Sugar & Squall

by J. Round

  “There’s an office or two up here, a bunch of storage rooms, the library and the admin office,” Logan said, pointing off to the left and right. I’d let him take the lead. There was something driving him on, like he couldn’t wait to find everyone and be free of me. My legs were lead beneath me, but he just powered upwards, desperate.

  “I think there’s a phone in the principal’s office and one on the secretary’s desk that’s for student use. We’ll try them both. If that doesn’t work, we can jump on the net in the library.”

  “You really know your way around for a newcomer,” I said, growing bolder.

  “I like to be prepared,” he replied, turning and walking into the principal’s office.

  I spoke to his back. “Like a scout?”

  He didn’t turn, or reply.

  I followed him in. Sadly, I’d been in this position more than a few times. The principal at my last school had been a hard old hag. There was no corporal punishment. I wasn’t bent over any desk and belted. No, she just looked at you in a certain way, a slant of the eye, and that would be enough.

  “You’re a deeply troubled girl,” she’d said to me, knowing full well the childish connotation of ‘girl’. That was good, but she was saving her trump card. “It’s sad, really, that your mother isn’t around. She’d be deeply disappointed.”

  I’d thought of my mother on the street, cut down by some junkie for fifty dollars, bleeding out onto the pavement, the bloody knife by her side. I’d thought of the ice-cream falling from my hand as I ran to her, the coward running away with her purse, people pointing but doing nothing. I’d thought of her and I’d wanted to hurt this bitch in front of me. I’d wanted to hurt her so bad.

  Instead I’d sat there simmering until the cops came, trying to burn right through her with my eyes. All the while she just looked at me – a piteous look that I’ll never forget.

  “Nothing,” Logan said.

  The phones in the office were both dead. We moved onto the library, books our only accomplice. Logan kept tapping the enter key on the computer keyboard so that the same thing cycled on the screen over and over.

  “There’s no network. Power, yes. Internet, no. It probably goes down in bad weather, but I don’t remember a storm last night.”

  “What about cell phones?” As I said it I remembered there was no reception. Stupid.

  “No, it’s not a bad thought. Somebody said they keep a bunch of prohibited items in a box in the principal’s office, but I already checked. They’d be no use anyhow.”

  “How far is it to shore?” I was rolling now.

  “It’s too far to swim if that’s what you’re thinking. Plus it’s winter, and there’s supposed to be a really bad undercurrent that runs right around the island. Apparently, no one swims in the ocean. It’s too dangerous. That’s why there’s the pool.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  I didn’t.

  He held my gaze and then suddenly averted his eyes, as if he couldn’t bear me.

  I suggested we do a final check of the perimeter of the school. We walked around until it was clear to all parties involved we were doing nothing but chasing our own tails. The sun fell all the while. It would be dark soon.

  “Hungry?” Logan said casually, his shirt flapping in the breeze.

  On cue, my stomach gave out something between a chirp and a groan. I pressed on it through my sweater, mortified.

  Logan laughed a little, for the first time. “I think it’s settled. Come on.”

  “What about the others?” I protested.

  “We have to eat,” he said, harsher than I expected, and then he was already off back to the school.

  In the kitchen, he opened the one of the five or six industrial-sized fridges one-handed, peering inside with deep concentration. Even under the Freon glow inside, a light that would be most unflattering to most, he looked angelic.

  “See anything you like?” he said, nodding his head at the fridge’s innards.

  But I wasn’t looking inside the fridge. Sure do.

  I peered in, noting a large container of what looked to be lasagna labeled ‘Monday’ up the back.

  Logan went to grab it, but I stopped him. “No, I’ll do it. Find some plates and cutlery.”

  It’s the least I can do, I thought, as Logan skated around the kitchen with purpose.

  Five minutes later, we sat at one of the tables in the dining hall. Even though I’d nuked it well beyond levels that were safe for human consumption, I had to admit the lasagna tasted pretty good. Better than Italy even.

  At least the lights stayed on.

  We both ate rapidly, taking small bites, keeping our mouths closed as we chewed, an artificial hum flatlining in the background. We sat spaced a few feet apart. It seemed neither of us was prepared to move closer.

  “Not bad.” Logan shoved in another spoonful of lasagna. “If this doesn’t pan out, you could always be a chef.”

  “Ah, no,” I said. “I struggle with macaroni cheese.”

  I almost spilled it then, that we had a team of cooks at our bidding. “Dad and I eat out a lot. That’s all.”

  I was hacking through another pasta sheet with the side of my spoon, the knife Logan had laid out for me neglected on the tabletop.

  “What’s your dad like?” he asked.

  “He’s not so bad. He tries, but he’s usually flat-out with work.”

  I knew what the next question would be, so I answered first.

  “Mom’s dead.”

  It was dramatic, but I’d learned plain truth without any frills or fancy was best.

  “I know.”

  “You know?”

  “I mean, I don’t, but I’m sorry.”

  Logan looked down into what was left of his lasagna.

  I pulled my hair back over my ears. “It’s fine, really. It was a long time ago. What about you? What are your parents like?”

  “I don’t know. I haven’t seen them in a while.”

  “Oh? Where was your last school?”

  It was a while before he answered. “It was a lot bigger, public, inner-city. Yours?”

  I shrugged my shoulder, resting a spoonful of sauce back on the plate. “Same. In the city, lots of kids, nothing special.”

  Logan stopped eating altogether. “What did you do to end up here?”

  “It’s a long story.” I hovered here. Give him the truth, something told me. Don’t sugarcoat it.

  “I punched someone and they fell through a window.”

  Most people freaked out when I told them. I sort of enjoyed the shock value of it. Logan’s spoon didn’t falter, nor his expression. It was completely neutral, like he’d expected it. “Must have been some punch.”

  “Hardly.”

  “Should I be worried? Do I need protection? I’m pretty lethal with a spoon, you know,” he said, brandishing his in the air like a sword. He was joking. That was good.

  I rolled my eyes. “It was an accident.”

  He sat back in his chair. “I see. So they sent you here.”

  “Yep, that’s about it. I’ll probably get blamed for all this.”

  “You’ve got me,” he said. “I’ll be your PIC.”

  “PIC?”

  “Partner in crime.”

  “Oh, right. And you, what was your ‘crime’?”

  He paused again before answering. “Let’s just say I got a bit too involved with a girl.”

  I gave him a look of concern.

  “Oh, nothing like that. You’re way off.”

  I didn’t press further, so we sat in silence.

  Logan looked ahead. I couldn’t work out what he was thinking about, if anything. The proximity of it all, the sheer fact we sat, alone, a few feet apart, both excited and infuriated me all at once given I’d never make the first move.

  Yet I felt guilty. I felt guilty for sitting here thinking about him when everyone else was who knows where, maybe taken, dead, locked away, or worse.

  The hall was wa
rm, but goose-bumps lined my arms.

  I didn’t want to think about it any more, the others.

  Screw them.

  I finished and pushed my plate away as was habit, but no one swooped in to take it. I tried to fold my legs, my arms, but couldn’t get comfortable. I decided to break the silence, trying to make the sentence as short and succinct as possible to avoid stuffing it up. Although I’d just run it through five times in my head, when it came out it was ghostly quiet.

  “So, what are you into?” Add something else, quick. “Sports or anything?”

  Sports? What the hell.

  He looked into my eyes. Eyes, plural. Most people tended to go for either the left or right when they looked straight at me as if it wasn’t right to look at both together, that there was something wrong with one or the other.

  I’d been avoiding making direct eye contact with people my whole life, but I’d been caught out here. As he looked at me, I was kind of glad of it. Contacts were useless now. He’d seen the real me.

  I’d almost forgotten what I’d asked when he answered.

  “I run and do the usual stuff. I like to swim, but nothing competitive.”

  I wanted to tell him that ‘yeah, you must work out’ and how fit he was, but I didn’t reply, which compelled him to go on.

  “I like running because it’s just me, you know?”

  I nodded once.

  “There’s something about running that’s more purposeful. It’s not… showy.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Ah, no. You don’t. “So you’ve never won any trophies or anything?”

  He rubbed the edge of the plate with his finger. “Just one, for marksmanship.”

  I almost choked. “Shooting?”

  “Yeah, professionally, you know?”

  Something was telling me to run, but I stayed fixed to the spot. “You hunt?”

  He looked confused. “No, it’s just for… sport. I sound stupid. I shouldn’t be telling you this.”

  “It’s okay, and you don’t sound stupid,” I said, almost reaching out.

  I saw him flinch away.

  Against better judgment, I shifted the subject back to the obvious. “Any more theories on where everyone’s gone?”

  He looked to the back of the room. “I honestly don’t know. It’s weird. Everyone’s here one day and gone the next. They could have been evacuated, but from what? It just doesn’t add up,” he said, shaking his head. “There’s no sense to it.”

  He paused. “What do you think?”

  “I don’t know either,” I replied, then, as if to build up some intelligence, “but it’s not normal. People don’t just disappear, and there’s all this stuff lying around randomly, broken windows, doors, the mess. It doesn’t fit together. So I guess we just sit tight. The ferry will be here on the weekend, and we’re not short of food.”

  Logan nodded. “You’re right. We’ll sit tight, wait it out.”

  I didn’t reply, so we sat in silence again. I used the time to admire him out of my peripheral vision. While I had to make do with a somewhat incomplete view given my hair was sheeted between us, it wasn’t hard to understand why he was so universally appealing to girl-kind.

  Pressed down upon the tabletop, his arms were steady and solid. He was sitting straight with perfect posture, his shoulders pushed back and his stomach gently sending his T-shirt in and out like a sail. Just above, I noticed his heartbeat was elevated, hammering away under his clothing.

  I kept my eyes moving upwards, to his face, and there was not one thing I would have seen fit to change. His eyes flicked sideways, met mine and we both looked away. It was my heart that pounded now, though looking dead ahead, he’d never know.

  It was clear wherever it was everyone had gone they wouldn’t be back tonight, but it bit at us both. Everything we did, every minute we spent together, seemed overshadowed by it.

  Oddly, the more time I spent with Logan, the more relaxed I felt, even amid a situation as strange as this. There was something halcyon about his demeanor. I wanted to be around him. That was new to me, uncharted territory. But should I be around him? Was he dangerous? That was the question.

  He was so hard to pick. He still seemed to have his defenses up. Every time I tried to pull closer mentally or physically he’d pull away – not that I was any good at flirting, socializing even.

  How can you even be thinking about stuff like that at a time like this? I reminded myself.

  I took a shower while Logan stood guard outside. I was glad of it. The few times I’d been in here it’d been bursting at its tiled seams with girls clawing each others’ eyes out to get a spot at the sink or showers. Yesterday morning, hair-straighteners running at full power had filled the air with an aroma something like freshly pressed linen. Tonight, it smelt of nothing at all.

  I stood by myself with the pick of everything. The water was warm. For that I was thankful ten times over. I didn’t want to leave him out there, so I reluctantly made it short, dried down, threw one of Jemma’s gowns over myself – share alike and all that – and walked back out into the hall, my hair heavy and damp behind me.

  Logan sat against the wall flicking his thumbs over each other. He looked up at me.

  “Good?”

  “Yeah, water’s warm” I replied. “You want one?” I motioned back into the bathroom.

  “I’m fine.” He must have realized this implied ‘…with being dirty’, so added, “I shower in the morning. That’s all.”

  “Suit yourself,” I said, heading back down to the room. Uninvited, he followed, again standing to attention outside while I changed into my pajamas.

  I called him in when I was done. He sat on Jemma’s bed motionless, like a lost little schoolboy that had somehow stumbled into entirely the wrong room.

  “It’s a lot cleaner than the one I’m in,” he said, admiring the floor, the ceiling and walls.

  Someone’s uniform was crumpled up beneath the window. It really did look like they’d been standing there and ‘poof’, disappeared forever, leaving nothing but a skirt, socks and a sleeveless jumper.

  Logan looked over things. He flattened out the bed beneath him with his hand and studied Jemma’s belongings. None of my roommates would have ever expected a guy in here. I had a little laugh to myself when Logan immediately diverted his eyes from the packet of crayon-colored tampons sitting proudly on Jemma’s dresser. She’d drop dead if she knew.

  Now he was looking around lucidly as if following a fly, careful not to rest for too long on any one particular spot should it hold another girly surprise. “I guess you guys weren’t expecting company.”

  “Not exactly,” I said, combing out my hair. It caught on the ends. I roughly yanked it through.

  Logan looked at me like I’d just run a razor down my arm. “Jesus, doesn’t that hurt?”

  “Kind of,” I answered, dragging out the knots, my other hand pulling it tight together above.

  “Why do you do it, torture yourselves like this?” he asked, picking up an eyelash curler.

  “I don’t know. I guess we just want to look good. Besides, my hair looks stupid when it’s not straight.”

  “I think it looks fine,” he said, eyes averted.

  That caught me out. “Trust me,” I said, “if you saw me in the morning you wouldn’t think so.”

  “I beg to differ,” he said, standing up. “Ask any guy and he’ll tell you girls always look their best when they just wake up. We like things messy.”

  “I got that,” I said, thinking back to the boys’ dorm. I decided to throw the big question out there, concentrating on my hair and trying to make it as casual as possible.

  “Do you have a girlfriend?”

  He went back to rolling his thumbs over each other, continuing his browsing. “Not at the moment, no.”

  “You’ve had girlfriends in the past?”

  “Kind of. Not really.”

  “You? Boyfriends, that is.”

  “Nothing steady.”


  “Older or younger?”

  “Same age.”

  “Same school?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Idiots?”

  “Yeah,” I replied in enthusiasm, opening my eyes wide to nail it home.

  “Pepsi or Coke then?”

  “Coke.”

  “Vanilla or strawberry”

  “Strawberry. What is this, an inquisition?”

  Logan put his hands up.

  “My turn,” I said, putting down the comb and bringing my fingers up ready to tick off each question.

  “Boy or girl?”

  “Boy, hopefully,” he said, staring down at his crotch. I tried not to laugh.

  “Um, sushi or hamburger?”

  “Hamburger.”

  “Solitude or sanity”

  “Good one. Solitude, I guess?”

  “Green or blue?”

  It was a trick question, but he looked straight into my eyes when he answered. “Both.”

  Something inside me skipped a beat. It boomed in the circumstance.

  We stared at each other, our eyes swimming in stalemate. It felt so weird with the mystery at hand behind it. I had no doubt when I put my head to the pillow I’d awake to everyone and everything from the day before. All this would be lost.

  “Do you want me to sleep with you?”

  If I hadn’t have been so stunned I might have leaped across the room and slapped him across the face. My expression spoke louder than words. He started backpedaling fast.

  “No, no, no. I mean, do you want me to sleep here tonight, with you?”

  My eyebrows pointed directly into the center of my face with a look I imagined would probably have frozen fire itself. Now he was sweating.

  “That’s not what I meant.” He buried his face in his hands and took a deep breath. His next words were slow and measured. “I meant to say I can sleep in the room next door, you know, if you don’t want to be alone. I didn’t mean here, with you, us… I’m just going to shut up.”

  I’d never been good with the male population as a whole. I’d somehow skipped that chapter of life, so my humble attempt here to drag this out, to not give up that ‘yes, I know you have only good intentions at heart’ flopped spectacularly. I caved in.

  “That would be nice – you next door.”