his fingers is warm and real as he pulls me to my feet.

  Leo smiles down at me. He’s still a few inches taller than me, even with his slouch and my perfect posture. We just stand there, holding hands.

  It’s the first time he’s looked at me without a constant sparkle of amusement. I want to look away, but I physically can’t. It must be that performer charisma again, or the magnetic good looks, and I’m bitter that I can’t resist.

  Leo cocks his head. “Hmm,” he says. Like I’m a puzzle.

  “Hmm what?” I ask.

  “I think you’re going to be trouble, Hannah Ashton.”

  I flush with heat. I’m going to be trouble? Ha.

  This time Leo breaks the stare first, shaking his head to toss his hair out of his eyes again. He laughs, a quiet, surprised little thing.

  I pull my hand away a little sharper than necessary. Leo reverts to his infuriatingly good-natured grin and points down the street. “Come on, then, Ballet Chick. Car’s that way.”

  He takes off down the street, and I scramble to catch up. Once he’s not looking, I press my hands to my cheeks to cool them down. He’s just a charmer. I’m not special, and I’m certainly not trouble. That’s probably the kind of stuff he says to all the girls.

  Crap. I think my shields need some reinforcements.

  I cross my arms and concentrate on walking. The quiet of the street closes in, threatening to erase even the sound of our shoes on the sidewalk. Leo is hard to keep up with. I should be tired and hungry, but all I can feel is the oppressive heat and a prickling annoyance that his legs are longer than mine. He plows down the sidewalk with a bouncing, carefree sense of purpose.

  And then he stops—next to the most piece-of-crap car I’ve ever seen.

  “Ta-da!” he announ
ces.

  I shade my eyes and look dubiously at the hunk of mustard-yellow metal. It’s sitting right under a No Parking sign.

  “Maybe we should take mine,” I say. “How old is that thing?”

  “Hey! Thunderchicken is completely reliable,” he protests. “And she’s not that old. I mean, fess up. It’s not every day you get to see a 1986 Pontiac Firebird.”

  “I’ve never even heard of—whatever that is.”

  It’s the kind of car that could go on display at vintage car shows, but it’s in bad shape. On the hood there’s a spray-painted outline of … a chicken’s head.

  “It used to be a phoenix with fire shooting out of its beak, but I made my own stencil and changed it to this majestic chicken,” Leo says, trailing a finger over the chicken’s red wattles.

  “Um, very nice,” I lie. It looks like a delivery car for KFC.

  Leo smiles wider and gets in the driver’s seat. With a horrible screech, the engine catches and sputters to life.

  I reach for the door handle. It’s gritty with rust and doesn’t budge. Leo cranks the passenger window down from inside. It gets stuck a few times, and eventually he has to pummel it with his fist to get it all the way down.

  “You can climb in through the window if you want, or come around and slide over.”

  But … he’s already in the car. Which means I’d have to climb over him. My cheeks flare with heat at the image.

  I examine the open window. Rule-follower Hannah would go around and ask him to get out so she could scoot across. It’s the easier, more dignified thing to do. But then Leo looks at me like that’s exactly what he expects me to do.

  Defiance flares in me.

  “I’ll come through here, on one condition,” I say. “You have to look the other way.”

  He laughs and turns his head, and I grab the roof of the car. I do a deep plié, then jump. I press down on the roof of the car like I would on a pas de deux partner’s shoulder, and with a half twist, I shoot my legs inside. Pretty graceful, except for the part where I knock my butt on the way in.