The Way We Fall

by Megan Crewe

  I was almost at her house when a helicopter whirred overhead. A news chopper, probably. Trying to get the scoop the only way they can with the quarantine in place. I imagined some reporter or cameraman up there, peering down at us, and all of a sudden I felt really small. Like an ant in some kid’s ant farm. My hands clenched the wheel and wouldn’t relax until the sound of the propeller had faded away.

  Tessa opened the door as I came up her front walk, and hurried me in. She led me through the house to the backyard, talking about soil zones and sun ratios and other gardening terms that went right over my head. When we stepped outside, she stopped, and we both looked at the greenhouse.

  I hadn’t realized it was going to be so big. They have a good-size yard, and the greenhouse fills up almost the whole thing except the little patio area right by the house.

  But of course you already know that, Leo.

  “Wow,” I said. Part of me was impressed, and part was wondering what the effect on the local bird population has been. It’s like one huge window.

  “We had a smaller one when we first got here,” Tessa said. “But it was always getting cramped. This was my sixteenth birthday present.”

  She was smiling like it was a Ferrari or a trip to Cancún. And I realized then that I’d gotten a hold of the right person after all. Tessa’s parents aren’t the gardeners—she is.

  Inside the greenhouse, the air was heavy and humid, and the sun felt somehow brighter filtering through the glass. The heat and light combined with all the green smells made me kind of dizzy. But I liked it. It was this warm, peaceful space removed from the craziness happening outside.

  “Have you been able to talk to your parents?” I asked as Tessa set up what she called a seedling tray.

  “They phone every day,” she said. “They’re trying to get an exception made to come back.”

  She sounded way more calm than I’d have been in the same position. I looked around and noticed a bench near the back of the greenhouse, by a bush with pink flowers. Suddenly I had an image of you and her sitting there, your arm around her, and the words just popped out: “How about Leo?”

  “Oh, we e-mail back and forth a couple times a week,” she said. “He’s really busy, and I told him I’d rather get two good messages than short ones every day.”

  I remembered how you and I were when I first moved away—sending photos and jokes and random things eleven-year-olds say. For a second, my voice caught in my throat. I swallowed and asked, “Have you told him what’s happening?”

  “Of course not,” Tessa said. “He hasn’t asked about it—either the American news hasn’t picked up the story, or he hasn’t had time to watch—so why bring it up? There’s no way he can help. Leo wanted to get into that school more than anything else in the world. I don’t want to distract him.”

  She had a point. But if your parents haven’t said anything to you either…And your mom wouldn’t, would she? She’d be afraid you’d insist on trying to come back and make sure they’re okay.

  It feels wrong to me. To keep you in the dark, when people you care about are in danger. Shouldn’t it be your decision what you do?

  No matter what Tessa or your parents think, I know you’d want to know. So just a few minutes ago, even though it made me feel ridiculously nervous and sneaky at the same time, I sent a short message to your old e-mail. It bounced back. I guess you switched to a new address sometime in the last couple years. I tried! Maybe I can come up with an excuse to ask Tessa for your current one—I’ll definitely be seeing her again.

  After she planted the seeds, she ushered me into the house and got us both glasses of lemonade.

  “I think it’ll take a couple weeks for the plants to start sprouting,” she said. “But you can come by and check on them whenever.”

  “I’ll call first,” I said. “So you know I’m not sick.”

  She shrugged. “You don’t have to,” she said. “I know you wouldn’t come over if you were. You were the one trying to make sure I was okay the other day.”

  She said it as a simple statement of fact, but my face heated up, remembering, and I looked away. That was when I noticed the board of keys on hooks by the fridge. Tessa must have followed my gaze.

  “My dad does maintenance on a bunch of the summer houses,” she said. “Checking for leaks and other problems during the winter.”

  Then her eyes lit up, and she said, “You know, I bet the owners have all sorts of medications in those places. They always talk about taking pills for their nerves or their blood pressure. If the hospital starts running out…I could get in, no problem.”

  “The government’s going to be sending meds over from the mainland,” I said. “We should be okay.”

  “Well, if anything goes wrong, think about it,” she said. “The summer people don’t need whatever they’ve left here.”

  When I got home, I asked Mom if Dad had mentioned anything about the hospital’s inventory. Apparently the hospital got a good supply of medication before the quarantine started, and he said not to worry. If even Dad doesn’t believe the situation’s desperate, we must be all right.

  But I’m going to keep Tessa’s idea in mind anyway. Maybe we’re okay for now, but who knows what’ll happen tomorrow?

  Drew transferred his custom database file to my computer yesterday afternoon. It amazes me how easily he can bend programs to his will. If he wanted to, I’m sure he could get a big-money computer job right out of high school, but he’s still set on becoming a lawyer. “One of the few not-corrupt ones,” as he says.

  Of course, that’s assuming we even get to finish high school.

  “You sure you’re going to be okay with this?” he said as I was entering the phone numbers.

  “Sure,” I said. “All I have to do is read the script.”

  “Well, yeah,” he said. “But not everyone’s going to be happy to hear from you. A lot of people are angry about the quarantine. You call them up and sound like you’re partly responsible, they might really tear into you.”

  I hadn’t thought about that, but he was right. And what if someone picked up who was going crazy like Mrs. Campbell did? My chest started to get tight, and I took a deep breath.

  “I’ll just be glad they’re on the other end of the phone line, nowhere near me,” I said.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let me know if you want me to take over any time.” He paused, and then added, “It’s really cool to see you getting involved, Kae. I was kind of worried you’d be so freaked out you’d just hole up in your room and let whatever happens happen. Guess you’re braver than I thought.”

  He said the last part with a half smile, and then poked me in that ticklish spot on my side before I could stop him, like he couldn’t let me forget I was his kid sister even while he was giving me a compliment. But it was still kind of nice to hear. Drew’s got high standards, and I have the feeling I don’t live up to them very often.

  There’ve been at least a dozen times last night and this morning when I’ve wanted to throw the phone across the room, but I haven’t asked Drew to save me yet.

  A few people do sound happy that someone’s looking out for them. They thank me and promise they’ll take all the precautions. But lots of others start ranting about the quarantine as if it was my idea.

  The worst ones, though, are the people who’re coughing and sneezing while they’re on the phone with me. The ones who haven’t been sick very long ask me if they should be worried, and what medicine they should take, and I don’t know what to tell them other than that someone will come by from the hospital to pick them up. And the ones who’ve been sick for a while chatter away, gossiping about people I don’t even know or telling me all sorts of details about their lives, until I’ve said five times that I need to get off the phone and end up just hanging up.

  Actually, those aren’t the worst. Because there are also the calls where I get no answer at all. Where people either took off early or have gotten so sick there’s no one to answer the
phone.

  I’m trying not to think too much about that.

  I don’t know what to do. I was sitting here reading what would have been this week’s history chapter, and all of a sudden I got this tickle in my throat. No actual coughing, but this itchy, scratchy feeling. I just drank a whole glass of water and it’s still there.

  What if I caught it? What if Rachel gave me the virus, and the symptoms have just taken ages to show up?

  No one else is home. Maybe I should go to the hospital? Or am I safer staying here until I’m sure? I don’t want to get

  Never mind. I coughed a few times, and now I feel fine. I must have gotten something stubborn stuck in my throat. Wow. I don’t think I’ve ever felt this relieved in my entire life.

  Thank you, thank you, thank you, any higher powers that happen to be listening!

  Over the last few days I got through almost all of the phone list. Then yesterday, after my little panic attack, I decided it was time to take a break, and did some more baking with Mom and Drew.

  We used up all the flour in the house, but Mom didn’t seem concerned. By the end of the afternoon the entire house smelled like a bakery, doughy and sweet. I don’t know how much bread and rolls and cookies are going to help anyone, but even if they just put a smile on the patients’ faces and distract them for a minute, I guess the work was worth it.

  Dad seemed impressed, but he’s probably less happy now that he’s carried all the bags we filled to work. His fault for insisting on leaving the car with us in case there’s an emergency.

  I made the last few calls this morning: sick, angry, angry, really sick, and no answer. After that I couldn’t take another moment of being stuck in my room. I went downstairs and saw Mom standing by the living room window, looking out at the street.

  There was no one there. She was just gazing at the outside, like animals do at the zoo, remembering when they had a whole world that wasn’t caged in. It made my heart ache.

  “Let’s go to the park,” I said. “The ferrets could use a walk.”

  I expected her to argue, but she smiled.

  “That’s a good idea,” she said. “We’ve got to give ourselves a moment to stop being scared every now and then. It can’t be healthy staying cooped up inside all day. Go see if Drew wants to come. I’m going to call your uncle.”

  No one answered when I knocked on Drew’s bedroom door, so I peeked inside. His computer and his unmade bed and his sci-fi movie posters were all there, but he wasn’t. He’s been sneaking out for an hour or two most days. I wonder where he’s going? Just to hang out with friends, to prove the virus isn’t going to run his life? I hope he’s remembering his mask, at least.

  I put the leashes on Mowat and Fossey more slowly than I needed to, because I could hear Mom’s voice carrying up the stairs. The quarantine’s really pissed Uncle Emmett off, no surprise, and he’s been taking his frustration out on Mom. I didn’t come downstairs until she’d gotten off the phone, and by then she looked calm enough.

  “We’ll take Meredith along,” she said. “It’ll be good for her too.”

  “Drew wasn’t interested,” I told her.

  We drove the two blocks to Uncle Emmett’s house, and then the five blocks to the park. Mom’s eyes kept flickering back and forth when we left the car, as if she expected some maniac to come leaping from the shrubbery. But all we saw were a few fall birds hopping through the trees. After a couple minutes she relaxed. I pulled down my face mask so I could taste the fresh air, and she didn’t say anything.

  “Can I take one of them?” Meredith asked, practically bouncing, and I handed over Mowat’s leash. She raced with him to a patch of tall grass, giggling. She must have been dying to get out.

  Fossey decided she wanted to take a dip in the pond, so I let her tug me over to the edge. She slipped in and then scurried back out, shaking herself with her fur all puffed up. I glanced around to call Meredith over, and then I saw we weren’t the only people in the park after all.

  About thirty feet off, through the trees, a group of guys was standing around, a couple of them passing a bottle of beer back and forth. None of them had masks. I recognized most of them from school—Quentin was there, and the guy with the tawny hair that Mackenzie pointed out when we were here last time. Gav. The fighting club. I couldn’t remember exactly who’d been with him before, but I was pretty sure it was the same group.

  Right then, Quentin turned my way. His expression didn’t change, but he said something to the others, and a few more of the guys looked over. My fingers tensed on the leash. They were being really careless about the virus. If just one of them had been exposed, he could pass it on so easily. But I had my mask, and maybe they’d heard things we hadn’t found out through Dad.

  While I was debating whether to go talk to them, Fossey managed to tangle her leash around the branches of this brambly bush. I had to crouch down to work it loose. By the time I’d gotten her free, the guy with the tawny hair was walking toward me.

  I stood up with Fossey on my shoulder. I had the urge to yank my mask back over my face, but that seemed incredibly rude. At least he wasn’t scratching or coughing.

  He stopped when he was a few steps away. Like he knew I’d want him to keep a little distance. “Hey,” he said. “You’re Kaelyn, right? Can I talk to you for a sec?”

  There wasn’t anything threatening about him. He just stood there waiting, his eyes intent on me. I felt awkward, especially with Fossey squirming across the back of my neck, and I lowered my gaze. The cuffs of his shirtsleeves were rolled up, and he had a brownish-yellow blotch from a fading bruise by his wrist. His forearms were wiry with muscle. Possibly from pummeling his friends on a regular basis.

  I made myself look at his face instead, and tried to sound normal. “Sure,” I said. “What about?”

  “I hear your dad’s some sort of expert on diseases,” he said.

  “He’s a microbiologist,” I said. “So, yeah, he’s studied bacteria and viruses and that sort of thing.”

  “So you must know more than just about anyone what’s really going on,” he said. “What’s he told you? How bad is it really?”

  “Pretty bad,” I said. “They still haven’t found an effective treatment. People are dying. The people who haven’t died aren’t getting better. My dad’s really worried.”

  “So this quarantine isn’t going to get lifted anytime soon,” he said, jerking his hand in the direction of the mainland. “They’re saying to hell with us.”

  “Well, if the doctors find a working treatment, everything could be okay in a few days,” I said. “And the government hasn’t abandoned us. The health agency’s here, and they’re going to be sending food and supplies.” All the same things I’ve been telling myself over and over.

  He smiled crookedly. “Right,” he said. “As long as helping us isn’t too much trouble. First time one of them gets sick, it’ll be ‘Sayonara!’ and we’re on our own.”

  One of the other guys called out, “Hey, Gav, come on!” before I had a chance to answer. He gave me a nod.

  “Thanks,” he said. “Stay safe.” I watched him stride back across the lawn toward his friends, a weight sinking deep in my stomach.

  The government would never totally give up on us, would they? I mean, how would Gav even know how they work? He’s just freaked out like the rest of us.

  Maybe for some people it’s easier to be angry. But if I couldn’t keep believing we’ll get through this, I’d probably end up hiding away in my room like Drew expected.

  I tried to put that conversation with Gav out of my head. Told myself I had enough to worry about already. But it’s starting to look like he was right.

  The first shipment from the mainland came today. The government was supposed to be making sure the distribution was done fairly and safely, with people going door to door so everyone got some of the food without having to go out and risk being exposed. It sounded decent of them. They could have dumped the supplies at the dock and ta
ken off, but they were going to make an effort instead.

  So Mom and Drew and I were at home waiting for the doorbell to ring. I was trying to figure out what exactly the government would consider essential foods, and wondering whether the grocery store had any Cheetos left and if I might have to go the whole quarantine without them—as if cheezies really mattered right now. And then the bell finally sounded.

  It wasn’t the food delivery, though. It was Uncle Emmett. He glowered at Mom, who’d gotten to the door first. I saw Meredith sitting in the truck behind him, peering at us through the window. Her shoulders were hunched and she was nibbling at her thumbnail.

  “I know Gordon’s got you brainwashed into agreeing with the quarantine,” Uncle Emmett said. “But I thought I should at least try. There’s a protest at the dock. We want them to see just who they’re killing here. If you come now, we can get there on time.”

  “Emmett, you’re smarter than this,” Mom said. “Come in and have lunch with us. Who knows what could happen down there? Think about Meredith!”

  He nodded sadly. “I am thinking about Meredith,” he said. “Think about what could happen to her—to your kids—if we let those government bastards leave us here!”

  Mom tried to stop him, but he stomped to the car and peeled off. Her mouth went tight.

  “I can’t just let him go,” she said. “Not when he’s in a mood like that.”

  I imagined Mom being swallowed up in the protest. “I’ll come with you,” I said. “In case someone needs to keep an eye on Meredith.” But mostly I wanted to keep an eye on her.

  Mom didn’t even stop to call up to Drew. She grabbed a face mask for herself, shoved one at me, and ran to the car.