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29) Alyssa I lie in my makeshift bed, eyes peeled open. At least I think they are. I don’t have the energy to sleep, or to be awake. So I toss and turn, in and out of consciousness in a delirium of anxieties that haunt both states. Thoughts of Jacqui. The gun. My parents. Mixed with nightmares of marauders raiding the freeway like they raided Kelton’s home—led by Hali on my soccer team and her mother, who’s now fifteen feet tall and steals everyone’s water. Then it starts to rain blood, and Kingston is there, lapping it all up. The rain resolves into a tapping noise. . . . My eyes snap open. It’s Henry, and he’s standing just outside my car, tapping on the half-open window. It’s still dark. I’m not sure whether it’s somewhere around midnight, or closer to dawn. “You were talking in your sleep,” he says. “I could hear you from my car.” “Oh. Sorry.” To be honest, I’m glad he woke me up. As tired as I am. I’ll take him over the hallucinations, so I open the door and get out, stretching. “Have you noticed that it’s snowing?” “What?” Sure enough, there are snowflakes settling gently around us. But it’s got to be almost ninety degrees. Now I know the world has gone crazy. “Don’t catch them on your tongue though,” Henry says. “I don’t think they’ll taste very good.” I catch one with my hand, and rub it between my fingers. It’s ash. “The brush fires have grown up,” he tells me. “They’re full-fledged forest fires now. Pretty far east of us, but the Santa Ana winds are bringing the ash our way.” As I look around, the cars are beginning to grow a fine layer of gray dust. We lean against the side of my Cadillac, watching the “snow” settle. “It’s so quiet now,” I say. “It almost makes you forget what’s out there.” “Nothing out there but people,” Henry points out. “People can be monsters. Whether it’s just their actions, or whether it’s who they really are, it doesn’t matter. The result is the same.” Henry shrugs, as if it doesn’t bother him. I wonder if he’s really so nonchalant about it, or if it’s just an act for my sake. “Sometimes you have to be the monster to survive,” he says. I shake my head at the thought, then grimace at the pain that comes with moving my head. “I could never be that kind of monster,” I tell him. “No matter what.” Rather than commenting on that, he lets another “snowflake” land on his palm, studying it for a few moments. “I wanted to apologize,” he finally says, “for not telling you the truth about not being the guy my jacket says I am—but with all that was happening, there didn’t seem to be a right time.” No apology is complete without its “but.” Well, at least he’s trying. So I decide to let him off the hook. I know it’s stupid of me to trust him, but I decide to do it anyway. “I get it. Common courtesies have gone the way of running water,” I tell him. “No one’s acting the way they usually would.” He smiles. “You’re a very forgiving person.” His smile seems genuine, and I look away from his gaze. I wonder if it’s possible to see a blush in ashen moonlight. “Not really,” I tell him. “I just don’t hold grudges.” Which isn’t entirely true; I hold plenty of grudges. But right now it would be a waste of valuable energy. “But you are forgiving,” he insists. “You let me come with you, even after acquiring your uncle’s car. And it looks like you’re beginning to forgive Jacqui for . . . well, for just being Jacqui. You even forgave Kelton after the whole drone thing.” I get caught on that last part. “What?” “You know. How he used to spy in your window with his drone?” But I don’t know. I have no idea what he’s talking about. My stomach begins to fill with a weird, greasy feeling. “Who told you that?” “Garrett may have mentioned it in passing. But don’t get him in trouble. I only bring it up to add evidence to my argument about your forgiving nature.” Then he grins. “I did pretend to be captain of the debate team, you know.” But right now, I don’t feel forgiving at all. I feel stupid. And embarrassed. And violated. My face must be turning a much more visible shade of red now, because Henry says— “Wait—you mean you didn’t know?” Why should I be the one who feels embarrassed? Kelton’s the creep here! And before I know it, I’m abandoning Henry, and I’m storming over to Kelton in his stupid little hatchback, pounding on the door, then kicking it, until he pops his nasty little orange head up and opens the door. “What? What is it? What’s happening?” “Did it feel good, Kelton?” I growl. “Did it? Was it fun? Was it everything you thought it would be?” I know, in the midst of everything going on, that this is not the highest priority right now, but it feels like it. It feels huge. “What? What are you talking about?” he stammers as he scrambles out to face me. “Did you or did you not spy on me with your drone!” He hesitates. That’s all the answer I need. I push him back against the car. “You lousy! Stinking! Creep!” “Alyssa, it was in eighth grade!” “There is NO statute of limitations on being a certified DOUCHE!” “And I only did it once!” “It doesn’t matter how many times you did it! The fact is you did it!” “Alyssa . . .” “Don’t you say my name!” I yell at him. “Don’t you even think it. Ever !” I storm away from him, because I know if I stay I’m just going to keep on screaming, and that will wake up half the people here and make them come running, and I don’t want this to be any more of a federal case than it already is. There’s a battle in my head now. Part of me wants to file this away and deal with it when we’re not in a crisis. His brother is dead. There are more life-anddeath challenges we have to face. Yet there’s the other part of me that will not be silenced or ignored. The normal part, which won’t let such an unacceptable act slide just because there are bigger things to worry about. No matter what else is going on, I have every right to what I’m feeling! I go back to my car. I’m thirsty, and I’m angry, and I think maybe I’d rather face the nightmares than this, after all. Henry appears at the window. “Alyssa, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. . . .” “Well you did!” I snap. Then I feel guilty about it. So I speak a little more gently. “I know I shouldn’t blame the messenger, but it’s hard not to.” “I understand.” Then he puts his hand on the door handle. “Can I come in?” I actually consider it. But right now I want to keep all of humanity at a tenfoot-pole distance. “I’ll see you in the morning,” I tell him. “Okay,” he says. “Sleep well.” But we both know there’s zero chance of that.