“He’s just excited,” I said. “You’re still going to be in the club, right? We’ll make it fun, I promise.”
“Oh, it’s we now, is it?” Chloe smirked. “You and Wyatt start doing some planning without the rest of us?”
My face got hot. I hoped Hunter didn’t notice. “Not at all. I just want this to happen. It’s not like I’ve joined any other groups, and Wyatt’s right—we’ll have to do that eventually, even just to fill up our résumés.”
“My résumé’s doing just fine,” Chloe said.
“We know,” Hunter and I both said at the same time. Chloe never let a chance go by to remind us how internet-famous she was.
“What would make it worthwhile for you guys?” I asked. It was so weird how quickly I’d become invested in the success of this group.
“I like you both, and I definitely need to hang out with people who care about more than fashion,” Chloe said. “But I don’t want to spend all my free time talking about the apocalypse. If you can keep that from happening, I’m good.”
Not exactly the answer I wanted to hear, but I understood. I didn’t want to lose any more friends to my own single-mindedness, either. Back in Brooksby it had gotten so bad the only person I hung out with regularly was Shana. And she was five years younger than me. I reminded myself to send her an email—she didn’t have her own phone yet.
“I wouldn’t mind talking about some of the things we’re afraid of,” Hunter said. “I went to one of the Environmentalist Club meetings and I don’t know if I can spend three years hanging out with those people, but I can’t just pretend I’m not scared we’ve all but screwed up the planet.”
“We’re not the ones who screwed it up,” Chloe said. “That’s on our parents, and their parents, and everyone before them. They just left a mess for us to clean.”
“Sure, but if we don’t clean it, we’re done,” Hunter said. “Just because it isn’t fair doesn’t mean we can pretend it’s not happening.”
I sensed they were about to get into yet another one of their lunchtime debates. “See, here’s the thing—you both love talking about this stuff. I do too. So does Wyatt. I don’t know Jo yet, but if we come up with some way to make thinking about survival fun, then this club can be everything we want. We can get to know each other, have people to hang out with that we like and who aren’t annoying like the Environmental Club, and we can learn some things too, about how to survive both here at Gardner and in the world.”
“I don’t know,” Chloe said. “Who’s to say we won’t be as annoying as the Environmental Club?”
“First of all, we’re just not,” I said. “You already know that. Second, Wyatt started the whole thing because we met at Game Night. What if we made this into a gaming club? Like it would still be about survival, but we’d turn survival into a game. I’ve got a little bit of a competitive streak, and I know you both do too.”
Hunter started nodding. “We could take turns planning. The games could teach us about survival strategies for all sorts of situations. I’d do something about the climate crisis, and you can teach us how to win the internet.”
Chloe narrowed her eyes. “Underestimate me at your peril. I’ll destroy all of you.”
“Don’t count me out so quick,” Hunter said. “I’ve got years of team sports behind me. I hate losing.”
I wanted to chime in with some pithy explanation of my own competitive impulses, but all I could really point to were some vicious family games of Boggle. I invariably beat my father, though he was pretty good given that English wasn’t even his first language, and I still could stomp my sister, though she was getting better very quickly. It was Mom and I who really fought it out, most of the time. I loved that it would never occur to anyone in my family to throw a game; we’d been playing since I was a little kid, and while it used to upset me terribly to lose, my parents considered failure an important lesson. “There will always be people better than you, so you’re going to have to work your hardest all the time,” Mom would say.
I’d been reminded of that Saturday night, when I realized everyone had figured out how to find the bomb shelter a whole lot faster than I had. I may have been a scholarship kid, but that didn’t make me smarter than anyone here.
Chloe let out a dramatic sigh. “It is a little bit of a downer, though, isn’t it? All this worrying?”
How could she not worry? Did she not see what was happening all around her? Maybe the world was different for beautiful blond people who spent their real-life time being perfect online, but it felt like the rest of us were under siege. How could I make her see that? “I mean the world kind of sucks right now, so isn’t that the point?” I asked.
“True, it sucks,” she said, somehow cheerfully. “That’s why we have to make it better. But I don’t intend to spend the whole time here obsessing about the end of the world. We’ve got to mix it up a little. I’ll stay in your club and play your games, but you’ve got to promise me it won’t be all we do.”
“I totally agree,” Hunter said, before taking a bite of his sandwich. It was becoming a ritual, watching Hunter concoct and ingest his horrific lunch, a rotating mélange of pinkish deli meats, orange and yellow cheeses, colorful condiments, and crushed chips of some kind, all stuffed into a foot-long grinder roll. I no longer tried to guess any of the contents except for the chips; today’s appeared to be Cool Ranch Doritos, based on the smell.
“Well, then, let’s talk about what else you have planned. Hunter, I know you’ve got soccer, but is that it? Are you sure about ditching the Environmental Club?” Chloe leaned forward while at the same time tossing her hair back as if she were in a shampoo commercial. I wondered whether she’d practiced that move at home.
Hunter frowned. “They’re the worst,” he said. “I don’t know, I’ve got to find something else, at least for college apps.”
“I’m good,” I said. “Between the club and Hillel I’ve got enough, I think. And I’ll need time to study.”
“Hillel?” Hunter asked.
I was so used to spending most of my time with Jewish people that I’d forgotten not everyone would know what Hillel was. “It’s a group to organize Jewish kids in schools. Mostly colleges, but they have a branch here. It’s where I go for dinner and services on Friday nights.”
I waited for one of them to say something about me being super religious and started getting anxious at the thought of trying to explain, but Hunter just nodded. “Cool.”
“I don’t think it’s enough,” Chloe said. “Our club has just five people, and how many kids are in Hillel? Like fifty?”
“More like twenty,” I admitted, and I wasn’t even sure how long they’d all keep coming to Friday-night dinners. “But I don’t see why I need to be in big groups. It’s not like colleges are going to care.”
“I’m not talking about college. I’m talking about influence,” Chloe said. “I’ve decided the two of you should run for student council.” She laughed when we both shot her the same glare. “Oh, come on. You both stepped up right away to save the world but you can’t imagine saving our class from having loser reps?”
“Who cares if they’re losers?” I asked. “What do they even do, anyway?”
“Does it matter? The whole point is that you’d get to see how government works from the inside—isn’t that your whole thing, learning about how governments work? And you”—she turned to Hunter now—“you’re applying to law school. It’s either student council or Debate Club for you, if you want to be smart about it.”
Chloe could be very convincing when she wanted to be. “Why wouldn’t you run? It seems like you’ve already got half the school under your thumb as it is.” It was true—we hadn’t even been at school a month and already girls were imitating Chloe’s hairstyles, her makeup choices, her clothes. The Chloe Burns look, they called it. There was that group of girls our year who seemed to float around her like butterflies, leaving her alone only at lunch; she must have directed them to stay away whe
n she was with Hunter and me.
“Exactly,” she said. “I’ve already found ways to exert my influence if I want. Now you both need an outlet.” There were so many assumptions built into that statement I didn’t know where to start, but Chloe didn’t give me a chance to open my mouth. “I’ll be the campaign manager for both of you. I need that kind of experience for my own résumé, especially if I want to go to business school someday. We’ll make this as painless as possible, I promise. We’ll start next week.”
A chance to spend even more time with Hunter, even if Chloe would be there too? I wasn’t about to pass that up. Chloe wanted to have strategy sessions once a week, so we agreed on Tuesdays. The rest of the weekdays were reserved for studying, Friday night was for Hillel, and Saturdays were for the club, though we’d agreed at our first meeting that we’d vary whether we met during the day or at night. That meant Sunday was the only day I truly had to myself, and I had my weekly call with my parents in the afternoon.
“It sounds like school is going great!” Mom said, during our call the next weekend. “I’m so pleased to hear it!”
I’d managed to avoid talking to them the week before, but this week Mom had adopted the strategy of calling every fifteen minutes until I picked up. She was relentless.
“It’s fine,” I said. “I’d still rather be home.” I told her about classes and joining clubs but not about making friends. I wasn’t about to make this easy for them.
“Well, you can come home for the holidays. We’ll pay for the bus.” Rosh Hashanah was my favorite holiday—we celebrated at my house, where my mom made brisket and kugel and tsimmes and my aunt baked apple cakes with honey to ensure a sweet new year for everyone. We’d go to services in the morning and then my sister and I would help my mother set up the big buffet table so everyone could pile food onto the fancy paper plates my dad insisted on (“Silver and gold is festive!” he’d say, when we complained the plates were tacky). We’d stuff ourselves the first day and do it all again with the leftovers on the second, and my grandmother would always stay until after everyone else left so she and my mom had time to gossip.
But this year wouldn’t be the same. The temple renovation wasn’t done yet, and the shared temple was too full to let us in for the holiday, so services would be held at a Unitarian church that had volunteered its space, which I found both lovely and depressing. I’d only just started getting the nightmares under control, and as badly as I wanted to go home, I worried that going to a church for the High Holidays would send me into panic mode.
“They’re having services here,” I said. “A dinner, too. With brisket.”
“Not as good as mine,” Mom said. “I trust you plan to fast for Yom Kippur as well.” She didn’t even pretend it was a question. “Is the school closed?”
“It’s not closed, but I don’t have to go to class. And yes, I’m fasting.” I was skipping services, but I had no intention of telling her that.
Skipping meetings with Chloe was not optional, as I soon discovered. We didn’t have long to campaign; the election was in mid-October, and it was already three weeks into September. Our first mission, Chloe informed Hunter and me at our initial strategy session, was to get on the ballot. It wouldn’t be difficult, given that we only needed twenty-five classmates’ signatures, but they were due the following week, so we had to get started. Hunter had it easier than I did; between his popularity in our shared classes and his access to the entire soccer team he’d practically be done.
I, on the other hand, would have to work a little harder. We tag-teamed our classmates, at Chloe’s direction—“We want people thinking of you two as a set so you both win,” she told us—but we still needed a dozen signatures apiece. “Go hit up your Hillel people,” she said. “And do more than just get them to sign—find out what they want. You’re looking to represent them, after all.”
She had a point, though I wasn’t excited at the idea of talking to the whole group. Attendance hadn’t dropped off at all in the first few weeks, to my surprise, but I hadn’t done any better at getting to know people. Now was my chance.
At that Friday’s dinner, I tapped on my water glass to get the group’s attention before services started. There were about fifteen of us arranged around a long makeshift dining room table in the back of the chapel; we’d finished our usual dinner of roast chicken, potatoes, and challah. The room went quiet. “Um, hi, everyone, my name’s Amina, and I’m running for student council as a first-year rep.” There was a little whispering as a couple of girls I knew to be third years resumed their conversation quietly, uninterested in newbie politics. I powered ahead anyway. “I was hoping some of the first years might be willing to sign my petition to get on the ballot. I can come find you later if you don’t want to write on Shabbat.” Some giggling now; this wasn’t a very observant group. “And also, if there’s anything you want me to know, you know, about what you’d want. If I won.” It felt presumptuous to even say it.
The silence was palpable now, which was unusual for this crowd, at least so far; I was usually the quietest person here. But then, as if the silence had just been a dam for all the water gathering behind it, there was a flood of everyone talking at once. I couldn’t hear anything other than the occasional word breaking through—“church,” “kosher,” “unfair.” This had been a terrible idea.
“QUIET!” A voice broke through the cacophony. I saw a girl stand up at the other end of the table, someone who’d been at the previous two dinners, though I’d never spoken to her. “One at a time, okay? It’s obvious you all have a lot to say, so give Amina a chance to hear you.”
I gave the girl a grateful smile and listened to the more orderly list of demands that followed. There was little consensus: some of the kids wanted a dedicated synagogue space that wasn’t part of the chapel, complete with security, while others didn’t care; some wanted kosher meals offered in the dining hall, while others argued there was plenty to eat if you went pescatarian or just ate kosher-style, and there were so few of us it wasn’t worth fighting. The only thing everyone seemed to agree on was how unfair it was that we had extended breaks for Christmas and Easter but no days off for the High Holidays and Passover, and it didn’t seem to be a good time to point out that we were excused from classes and Christmas was a national holiday anyway.
But everyone seemed thankful to have had a chance to speak, and I was thrilled that I’d made it through the evening without passing out. It felt good to listen, to express genuine concern for what people wanted and to feel like maybe there was something I could do to help, even if in this case I might not accomplish much. I couldn’t have done it without the girl who’d stood up and yelled at everyone, so I went over to thank her after dinner was over.
“Oh, it’s no big deal.” The girl waved her hand, and I saw that her nails were perfectly manicured, painted sky blue with clouds, a sun peeking out on each thumb. She saw my eyes widen. “Not bad, huh? I’d say it’s not as hard as it looks, but it’s probably even harder.”
My own nails were clipped as far down as I could stand it, in part so I didn’t get annoyed hearing them click on the keyboard and in part to keep me from biting them. I’d given up the habit years ago but it could come back in a second, I knew. “They’re incredible. You must be ambidextrous.”
“Nah, I’m Tamara, but it’s nice to meet you.” She held out her hand to shake mine.
I gawked at her. I had a feeling I’d met another member of Team Dad Jokes. “Anyway, nice to meet you. Thanks again for helping me out.”
“No problem,” she said. “Glad you decided to speak up at one of these things. It was getting a little boring hearing about what’s on sale at Bergdorf’s this week, you know?”
It had never occurred to me that anyone would want me to talk. Tamara had struck me as one of the girls who would care about what was on sale at Bergdorf’s. Perhaps I’d read her wrong. “Maybe we can sit together at services? Or at dinner next week?”
“Sure thing,�
� she said. “And good luck with the election.”
“Thanks.” I’d need it, I was sure.
In the meantime, I still had to contend with my list of signatures. After services were over a bunch of kids signed the petition for me, which brought me into the low forties, but I still had a handful left to go. What did people even do around here on Friday nights? For the first two weeks I’d gone straight back to my dorm after services to keep up with my reading projects; I imagined I’d need the time for studying once the quarter heated up. But I was feeling cheerful and not in the mood to read about the fall of the Roman Empire, so I texted Chloe.
Hillel went well, I wrote. Forty-two down, eight to go.
You’re so close! she texted back. Get your butt over here and finish the job. She’d attached a picture of a basketball game, which I assumed was taking place right now. As much as I was not excited at the thought of watching sports, I’d definitely be able to finish off my petition. Besides, maybe Hunter would be there. Soccer games didn’t happen at the same time as basketball games, did they?
The basketball gym wasn’t that large, and even with the other team’s fans the stadium wasn’t half full, though there were still enough people that I had to scan the crowd to find Chloe. She was sitting high up in the bleachers with a bunch of girls who all looked like slightly faded photocopies of her. They were wearing pale blue jeans, beige suede booties, and light sweaters in shades of pastel, complete with varying shades of pink lip gloss and pale ribbons woven through their uniformly blond hair. Did they all just run back to their rooms and change as soon as Chloe showed up somewhere or posted a picture of herself online? Or were these bigger trends I was completely oblivious to?
Chloe stood up and pointed as soon as she saw me. “Get up here!” she yelled, and I could hear her over the sounds of the game and the buzz of conversations. She was so bossy, I thought, even as I followed her directions and ascended the bleachers.
How to Pack for the End of the World Page 5
