“Okay,” I say, and put my bike back. He goes to get the keys and I head out to the truck, using my phone to find the door manual on Google.
3
I slam the mouse down because these library computers are the slowest ever. I couldn’t read the manual on my phone and it won’t load here.
“Everything okay?” Mrs. Kimble asks. She’s behind her big circular desk checking in a mountain of books.
“Computer froze,” I say.
“Try . . .” But I’m tuning her out, opening a new browser because that’s what all the teachers say when something doesn’t work. Still not loading. I should’ve just brought the actual manual with me. I probably could have run back to the shed real quick and grabbed it before my dad said anything. And what would he do anyway? Yell again? That was pretty weird.
“Dude.” Somebody waves a hand in front of my face. “Yo.”
I look up and see Brock. “Hey.”
“Claudia said you were out sick when she picked us up this morning.”
“Yeah. I’m feeling better.”
Tommy sits down next to me and says, “Your face is, like, all weird. Like you’re tired.”
“Uh-huh.”
“I was wondering.” He’s so close I can smell his lunch breath. “I was thinking.”
I try a third browser. The page starts loading but then totally freezes on a white screen. “Mmhm.”
“If you, like, wanted to borrow Pete. For Thursday.”
“What?”
A kid walking by points at Tommy and does this weird motion like he’s hammering something. Tommy laughs and gives the kid a thumbs-up. Then he says, “At movie night Claudia said something about—you guys were going to the cemetery on Thursday.”
I stare at the screen. There’s a tiny dot in the center that’s maybe a speck. I try to smudge it off but it won’t come off. It’s like a busted pixel inside the busted computer. I keep poking and wiping, but it’s not coming off. The monitor is shaking and ready to fall off.
“Pete’s good company,” Tommy says. “He doesn’t say or do much, but that’s cool. You know, like, just to have there. So you’re not by yourself.”
The screen unfreezes. Starts loading the manual real slow. “My sister and dad are going,” I say.
“Yeah, but—people do it with dogs, I read. It’s calming and stuff.”
“Nah.”
“I got a carrying bag,” Tommy says. “I can bring him over before you go.”
I shake my head. “Thanks. I’m okay.”
Another kid walks by and does that hammer-swinging motion to Tommy. He doesn’t laugh or give a thumbs-up this time.
“You missed a good scrimmage,” Brock says to me. “Those Union Middle School punks were begging for mercy by the end.”
“Oh yeah. Sorry.”
“Yeah yeah yeah,” Tommy says. “It’s cool.”
“They’re calling Tommy the Hammer,” Brock says. He does that hammer thing the two kids did. “Because he crushes the other team’s offense. Like a hammer. We’re planning a whole bunch of new signs for the next game.”
“Nice.” The page finally loads and I start reading.
“Lunch is over, boys,” Mrs. Kimble says.
Crap.
I hit PRINT and go to the copier to pick it up. Tommy and Brock follow me.
“We’re making them at my house on Friday,” Brock says. “Brock dogs will be served.”
“Okay.”
“I love Brock dogs,” Tommy says.
“Everybody loves Brock dogs.” We go to leave and Brock holds the door open so a couple seventh graders can come in. He blocks it when I try to go through. “So you’re coming, right? Friday?”
“Yeah.” I count the pages to make sure they’re all there. “Yeah. Friday.”
“Dude.” He says it weird and looks away for a second. “Are you okay?”
“What? Yeah.”
He frowns or something and then goes out the door to class.
4
I take the bus home because it’s faster than waiting for Claudia. I sit in the front so I can be the first one off at my stop.
The door is going on today.
I will be ready.
Today.
I get off the bus and sprint down the sidewalk to my house. I don’t even change—just drop my stuff in the garage and grab my tools and head back to the—
“No.”
The blue tarp is gone.
My bins and stuff are all over the lawn.
Things go wobbly. My brain can’t figure out what is happening but then it figures out exactly what is happening: People got to my stuff. Somebody must’ve seen it and raided my supplies during the day and now it’s all gone.
I’m making this weird sound, but it’s all echoey and now I’m like drifting toward the shed, all woozy. Why didn’t I just stay home like my dad wanted me to? I could have guarded the shed and this wouldn’t have happened—I could have called the police or something. Now it’s all ruined. All my prep.
Gone.
Destroyed.
“Hey.”
I can’t really see that good, but I think that’s Misty walking out of the shed and waving at me.
“Earth to Derrick,” she says.
“What—what are you doing?”
“Waiting for you.”
I walk over and look inside. Most of the stuff is back to normal, except for the bins outside.
But no—something is different.
A giant something.
The new steel door.
It’s on.
“Oh, man,” I say. “What?”
“Pretty sweet, huh?”
The door is rolled up in a tight coil at the top of the opening. “You installed it? How?”
“I mean, you made the pilot holes, and you left the directions.” She shrugs. “The company has a whole video walk-through on their website, so I just watched that a bunch of times.”
I scan all the bolts she put on, then grab my adjustable wrench and check their tension.
“They’re not too tight,” she says. “The guy on the video kept saying how bad overtightening is. By the third time I was like, Buddy, we get it.”
I still check them.
“Good?” she asks.
“Yeah.” I get my level and check to make sure the brackets are straight, and then go outside to see if there are any parts left over. Maybe she skipped something.
But no. Just a couple extra bolts they give you in case you lose some.
“Does it work?” I ask.
“I was waiting for you to try it.”
We go in the shed and each grab a side. The door unrolls easily at first, but gets tough toward the bottom. I fix the spring tension and it unrolls the whole way. The shed goes dark.
“Derrick.”
“Yeah.”
“This is kind of freaking me out.”
“Sorry.”
I feel for the overhead lamp and switch it on. I check every square inch of the door again.
“Misty,” I say. “It’s amazing.”
“You’re probably not super happy.”
“Yeah. I mean, no.” I shake my head. “Thanks. Really.”
She does this bow from like the Middle Ages—lots of wide hand motions and bending way down at the waist. “Sure.”
A couple seconds go by. “Why did you do this?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer right away. “I was up this morning. Early.”
“Okay.”
“I heard lots of yelling, so I came out and—I thought—I thought somebody was trying to steal your stuff.”
My stomach knots. “Mmhm.”
“I’ve had one of those. Panic attacks. I know how scary they can be.”
I’m looking past her at the shadows. My eyes feel really weird, like they’re full or something and if I look right at her I’ll blink and tons of liquid will come out.
“Yeah,” I say.
“Sorry that it happened.”
“Uh-huh.”
“What actually happened?”
I say something, but it’s all groggy and I clear my throat. “The guys who run my doomsday website sent out a false alarm about some earthquakes.”
“That’s good, I guess. That they were wrong.”
“Yeah.” I look back at her and say, “Thanks for—” but it’s stuck in my throat.
And then Misty hugs me.
I just stand there because my arms are kind of pinned down, and if I move them she might think I’m trying to break up the hug, which I’m not, but not because I like Misty or something and we’re going to start going out in my shed. It’s not even close to that, but I don’t know what it is. It’s just a hug.
“I’m sorry about last night,” she says.
“Yeah.”
“And I’m sorry about your mom dying. I never got to tell you that.”
“Uh-huh.”
She gives a sort of ending-the-hug squeeze and steps back. We stare at each other for a while and then I say, “You can be my assistant,” right as she says, “I just like you as a friend,” and then we both laugh real awkwardly.
1
“So I’ll pick you up right after school.” Claudia pushes her cereal around with a spoon. Her hair is kind of messy and her eyes are red like she didn’t sleep. “Bus loop.”
“Yeah.”
She’s staring at the bowl like it’s a book. “Bus loop.”
“You said that.”
She takes it to the sink and dumps it in the garbage disposal. I don’t think she ate any of it. “Listen: I know this is going to be hard for you.”
“It’s fine. I’m good.” And it’s not a lie. We got the door on. I don’t want to go to the cemetery, but it won’t take that long. “Are you okay?”
“Oh yeah. I’m fine. We’re all just fine.”
I rinse my bowl and stand there with her for a little, looking out the window. “You’re a good sister slash mom.”
She rubs her eyes. “Thanks.”
I get my backpack and wait in the car. Misty comes out with her sister but walks over to our Subaru and gets in.
“Is it cool if I ride with you? I thought we could talk about exploding batteries.”
“Sure.”
She hands me an article printed from the Internet. Highlighting everywhere. “So I looked up all those exploding cell phones from last year. The ones with lithium batteries in them.”
“Right.”
“I spent most of the night reading every Poop Master 5000 review. No exploding issues. One guy in Michigan said his clogged, but I bet he put something down it he shouldn’t have.”
“That’s good.”
She takes the papers back. “I am giving the Poop Master 5000 my stamp of approval.”
“Nice. Witness you slaying this meeting.”
Misty points at me real quick. “That—right there.”
“What?”
“The old you. The funny Derrick.”
“Hmm.”
She pulls out her phone. “The Home Depot by school has five in stock. I say we go today.”
“Okay, good—wait. Crap. I can’t.”
“Oh, does Tommy have a game?”
“Uh.” I can see the one wing of that stupid Air Force sticker on the glove compartment. “We’re going to the cemetery. It’s . . . today’s a year.”
Misty waits a second. “Of her—of when she—”
I nod.
“Are you okay?”
“Mmhm.”
She watches me. “So, should we get it Friday?”
“Yeah.” Ugh. Crap. “Wait—I’m making signs for Tommy’s game at Brock’s house.”
“So Saturday.”
“Yeah. Saturday.”
Misty clicks the screen and puts the phone to her ear. “I’ll reserve it, just in case anybody else around here is doing last-minute apocalypse prep.”
“Good thinking.”
“Hiring me was the best thing you ever did.”
“I’d give you a raise, if I was actually paying you.”
Misty points at me again. She mouths Funny Derrick as somebody on the other end picks up.
2
“Just ask him,” Brock tells Tommy at lunch.
“Ask me what?”
Tommy chews on a gluten-free bagel. “It’s about The End of the World.”
“What about It?”
Tommy leans across the lunch table and says, “And it’s about Pete.”
“He wants you to make room for Pete in the shed,” Brock says.
I look at them both. “Hmm.”
“I’m just, like, worried,” Tommy says.
“About what?”
“Well—you’ll be, like . . .” Tommy looks at Brock, who does that frowning thing at his food. “You’re gonna be lonely.”
“I’ll be okay.”
Tommy digs out his phone and scrolls. “I read this thing, like, about how being alone can be bad for you. You can die from it.”
“That’s not true,” I say. “I’ll be fine.”
He slides his phone to me and I pretend to read it for a minute. He says, “See?”
“It’s fine.” I give it back to him. “Plus he’s your best friend. You’d miss him.”
Tommy chews on a fingernail.
“And I don’t know if there’s room,” I say. “His cage is pretty big.”
“Yeah yeah yeah.”
“It’s not that big,” Brock says. “You could make room.”
“What about food?” I ask.
“Yeah, what about food,” Tommy says. “You’re right. It’s stupid.”
“We could get you a bunch of mice, ahead of time,” Brock says. He elbows Tommy. “Couldn’t we? A couple months’ worth?”
Tommy nods. “Yeah. Maybe.”
“Where would the mice go?” I ask.
“You could make room for them too,” Brock says.
“What do I feed them?”
“They don’t eat much,” Tommy says. “Like, a tiny bit. I have that food too.”
“So I’m taking care of a giant snake and a bunch of mice.”
“Pete and his dinner are keeping you company,” Brock says. It’s sort of loud. “And it won’t be for that long, maybe. If the volcano doesn’t erupt, then Tommy will just take Pete back.”
I stare at my tray. I’m just getting the shed finished and now they want to turn it into a reptile zoo.
“What if he gets out?” I ask Brock, because he’s the one pushing this super hard. “He’ll eat me. You’re always saying that to Tommy.”
“Build a box to put the cage in,” Brock says. “It’ll be fine.”
“Guys.” Tommy shakes his head. “Whatever. It’s cool.”
Mr. Killroy gives the cleanup call and we dump our trash. Brock is right behind me and says, “You built a doomsday shelter. Can’t you build a box to hold a snake cage?”
“It’s really packed in there already,” I say. “You’ve seen it.”
“Dude.”
Tommy is a couple feet ahead and hears us but looks away. A kid bumps into me, and then I bump into Brock. He kind of pushes me back with his shoulder and I sort of shove him back and then we’re just staring at each other, and he’s doing that frowning scowl thing. He shakes his head and says, “Just build the box, Dee.”
“I—”
“Build it.” He shakes his head at me and drops his tray on the big stack.
3
I wait for Claudia at the bus loo
p. What the heck is Brock’s problem? A giant predator in my shed? Cramming even more stuff in there?
Stupid.
Claudia pulls up and I see the flowers on the front seat. The light hits them straight and they’re so pretty, but there’s this reflection right next to that sticker on the glove box.
“Dee,” Claudia says.
“I’m coming.”
I climb in the back and put my earbuds in to listen to this Apocalypse Soon! podcast on survival tips. I already know them, but it keeps me from looking at those stupid Air Force wings. Claudia doesn’t say anything the whole drive, just grips the steering wheel like she’s trying to yank it off. She makes really sharp turns that send me jerking all over the place.
It takes like a half hour to get to Washington Crossing National Cemetery. Claudia winds around a really long lane and parks on the side of the road behind my dad’s truck. No other cars around. No people but us. I see him standing across the road in the half-circled wall thing that stores these tiny boxes of ashes from people in the military. His back is to us and his head is down. I wonder if he’s going to yell at me again.
“You got this,” Claudia says. Who is she talking to? Herself? “You’re going to be fine.”
She grabs the flowers and we walk across the road.
“Hey, Dad,” she says. Gives him a hug.
“Hi, baby.” He puts the flowers down near The Box that says WATERS, L. MAJOR. USAF. He’s dressed sort of nice. “They’re beautiful.”
I stare at the ground because The Box makes my stomach ache. The humidity is pretty bad and my shirt is sticking to my back. I want out of here. I want to be back in the shed with the rolling steel door shut and locked, and no stupid giant snake in there with me.
After a while Claudia says, “Miss you, Mom. I’m applying to Penn State. Maybe they’ll put me in the same dorm as you.” Her voice wobbles on same. “I’m still thinking elementary education.”
She touches The Box and does some crying. A fly lands on my face and I just let it do whatever. Anything to not think about The Box.
“They finally tore down that diner on York Road,” my dad tells The Box. “Got bought up in less than a day—Sam’s company. He bid the job out, but I knew he’d give it to me. You always used to say I should just get the guys together one night and do it myself.” He laughs a little. “It’s going to be a garden center, if you can believe it.”
It's the End of the World as I Know It Page 8