After Dakota Part 14

He wants to go in, hit the Old Spice, and get to his car. He doesn't want to ask the obvious question. "Is something wrong?"

Without slowing down, and maybe even scrubbing harder, she says, "I don't want to burden you with my problems. You've got enough on your plate." Knowing her penchant for pauses, he waits a beat before turning to go. "You kids don't know how good you have it. Things get so much more complicated." She stops laboring and looks up at him. "Or maybe I'm too emotional."

"A few people are getting together to watch The Day After," he says. "See you later."

Rosemary extended the invite after cla.s.s, the Peace Club gathering at Mr. Hagen's house. Cameron doesn't care about the movie, only about seeing her; this will be the first time outside of school since their date the previous weekend. Asking him to hang out with her and her friends? This couldn't be anything but their official debut as a couple.

A couple!

The other girls she talked to obviously vouched for him being a nice guy, not to mention the pizza giveaways and letting others copy off his homework, has paid off big time. He drives the four blocks to Hagen's house with a smile on his face.

This sucks.

Rosemary is squeezed in next to Erik Carter on the loveseat. Why are they sitting so close? Can't they see there's room to spread apart a little? The L-shaped sofa and all the chairs were taken when Cameron arrived, so he sits on the floor.

When he walked in, Rosemary waved to him like he was anybody. Or n.o.body. He hadn't necessarily expected a squeal of delight and her bounding across the room to kiss him, though that would have been ok.

To Cameron's left is Heidi Miller, with hair down to her b.u.t.t and no makeup. The rumor's always been that Mr. Hagen is the Peace Club advisor so he can get close to all the hippie chicks, but Cameron doesn't see the appeal. Heidi probably doesn't even shave her pits.

To his right is Damien Olsen (aka, Damien Omen), who wears flip-flops every day and delights in getting his stinky feet as close to others' faces as possible. He's right in his element tonight since everyone had to take their shoes off at the front door.

Cameron breathes through his mouth, shifts to try and keep his b.u.t.t from falling asleep. In the corner of the screen, he can see the reflection of the loveseat's occupants, taunting him. Erik Carter, homecoming king. Golden Boy. Head of the National Honors Society. Drives to school in a new car from Carter Ford, his dad's lot. One of those people who get everything they want cut up in little pieces and fed to them.

Erik clearly has too full of a schedule already, so why even try to be part of Peace Club? Jerk.

Cameron tries sitting Indian style. Hagen pa.s.ses snacks around; Damien eats the last pretzels from the bowl, grins and shrugs at Cameron as he sucks the salt from his fingertips. The tray of chicken wings circles the opposite way. Cameron's stomach gurgles and he tries to figure out why he didn't eat before coming.

Then the world goes up in nuclear fire, crowds of people there and gone. The ones who live huddle together, sick from radiation poisoning. The movie ends with the doctor, half-alive, crying in the wreckage where his house used to be.

The discussion starts as soon as the credits roll, voices piling on top of each other: how realistic was the scenario, the benefits of dying right away vs. lingering on, how many Soviet missiles are pointed at the U.S. this very moment.

"Like, ten thousand."

"More like twenty."

Erik keeps saying nu-ku-lar. So he's not perfect after all.

"Trust me, all of Reagan's tough talk is going to come back and bite us," Damien says.

"The White House announced that the president would be watching tonight," Hagen tells the room from his leather chair. "I'd love to hear his reaction."

Cameron wonders how long this will go on. He needs to get his Latin homework done, and there's still the potential for making out with Rosemary in the car.

Things seem to be winding down, people putting shoes on, when she asks, "What did you think, Cameron?"

He says, "It was a good movie. But I mean, that probably won't ever really happen, right? We'll have that Star Wars s.p.a.ce blaster to shoot down any missiles."

Mistake. This cues up a new round of chatter, twenty more minutes' worth.

"It could happen any second, dude!" Garrett Lucas says from the couch behind Cameron. "This, right here, could be the last night of planet Earth."

Outside afterward, Rosemary gives Cameron a quick hug the kind where you don't even squeeze before she gets in Erik's car, her and Hilary MacGregor. Apparently one girl isn't enough for that guy.

If this is the last night of planet Earth, it's a s.h.i.tty one.

47.

Thanksgiving means Bryce's mom in the kitchen all day, his dad watching football on TV, and dinner in the dining room instead of the kitchen. Bryce lays out the cloth napkins and nice silverware, place settings for six. Cam and his mom are coming this year. He'd heard a phone call inviting the Vanzants and secretly hoped they wouldn't show; Bryce does his best to avoid sitting near them at church, or any interaction other than a wave on the street.

Cam's mom brings two bottles of wine. "I didn't know if you're a red man or a white man," she tells Bryce's dad at the door.

"Yes," he replies and they both laugh.

She wears a dress that shows off her curves. A s.e.xy mom one more way Cam has all the luck.

Wine flows in the den while Bryce's mom finishes cooking. The boys put out the basket of Pillsbury rolls, and small plates with a square of orange Jell-O salad atop a lettuce leaf.

Claire emerges from her room when it's time to sit down. The table is covered with enough food for a village: mashed potatoes, yams, a gravy boat, green bean ca.s.serole. Bryce's dad carves the turkey with a knife, even though there's a new electric meat slicer in a kitchen drawer. All join hands and their mom asks Claire to say grace.

"No, thanks," Claire replies. Their mom gives her a quick look company's here then does it herself.

Bryce's dad pours the red wine, filling Cam and Bryce's gla.s.ses a quarter way, putting half that amount into Claire's.

"This is wonderful," Cam's mom says after one bite. "So nice to have a home cooked meal."

"Better than a restaurant I hope," Bryce's mom replies. She'd been horrified to learn that Cam ate Thanksgiving dinner at a buffet the prior year. She'd been horrified to learn about the parenting at his house in general.

It's mostly chewing mixed with adult small talk until the conversation comes around to college. "Where are you applying, Cameron?" Bryce's dad asks.

"A few schools in California. UC Berkeley's my first choice."

"My father's alma mater," Cam's mom says. "He's really been working to keep his four-point-oh."

Bryce's dad again: "Any thought of what you'd like to study?"

"Not yet."

"I think Bryce is in the same situation, but his grades won't get him into UC Berkeley. Right, son?" His dad reaches over, grabs Bryce's shoulder. "Nothing to worry about I was the same way." He pries a roll in half, inserts turkey and potatoes for an impromptu sandwich, shoves the whole thing in his mouth.

The wine runs out. More college chitchat, parents talking about the admission process back in their day, until Bryce's mom says, "Things will be even more compet.i.tive when it's Claire's turn."

They all look at Claire, who takes small bites of her Jell-O. Right then, the moment. As a veteran of meals with this family, Bryce feels the slight change in the air, like turning up the thermostat one degree.

Claire grunts something to her plate.

"Honey, don't be that way with company here," their mom tells her. Then, to the table, "I think she's spooked about that movie on TV the other night."

"Oh, the one about World War Three?" Cam's mom asks. "I couldn't handle even looking at a minute of it. Cameron's taken quite an interest in world events lately, though. Even joined the school Peace Club."

Bryce's dad blurts "Great!" and a piece of chewed roll arcs from his mouth to his wine gla.s.s.

"She was required to watch the movie for cla.s.s," their mom replies. "Right?"

Claire, still not looking up: "You know the answer already. And why do you call me 'she' when I'm sitting right here?"

Bryce catches Cam's eye, turns off his invisible hearing aid. The thermostat's up more than one degree now.

"Claire Bear..." their dad starts in his compa.s.sionate voice.

She lets loose with some kind of sigh that turns into a scream halfway. Bryce wants more potatoes but doesn't want to make a move. Cam and his mom eat in silence, no doubt thinking back fondly on the buffet, where no one freaks out during the meal.

Their mom's voice is almost a whisper. "Honey, calm down please."

"You guys sit here and talk about college and grades and it's all bull " She catches herself in time. "All of this is bull!"

Their mom, not whispering anymore: "Excuse yourself and go to your room, young lady." Claire leaves without a word, without even pushing her chair in. Their mom says, "I am so sorry about that."

"Don't worry," Cam's mom answers. "I'm sure we both remember what it was like to be a girl that age."

After the guests leave, Bryce hears his own parents through the bas.e.m.e.nt ceiling, their voices alternating with the sound of running water in the sink. He can picture the exact scene: his mom rinsing the plates while his dad sits and watches.

"Some of these teachers like to get the kids all riled up," his dad says. "You know, fight the power."

His mom says something about Dakota.

"But that was months ago, Barb."

"I'm thinking it might be a good idea to have her talk to someone."

"A shrink? Come on, it's all a scam. We never had therapists when we were in school, and everyone turned out fine. Welcome to being a teenager it's tough."

"I'm going to take a piece of pie up to her and see how she's feeling."

Bryce hears the hiss of the whipped cream can, then footsteps. His dad keeps talking to himself, but the words aren't clear. Nothing is clear anymore.

48.

Cameron plummets through the clouds. His gla.s.ses fly off. His hands flail wildly as if to grab hold of the sky.

He wakes up from this one with a yell, his stomach still hollowed-out from the fall. Hopefully that didn't wake his mom up, or she'll be in with her concerned parent act. He listens for her but hears only the shifting of the house.

Sleep won't be back for a while, once again, so he goes downstairs to eat Thanksgiving leftovers from Bryce's while reviewing college application requirements.

49.

"What's the disaster?" Claire asks from under her new front desk in Mr. Hagen's cla.s.s. He'd stopped in the middle of his lecture, checked his watch, and told them to get ready right before the alarm started screaming.

He says from the floor behind his own desk, "Only a theoretical one for now, Claire. We have to be prepared for anything, though."

The alarm ceases, replaced by Princ.i.p.al Rodriguez's voice, instructing teachers to lead their cla.s.ses to the gymnasium and line up alphabetically.

She paces herself so she can walk next to Hagen among the backpacks heading for the exit. Isabel is a few heads ahead of them. "You really think everyone will stroll out all nice and calm when the missiles are flying?"

He laughs. "Hope springs eternal."

"A drill like this is pointless," someone says from behind. "The lucky ones will be the ones who die in the initial blast." Claire glances back to see some guy in a suit, too young to be a teacher. A couple of Mexican kids b.u.mp past, running forward through the crowd; maybe they didn't get the message that it's all practice.

"What would you do if you knew this city was about to be a mushroom cloud?" Claire asks Hagen. She likes that he'll always talk to her, unlike some teachers who pretend to be above it all; she likes the sound of his voice when he's not shouting to be heard over the cla.s.s.

"My duty as a state employee would be to make sure everyone got evacuated safely."

"Fine. Now the real answer."

He looks at her. "Get my board and my dog, drive as fast as I could down to the Gulf and try to catch a last big wave." She thinks that might be the best plan she's ever heard, for any event. She thinks about asking if she can come along, when not if everyone knows what the world is heading for.

Up ahead, a bottleneck at the gym entrance. Too many bodies, too close together. Hagen's there, then gone. Someone flat tires the back of her shoe. A shoulder jerks by. She tries to turn back but a camouflage shirt blocks her way.

Hard to breathe now. Not here. No. No.

"I need to go to the bathroom," Claire says to someone's back.

She steps into the girls' room, lean against the beige-tiled wall, starts to make a calm-down list. 31 Flavors: Mint Chip, Jamocha Almond Fudge, Pink Bubblegum, French Vanilla.

She jumps when the door swings open.

"Found you," Ricky says. "Why are you crying?"

She smiles so hard it hurts.

He holds out his hand. "C'mon, we're ditching this bulls.h.i.t." Outside the door, the sounds of stragglers, a walkie-talkie crackling. Ricky waits until the sounds pa.s.s by.