365 Days Alone

by Nancy Isaak

  “I am so going to miss Oreos when they’re all gone,” she sighed.

  “I wonder where they’re made,” I mused. “Wouldn’t it be great if it was somewhere near here? We could have an expedition and clean out their warehouse.”

  “Have you ever noticed how much we all talk about food now?” We both spun around to find Cherry plunking herself down on the bleacher behind us. “And welding without electricity,” she pondered, watching Jude heat up a metal bar in the giant barbeque that was serving as her forge. “Hard to believe that she learned this from library books?! Can you imagine what we girls could do if we actually got the internet back?”

  “I thought you were still down at the laundry,” I said.

  “Crap’s on the line right now. Thought I’d see what this so-called ‘container business’ is all about.”

  * * * *

  Down on the field, Jude lifted off her safety helmet, flexing her arms—stretching out the kinks.

  “Girl’s looking pretty butch these days,” Cherry said, admiringly. “And I mean that in a bronzed-muscle goddess kind of way…very Flashdance-O.G.”

  There was sweat staining Jude’s t-shirt and her hair was matted against her forehead. But Cherry was right—Jude looked good.

  In fact, now that I was really studying her, Jude could easily have passed as Brad Pitt’s younger, meaner sister.

  “You sure she’s straight?” asked Cherry.

  Down on the football field, Jude suddenly looked up. As if she sensed that we were talking about her, she took off one of her work gloves and gave us the finger.

  “Pretty sure,” I said.

  “Too bad,” said Cherry. “It would have been romantic.”

  I looked at her, shocked—thinking about Wandy.

  Cherry shook her head quickly. “Not for me, doof! Just in general. Things the way they are, it’s not like she’d have a lot of competition.”

  Thinking about that, I sighed. “I wish Porter could have seen her like this.”

  “Porter McIntyre...the smarty-pants whiz-kid?”

  “He and Jude worked together at Vons. They were friends.”

  “Isn’t he, like two years younger than Jude?” asked Cherry.

  “Yeah, but they still got along.”

  Cherry stared down at Jude, who was now measuring out another shiny piece of metal. “Interesting…our girl’s got some game.”

  Beside me, Jay finished the last of her Oreos. She turned toward Cherry, telling her, “This is where Kaylee used to sit, mooning over Jacob Riker during football practices.”

  I immediately whacked Jay on the top of her head. She merely giggled.

  Cherry, meanwhile, smiled and pointed to a bench higher up from where we were sitting. “That’s where I used to sit, mooning over the cheerleaders during football practices.”

  * * * *

  “Hand it over.”

  Jude sat astride the bleacher in front of us and grabbed the paper bag Jay was holding out. She looked inside. “Peanut butter and jelly again?”

  “At least we get cookies this time,” I noted.

  “Cool.” Reaching inside the bag, Jude pulled out the cookies. “Did you see who’s been watching the build?”

  “You mean, besides us?” said Cherry.

  “Over by the Concession stand.” Jude motioned with her head. “In the shadows.”

  I leaned over to take a look. It was hard to see, but I could just barely make out a skinny girl with long blond hair. “Is that Peyton?”

  Jude nodded. “Uh-huh…she shows up every day, watches for about an hour, then goes away again. Doesn’t say a word…just watches.”

  “Maybe she’s into your bulging muscles,” joked Cherry, which made me giggle. Since I was the closest, it was my arm that took the brunt of Jude’s punches.

  “Ouch…ouch…stop it!”

  “Toughen up, Barbie,” Jude flexed her arm, about to whack me again, but got side-tracked by her own muscles. “Wow,” she said, touching her biceps. “I really do have guns!”

  “Stop admiring yourself,” I chided. “Now tell us why Peyton is here. Is it just to watch you build the container?”

  Jude unwrapped her cookies and shoved one in her mouth. She chewed slowly, savoring the Oreo—even if it was a little stale. “It’s only a guess,” she finally said, “but I think Peyton’s trying to wrap her mind around it.”

  “The container you’re building?” asked Cherry.

  “What container?” Jude grinned. “You innocents still haven’t realized that I’m building a prison?”

  The three of us—Jay, Cherry, and I—turned and gaped down at the center of the field.

  How could we have not seen it?! The bars, the locked door, the unbreakable steel.

  Of course, Jude was right.

  The Foxes were building a prison!

  JOURNAL ENTRY: Jay #2

  (Jay here again. Kaylee wants this in my own words.)

  So one of the 12th graders—Janna Carter—has been pretty sick lately. I don’t know for sure, but I think that she might be anemic or something like that. At least, I’m hoping that might be the problem, because the alternative would really be scary.

  I’m talking about the ‘Big C’—Cancer.

  If she’s got that, then there isn’t anything that I’d really know how to do to help her.

  Anyway—Janna’s pretty weak and, right now, the only thing I can do is to make sure that she gets lots of rest and fluids and eats better than the rest of us. Because anemia is caused by being low in iron, I’ve put her on some high-iron supplements that were in the medical supply.

  Also, I read in one of the medical books about what iron-rich foods would help her out. We don’t really have any of the ones listed, but I did find thirty cans of oysters in the kitchen and they’ve got a lot of iron in them. Sophia wasn’t happy when I took all of the cans, but I don’t care.

  I just want to help Janna.

  Fingers crossed.

  * * * *

  I don’t usually go and visit the girls in their houses when there’s a medical problem. Instead, everyone has to come to the Medical Center.

  Janna is an exception.

  Because she’s so sick right now, I go up to the Foxes Compound every day and check on her there. She lives in a yellow house, on the same hill where the Foxes live. There’s another 12th grader who lives with her. Plus, a 9th grader comes each day to do the housework.

  So—yesterday, I go to see Janna just after five, when my shift ended at the Medical Center. I had spent the afternoon, teaching Belinda how to sew stitches. We’d both been practicing by sewing up multiple layers of fabric together. I wish I could say that I learned how to stitch up lacerations from my doctor-mom, but the truth is that I learned it from one of the medical books that Kaylee brought back from the Westlake Village Library.

  Hopefully, I will never have to actually sew stitches into anybody.

  I’m kind of messy. Belinda is even worse.

  Back to Janna—she was actually doing better today. When I made her eat the oysters, she complained, but she still ate the whole can. Plus, Belinda found two cans of cranberry-grape juice in the back of the kitchen, which was a real treat and some good Vitamin C for Janna.

  Overall, I’d have to say that Janna is progressing. Her color is coming back and she seems to have a lot more energy. I’m still really worried about her, though.

  Please, please don’t let it be cancer.

  * * * *

  It was just past dusk when I finally left Janna’s house.

  Because I’m the ‘doctor’, the Protection Detail usually leaves me alone when I’m walking through the Compound—even if it is past curfew. Still, I try to move fast. It always creeps me out, the way the 11th and 12th graders watch me go by, wearing their stupid guns and suspicious faces.

  However, I always slow down when I pass the Foxes’ house.

  Every time, I look at the windows when I pass, hoping to see Lily looking back out at me.


  She never does.

  So, tonight—when I was walking through the Compound area—I was surprised because there weren’t any older girls around. In fact, I only saw one guard at the Foxes’ house. She was seated on the right side of the house, leaning back with her head against the wall, fast asleep.

  For a moment, I was tempted to try and sneak into the Foxes’ house to see if I could find Lily. But—truthfully—I was too scared to do it.

  Then—I heard music.

  It was faint, but it was coming from the house across the street.

  That was odd to me because, as far as I knew, nobody lived in that house. It was a big, old two-storey with bougainvillea hedges all the way around. And now that I was looking at it, I was pretty sure that there was light coming from the basement windows.

  * * * *

  I couldn’t help myself; curiosity got the better of me, and I decided to look through the windows.

  First, I made sure that nobody else was around.

  Then, I tiptoed around the side of the house and bent down beside the nearest basement window.

  There was definitely light and music coming through it.

  Unfortunately, there was also a curtain over the window, so I could see nothing inside of the basement but vague shadows.

  I moved further along, to the next window—curtain there, also.

  Suddenly…a door creaked open!

  I barely had time to hide behind the bougainvillea, before Orla and Tray came out of the back door of the house. They were both carrying drinks. Orla had something in a whiskey glass and Tray was drinking from a beer bottle.

  Through the open door, I could hear the music better. It was one of the same songs that Wandy had played the night of her birthday.

  It was Wandy’s Victrola that I was hearing!

  “God, I miss boys,” sighed Orla.

  “Yeah,” agreed Tray. “Partying isn’t the same without Brandon.”

  “And Shelton’s being kind of a little bitch.”

  “She’s two weeks away from her eighteenth. I think her conscience is getting the better of her. She wants to stop.”

  “That’s stupid,” said Orla. “What does she think—that she’s going to hell or something?”

  “Or something.” Tray took a swig of her beer. “What about Peyton?”

  “What about her?”

  “I don’t know. She just seems, like weird.”

  “She misses Amelie.”

  “Yeah, I guess.” Tray must have finished her beer, because she threw the bottle into the bushes next to me. It hit a rock and shattered.

  “So…do you think we have to take care of the Shelton-thing?” asked Tray.

  “Hope not,” said Orla. “But we should probably at least work out the details…just in case.”

  * * * *

  Nervous about what I’d just heard, I decided that it was time to sneak out of there and head for home. Only—when I turned and went back around the side of the house—I ran straight into Peyton! She was just standing there, waiting—as if she knew that I’d be eventually coming her way.

  “Oh my god, Peyton!” I screeched. “Um—I—you scared me.”

  “Keep your voice down!” she ordered me. “What are you doing here anyway?”

  “I—um—went to check on Janna.”

  Peyton glared at me, her eyes narrowing. “Look, Jay…you really don’t want to be here. It’s too dangerous and I can only do so much.”

  “Okay...sure.” I immediately started moving past, but Peyton grabbed my arm. For a skinny girl she was really strong.

  She leaned in close, whispering in my ear. “Orla and Tray’s birthdays are the third week of November. Mine is on the fourth. It’s why we always celebrate together.”

  * * * *

  Kaylee and Jude and I talked a lot about what Peyton meant. We think that maybe she was trying to warn us that, all we had to do was to make it to the end of November. If the Foxes disappeared like everyone else who turned eighteen, then everything would change on their birthdays.

  We’d have Lily back, and the rest of the 11th and 12th graders would ultimately disappear when they turned eighteen.

  But—there’s one problem with that.

  If it’s true—Jude and Cherry’s eighteenth birthdays are also coming.

  AND THE LIONS ENTER STAGE LEFT

  Sometimes—just after my shift ended—I would sneak into the high school and work on the ‘yearbook-that-would-never-be’. I knew that it was stupid and a gigantic waste of time. But I liked looking at all the pictures of teenagers just being teenagers.

  I’d place the photos in different layouts—enjoying the scenes of kids who had their whole lives ahead of them in a technological wonder of a world. When I looked at those pictures, I’d think back to what had been important to us then.

  This kid had wanted that phone, but his ‘stupid parents’ couldn’t afford it. That girl had bought three different prom dresses and was ‘stressing’ over which one to wear and which ones to return to the store. This other boy was ‘bummed out’ because Mr. Matchling actually gave him a D- on the quarter-finals when he’d ‘kind-of-even-studied’.

  And me?

  I won’t lie—I was always complaining just like everyone else.

  Why did we have to leave Malibu for the Valley? Why does everyone else have an iPad and I’ve got a Dell? It’s stupid, learning about ‘statistical equivalency’—like when would we ever need that in real life anyway?

  It made me cringe, looking back at how self-entitled we kids thought we were.

  What a bunch of whiners we had all been; what a whiner I had been!

  Sorry, Mom.

  * * * *

  There was someone in the yearbook room.

  No candles had been lit, but I could still see her. She was sitting on the window ledge, positioning herself to catch the last rays of sunlight as she drew in a large sketchbook.

  I moved forward slowly.

  This close to dusk it was rare to find anyone in the school.

  Even the Protection Detail girls would be moving out into the streets right about now. The only reason I could be in the school at all was because I was waiting for Jay. Since she could travel through the streets somewhat freely, I often took the opportunity to stay late in the yearbook room and walk home with her after she was finished in the Medical Center.

  One more step closer…no, I definitely did not know this girl.

  She was entirely bald, except for a tiny strip of hair coming down the back of her head—like a little pig’s curlicue-tail. There were gold studs and hoops, all up and down her earlobes. A chain connected one hoop directly to a smaller golden circle that was threaded through her columella.

  “Cherry?!”

  My friend put down her sketchpad and turned to face me. She was grinning. “You like?” she asked, patting her head.

  I didn’t know what to say. Moving closer, I reached up and tentatively ran a hand over her bald head. “Why did you do it?”

  “Orla-bitch wouldn’t let me have any dye.”

  “So…it’s just get-back?”

  Cherry shrugged. “Kind of, but not really. It’s actually something I was thinking of trying anyway. It’s just icing that it’ll probably piss Orla off, too.”

  “Wow,” I said. “What does Shawnee think?”

  “She’s seen me through eight different hair colors. It’s same-old to her now.”

  “Wow,” I repeated.

  “You don’t like it, do you?”

  “You know, I kind of do,” I said, honestly. “Shock and awe—it’s just all part of you. You’re like, this really pretty girl who forces people to see beyond the pretty—to the real you.”

  She grinned. “You think I’m pretty?”

  “Shaddup,” I said, grinning back.

  * * * *

  I found out that Cherry often snuck into the yearbook room. She liked to use the graphic supplies there to work on her drawings.

 
That was another thing I found out that afternoon—Cherry was an artist.

  She usually drew in the Anime-style and had a whole series of graphic comic books that she had been selling online—all big-busty warrior women fighting vampires and, ironically, werewolves. But Cherry was also that unique artist—the kind who could draw or paint almost anything.

  “You’re really talented,” I said, paging through her sketchbook. “Like…really.”

  “Thanks,” Cherry said. “Art calms me, you know…makes things less painful.”

  “It’s hard, huh,” I ventured, “not having Wandy around anymore?”

  Cherry nodded—sad. “It sucks ass. And it doesn’t help that Shawnee won’t stop blubbering all the time.”

  “She’s just twelve.”

  “I know,” Cherry acknowledged. “Plus, she doesn’t have our mother. If mom was around, it’d be so much easier, you know. My mom always knows what to say to Shawnee when she gets like this.”

  “Moms are good that way.”

  “I miss my mom,” Cherry sighed.

  “Second that,” I agreed.

  “And my dad,” she added.

  “Not so much.”

  Cherry looked at me, shocked.

  I shrugged. “He dumped me and my mom for the Boob-Bimbo.”

  “Oh,” said Cherry. “Well, then…sucks to be you.”

  “Tell me about it.”

  And we both laughed.

  * * * *

  “That’s a nice picture of Jacob,” said Cherry. “But this close-up is even better. Because you can see his baby-blues.”

  We were arranging photos on a layout page devoted to my ‘sweet intended’—just because.