| |
KATE
I slip into the suite where Jenna has organized all our food. Lila found a survival book in someone’s bedroom and calculated we have enough food for six weeks. That’s a good haul, and this is just the stuff Jenna pulled in from only a dozen or so rooms in Creekside.
We’ve since cleared all the dorms on the second and third floors and have begun to organize and inventory the additional supplies. Creekside is officially a safe zone.
Ultramarathon training camp has been going well. Except for Lila, all the other kids have committed to getting in shape. After two weeks, they’re up to one-hundred-twenty-minute workouts.
It’s time to introduce a new phase in their training: sleep deprivation.
I dig through the supplies and extract a bottle of vodka I found a few days ago tucked underneath a bathroom sink in one of the neighboring dorm rooms. Rain patters against the window as I hold up the bottle to examine it in the dull light. Ketel One.
“Time for a new training technique,” I announce as I return to our apartment. Everyone ignores me, wrapped up in the excitement of Call of Duty. It’s an evening ritual. So long as they’re exercising and participating in the necessary chores during the day, I don’t mind if they have downtime in the evening.
I set the bottle of Kettle One on the kitchen table, letting it bang against the particle-board surface.
Heads turn. Simulated gunfire cracks out of the flat screen, but I have everyone’s attention.
“Sleep deprivation is part of ultrarunning,” I say. “You won’t finish a hundred-miler if you pull over to sleep the night away. You need to be prepared to be awake and moving for twenty to thirty hours, sometimes more. Sleep deprivation hits us all in different ways. It makes us hallucinate. It makes us exhausted. Worst of all, it makes us want to quit. To throw in the towel. To take the easy way out. That’s not an option for you. We need to be prepared and trained for sleep deprivation.”
Reed is the first to crack. “You’re not going to make us climb the stairs all night, are you?”
There’s a collective sigh of relief when I shake my head, forcing me to smother a grin. Their heads had gone straight to the stairwell.
“Nope. We need to practice staying awake for twenty-four-hour intervals. What time did everyone wake up today?”
Looks are exchanged. We don’t worry too much about time these days, but there is still a functioning battery-powered clock on the kitchen wall.
“I think we were all up by nine,” Jenna says.
“Right.” I nod. “Nine in the morning. We are going to stay awake until nine a.m. tomorrow. I’ll sweeten the deal with this.” I tap the lid of the Kettle One bottle. “We can start with shots.”
They shift in a collective mass toward the kitchen table. Johnny is the first to sweep up the bottle, embracing it like it’s a beloved stuffed animal and he’s a little kid.
“Where did you find that?” Carter asks.
“In one of the cleared bedrooms,” I reply. “I wanted it for a rainy day.” I gesture at the kitchen window, where rain makes a smeary pattern across the glass. A punch of lightning follows my words.
“It’s definitely raining,” Eric says, wrestling the bottle away from Johnny. “Kate, you are the coolest old person I’ve ever met. Minus the crazy workouts you make us do.”
I grin, rounding up some glasses from the kitchen. Everyone gathers on the sofa and floor of the sitting room, Call of Duty forgotten.
Eric does the honors, pouring a small shot for everyone. A few months ago, I wouldn’t have considered serving alcohol to minors. These days, I figure they’ve all proven themselves adults. At least a little. Even Carter grins as the clear liquid sluices into his glass.
“Bottoms up,” Reed calls, holding up his glass. We raise our glasses in a toast, then throw back our heads and down the liquid.
Lila sputters and coughs, laughing in embarrassment when Jenna calls her a lightweight. Reed flops onto the floor, moaning in mock ecstasy.
“Oh my God,” he says. “All we need now are some of Eric’s brownies and we’d have a legit party.”
“No brownies,” I say, giving Eric a stern look when he starts to rise. “This is a training exercise. Brownies will have us all passed out on the floor.”
“Vodka can leave us all passed out, too,” Eric argues.
“Vodka can turn this into a pleasant training exercise,” I reply. “Or we can all just sit around and stare at one another.”
“Strip poker!” Reed cries, jumping to his feet. “I’ll get the cards.”
“Only if you promise to keep your underwear on,” Jenna calls to Reed’s disappearing backside. “There’s only one man around here I want to see in his birthday suit.” She and Carter smirk at each other. It’s nice to see them happy together, even if the last thing I want to hear is the two of them talk about birthday suits.
Reed shouts protests from the hallway, where he digs in a closet. “I look fucking hot in my birthday suit. You don’t know what you’re missing!”
“I’m pretty sure we’d all be underwhelmed,” Lila replies.
This brings a round of laughter. Lila cracks a smile, something she doesn’t do much these days.
“Any more out of you, and I’m going to eat your cannabis salve,” Reed announces, strutting back into the room.
“Dude, I’m pretty sure I have dibs on the salve,” Eric puts in. “How else are we going to get any decent brownies? We’re almost out of buds.”
“My salve is not for brownies,” Lila retorts.
“We could mix the buds in the vodka,” Eric suggests.
“No!” we all shout.
More laughter. The cards come out. The Kettle One makes its rounds. Thunder crashes outside like a punctuation.
Satisfied, I settle in for a long night.
Away from the strip poker game.