Walking home in the moonlight, the neighborhood had been so quiet that Chloe could hear the sound of voices coming from the Stankovics’ backyard even before she turned onto Brantley Circle. Hungry as she was, she’d briefly considered going straight to the cookout, but a quick sniff of her armpit persuaded her to go home and shower first.
Her lower back ached. She switched her racket bag to her other hand and readjusted her backpack for the final steps to her house. It had been an insane day, and even after the long walk home, her mind was still racing.
When’s the physics review? Tomorrow? Is the quiz still Friday? Or not until Monday now?
How do I check Google Classroom with the power out?
How am I going to work on the supplemental?
Screw you, Mom.
And what about my reading response? Will I have to do it longhand?
What if they postpone semis until next week?
What if they postpone the ACT?
Ohmygod, what if they cancel it?
Get real. It’s only Tuesday.
Could this thing last until Saturday?
What even IS this?
A simulation?
No. Ridiculous.
But maybe.
If it is, I gotta say: nice job on Josh’s abs, Simulation!
And his butt. Ohmygod, swimmers’ bodies.
I can’t believe he fixed my backhand. He’s, like, the backhand whisperer.
Or a sex therapist.
Ohmygod.
She entered the house. Other than the moonlight coming through the windows, the only illumination on the first floor was from a single flashlight, which Max had stood on its handle end atop the kitchen counter while he rummaged through a drawer.
“Hey.”
“Hey.”
“Did you eat already?”
“Yeah. The Stankovics grilled steak.”
“Are they grilling anything else?”
“No.”
“Seriously?”
“What? It’s good.”
“I don’t eat red meat!”
“Sucks to be you.” Having found what he was looking for, Max shut the drawer and headed for the mudroom, taking the flashlight with him.
“Where you going?”
“None of your business.”
“Bring the flashlight back!”
“There’s more on the table. Next to all that shit Mom brought up.”
As she struggled in the darkness to locate the cache of flashlights on the kitchen table, she heard Max exit through the door to the garage.
Idiot.
Eventually, she felt her way to a flashlight and used it to examine the contents of the fridge and the mostly defrosted freezer.
What am I going to eat?
There’s chicken tenders. Does the oven work? Brody’s didn’t. But his burners did.
She tried one of the burners on the stove and was relieved to smell gas when she turned it on. A quick check of the same drawer Max had just rummaged through revealed several books of restaurant matches.
I can pan-fry the chicken. No big deal.
She headed upstairs with the flashlight, mentally planning the next twenty-four hours as she went.
Shower, cook, sleep. Get up early. Take a practice ACT—
From somewhere in the backyard came the faint sound of coughing.
Max, you are such a delinquent . . .
She dumped her backpack on her bed. Pulled out her street clothes. Dropped them in a pile on the floor and then stripped down to her underwear.
Take a practice test, then go to Josh’s. Get there by ten, we’ll have what? Four and a half hours to mash before I leave for semis?
Where? At his place? Brody’s?
No way am I taking him back here.
She retrieved clean clothes from her dresser and headed to the bathroom.
We’ll have to get lunch somewhere.
Chipotle? Will they be open? Will the power still be out?
What if they postpone the semis?
Until when? Thursday?
If the semis are Thursday, I’ll have to move my session with Kevin.
She locked the bathroom door, set the flashlight on its end like Max had done in the kitchen, and stripped off the rest of her clothes.
But what if he’s booked Friday?
Jesus, this power outage.
Although no school is a net plus. As long as the semi doesn’t—
What the—
The tub was full of water.
She opened the drain to let it out so she could shower.
Then it occurred to her to test the water supply. She opened the tub faucet.
Nothing.
Oh shit—
She quickly closed the drain. Then she turned around and opened the sink faucet.
Nothing.
SHIIIIT!
She tried the tub faucet again. Still nothing.
How am I going to shower?
I HAVE to shower. I stink! And I’m seeing Josh in the—
Wait. There’s a full tub of water.
If it’s clean, I can take a bath.
At room temperature?
Ugh. Suboptimal.
But still.
As she continued to ponder the situation, it occurred to her that the tub must’ve been filled intentionally. Realizing she’d need to get clean after practice, one of her parents had left her enough water to bathe in.
Must’ve been Dad. He’s thoughtful that way.
Not like Mom.
Screw you, Mom.
Grateful for the solid her father had done her, Chloe carefully lowered herself into the tub.