The Last Boy and Girl in the World

by Siobhan Vivian

  “Hey, do you know what they’re going to do with the people buried here?”

  Levi shrugged. “They’ll move them.”

  “Move them where? Like to another graveyard nearby?”

  “Keeley, I don’t know.”

  “I have family in this cemetery, Levi. Don’t be a jerk, okay?”

  Levi braked suddenly, sending us into a full fishtail spin. If I hadn’t been holding on to him tight, I would have fallen off. “My mother’s buried here. So don’t act like this means something to you, when you’ve only just thought of it now, okay?” He hit the okay in a sarcastic way, trying to mimic me.

  I burned white hot. I badly wanted to tell Levi off. But I kept my mouth shut because he was right. I had just thought of it then, for the first time. And because a dead mom trumps dead extended family any day of the week.

  He put his bike up on the kickstand. He did it so forcefully that it tipped over before he walked into the caretaker’s cottage.

  He stuck his head out the door a few seconds later. “Are you coming?”

  I went inside and immediately sat on the stairs. The place was empty. There wasn’t anything for me to do. With the clipboard in my lap, I concentrated on tearing off pieces of ugly-ass flowered wallpaper.

  “Don’t do that,” Levi said, hitting the light switch above my head. The hallway light on the second floor flickered on and off. “You are a terrible worker, you know that? You barely do anything. In fact, you actually slow me down. After today, there are going to be a lot more houses to clear. If you can’t keep up, then maybe you should just quit.”

  I glared at him. Could he be that dense? “You’re lucky I showed up today. But I’m not going to quit. Especially now that I know I’m slowing you down. If you want me gone, you’re going to have to fire me.”

  Levi dropped his head back and groaned. “All right, fine.” He rubbed his hands fast over his peach fuzz. When he tipped his head back up, he said, “I wasn’t going to ask you this, but—”

  “Yeah, it was me. I gave Jesse Principal Bundy’s address.”

  He looked so genuinely disappointed in me, I had to work on holding my mouth in an I don’t care grin while he marched down into the basement. Each of his footsteps made the foyer light swing.

  I wasn’t sure what to do. I should have felt happy, but I didn’t. I called out to him, “Look, I did give him the address, but I didn’t know what he was going to do with it.”

  “I can’t hear you!” he called back.

  This was ridiculous. “Never mind,” I said, getting up. “You know what? I’m going to go. I’ll leave the clipboard on—”

  “If you’re saying something you want me to hear, you’re going to have to come down,” he called out from below the floorboards.

  I went to the top of the basement stairs. “Do you want the clipboard? Or should I just leave it up here?”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m going home.”

  He trudged back up the stairs and held out his hand. “You know, I’d be finished by now if it wasn’t for you.”

  I handed the clipboard over. “I’m not a bad worker. I just hate my boss.”

  “That’s great. That’s just great. You know what? You’re right. Clearly I am a bad boss. A good boss would have told my dad about your stupid Secret Prom thing.”

  Oh, crap. “Well . . . I hope you still won’t say anything, because a lot of people are looking forward to it.”

  “Whatever. I could care less about a fake prom full of fake people.”

  I held myself rigid. “How are we fake?”

  He opened his mouth and then thought better of it. “I don’t want to get into this,” he said, walking back down the basement stairs.

  I followed him. “Come on. I want to know.” Levi turned to me and rolled his eyes. “What’s wrong with having a little fun?”

  “Because not everything should be turned into a good time, okay?” He crossed the basement and crouched down at a piece of machinery, a furnace or something, and started messing with the valves. “I don’t even know why I care. It’s cool. Ditch out on work and leave me to do everything. Go to Principal Bundy’s house and burn it down for all I care. Have a blast.”

  “It’s not going to be like that,” I told him. “We’re trying to make the best of a bad situation. We’re making lemonade out of lemons.”

  “Is that what you call it?” He chuckled. “Because I think you’re trying to pretend it isn’t happening.”

  I set my jaw. “Sorry to break it to you, Levi, but if anyone’s doing that, it’s you!”

  “How’s that exactly? Look at my job. I’m way more involved than anyone else at school.”

  “But you’re walking around like a zombie, Levi. You go through these empty houses and it hardly registers with you that someone used to live there. You barely look at the stuff they’ve left behind, you just throw it in trash bags and set it on the curb. And you act the same way at school. I haven’t seen you get sad once. Maybe it’s because you have your sights set on the next phase. You’re a—”

  “Don’t say it, Keeley.”

  “A Guy Who’s Going Places!”

  Levi curled his lip. “We’re all going places. Everyone’s leaving, Keeley. Not just me. I’m just being practical about it. You want to believe that your dad can stop this from happening, but trust me, he can’t. The sooner you and your friends accept that, the better.”

  I waited for him to take it back. When he didn’t, when he stalked over to the electric box, I turned around and left.

  • • •

  Mom was still out seeing patients by the time I walked home. Dad stood in the driveway, his cane resting against the side of the garage. He had his table saw out and a beam set up across two horses. He was leaning over, pencil behind his ear, tape measure in his hand. The air smelled of freshly cut wood.

  I wondered what he must be thinking. No one would think for a second that beginning the construction on the dam was anything but a huge step backward. Would Dad feel inspired to keep fighting? Or would he give up?

  Usually Dad spent evenings outside, sharing a beer with the men who’d been helping him with repairs all day. Or holding court with neighbors who stopped by to pledge their support. But today, the only other person here was Mrs. Dorsey.

  She held a pie in her hands, the crust golden brown and perfect, shiny fruit tar visible in the decorative slits. It had to be blueberry, Dad’s favorite. Probably a thank-you for the work he’d done on her garage that very first day.

  Neither of them noticed me coming up the front walk, and so before they did, I cut a diagonal across the yard to keep out of sight. Then I jogged around the back of our house and came up along the side of the garage.

  “What would it hurt, to speak to the adjusters and just see what they offer?” She paused as Dad whirled up the saw and cut through another board, sending a spray of sawdust into the air. “You know, they might even be extra-generous with you, seeing as you’re the leader of this whole thing.”

  Dad blew on the end of the board. “You’re telling me I should give up.”

  Mrs. Dorsey shrugged. “They’re starting work on the dam. What else can you do?”

  Dad turned to face her. “We can hold strong. They can’t move forward if we band together. They’re not going to let us drown. Starting tomorrow morning, I’m going to call on every single person left in Aberdeen and ask them to sign a petition, promising not to speak with adjusters until our questions are answered by Governor Ward. If I can make everyone understand that we’ve got each other’s back, then—”

  “And you honestly think people are going to do that? You think people are going to wait until the water is up to their front doors? What’s going to be left to save at that point?”

  Mrs. Dorsey was a strong woman. Mom always said that about her, even before her divorce, but especially after. Dad was not used to having conversations like this. Mom took a completely different tack with him, gentle pro
dding, more supportive, less confrontational. But Mrs. Dorsey was coming at him hard.

  “Have you talked to the adjusters?” I heard Dad’s struggle to stay calm, the quiver underneath his voice.

  She shook her head. “No. I haven’t.”

  I let out a deep breath I didn’t even know I was holding. I was pretty sure Morgan would have said something to me if her mother had talked to the adjusters, and I was glad to know my instincts were right. In a weird way, just that little piece made me feel better about everything.

  “Well, I’m thankful for that, Annie. I know your support is keeping Jill strong. When she sees your name under ours at the top of the petition, I think it’ll put her mind at ease.”

  Mrs. Dorsey’s mouth pulled into a thin line. “I won’t be signing your petition, Jim, because I can’t promise you that I won’t eventually talk to the adjusters. As much as I’d love to stay in Aberdeen, and as much as I have Jill’s back, I have to do what’s best for me and Morgan.”

  “Well, you and I are in agreement on that. Everything I’m doing is for my family.”

  Mrs. Dorsey shook her head. “Come on. We all see how hard you’re working. And I know for Jill, the one bright spot in this terrible mess has been watching you”—she paused, probably to choose her words carefully—“wake up.”

  Of course, I felt the same way. But there was a tinge to Mrs. Dorsey’s words, a disappointment that there needed to be an awakening in the first place. Which was unfair. She didn’t know what Dad had gone through with his accident. And no one was working harder than him now.

  “Jill’s taken on so much and given you the space you needed to deal with what happened. She could use someone to take care of her for a change. Imagine if you channeled all your efforts into her, helping her out around the house. Maybe take a part-time job somewhere.”

  “I’m sorry, Annie. Is this supposed to be a pep talk?” Dad laughed, like he was making a joke, except it was clear he wasn’t kidding around.

  She set the pie on his workbench. “I’m rooting for you, Jim. But know that there’s not just one way to win.” And she got into her car.

  I wondered if Morgan knew what her mom was up to, coming over to talk to my dad like this.

  Or if Mom did.

  I hoped neither.

  • • •

  We gathered around the television that night to watch the news. They’d aired a portion of the governor’s speech and his ceremonial shoveling of dirt. They showed a bit of Dad’s interview.

  Then they cut to some interviews Shawn Wilcox had done with other residents of Aberdeen.

  “Why would we want to live someplace unsafe?” said one neighbor.

  Another grumbled that he’d been hired to help with the dam construction, his first paying job in years, and that Dad was trying to take that away from him.

  Dad chafed. “That’s not what I’m trying to do.” He was defensive. And hurt.

  Shawn Wilcox talked to one couple walking out of City Hall with signed paperwork. “Our offer was more than fair,” they told him, and held up a document as proof. “And the money’s being deposited directly into our account in days.”

  Dad said, “Shit,” under his breath.

  The final shots of the report were exactly what we’d feared. The rain, our human chain breaking apart. Mom trying to pull Dad to shelter and falling, all of the people there to support him scattering until there was no one left. The last shot was of Dad, Mom, and the other protesters seeking shelter underneath a tent for the workers. They looked like they were trapped, too many people crammed on a lifeboat. Like they were acting out the future storm, the next flood that everyone was so worried about.

  “I really hoped he’d edit that part out,” Dad said.

  I had too.

  Mom didn’t say anything. She just stood up and walked out of the room.

  28

  * * *

  Wednesday, May 25

  Morning sun, 73°F

  * * *

  Jesse picked me up for school. I tried to concentrate on the goodness of that small thing, of climbing into his car, of him only letting go of my hand to switch gears. Instead of looking out the window at the slow-moving train full of flatbed cars that carried huge pipes and concrete frames to drop off beside the river, I cataloged the things piled at my feet I was trying not to step on, like a paperback of A Separate Peace and a crushed box of animal crackers that had to be Julia’s and a cheap pair of drugstore sunglasses with one mirrored lens missing. I memorized the color of the air freshener tree hanging from Jesse’s rearview mirror, orange, and its scent, coconut.

  I tried not to think about how, when Jesse beeped outside, Dad was also getting ready to leave, with a clipboard and pages of blank petition. Dad would be driving all over town today, hoping for signatures. I wondered what he’d look at, what he’d think about, to distract himself.

  I tried not to think about the quilt and pillow he’d left on the couch, because he’d slept downstairs, not in the bed with Mom.

  “Hey. Do you think your mom might sign our petition? It’s basically a promise that she won’t talk to the adjusters. Every name will help. My dad can stop by your house. Or maybe even drive out to Walmart, if she’s working today.”

  Jesse nodded. “Yeah, sure. I don’t see why not. I’ll ask her.”

  • • •

  Something had definitely shifted. I felt it as soon as I walked into school. Kids were giving me sad looks. Actually, they were sad looks for my father, delivered through me. I smiled, though, as if I didn’t notice. I reminded everyone about Secret Prom on Saturday night. I teased them about how much fun it was going to be, all the surprises and fun things Jesse and I had in store for them. I whispered about Secret Prom at every possible opportunity.

  It wasn’t a complete lie. Jesse and I were going to Walmart to buy supplies later in the week. I knew he had ideas and I did too. Like paper corsages for the girls and boutonnieres for the boys. Or maybe a photo backdrop, with a round table and white tablecloth, and a pretty place setting, so people could take pictures sitting at it. So it would seem like a real prom.

  There were only three days left of school and we were all, suddenly, seniors.

  I was making a list of those things in homeroom when, for the first time, morning announcements included a reminder to report a non-Aberdeen mailing address to the guidance office when we had one, so they could send our records on to our new schools. And after that first bell, people started talking more openly about where they might go. Some kids thought they’d probably stay nearby, relocate to apartments or other houses in surrounding towns. But a lot seemed to think they might go far away, like Elise had. Different states. Whenever I’d walk by, those conversations got hushed or stopped altogether.

  Since Bundy was already gone, school became even more of a joke. I didn’t go to a single one of my classes that day. After homeroom, I just stuck with Morgan. I went to her study hall, I helped her clean out her locker.

  Jesse sent me a text the period before lunch.

  Yo. Opening Ceremonies of Aberdeen Gym Olympics start today during lunch. You and Morgan vs. me and Zito for the three-legged race. THERE WILL BE PRIZES!

  I asked Morgan if she wanted to go but she shook her head. “Actually, I was thinking you and I could take a drive. The only thing is that I want to be back in time for English. Today’s my last class with Ms. Runde and I don’t want to miss it.”

  “Oh.” I said. “Okay.” Even though that didn’t sound nearly as fun as Gym Olympics.

  We got in her car and started driving with no specific destination. Basically up and down every single street that wasn’t closed off to traffic, like we were garbagemen or something. It was surprisingly awkward, which I blamed on the larger circumstances. I did a lot of Secret Prom babbling to keep things from getting sad. And it ended up being a productive conversation. We decided that, instead of wasting money on new dresses, we’d wear something old of our mothers’. And we’d get someon
e to take a photo of us that we could give to them, after it was all over with and they couldn’t ground us for lying.

  “I’m almost positive I can fit into that dress she wore out to the car that day. The one from her Spring Fling,” Morgan said.

  “I bet my mom has her’s in the attic. I’ll check.”

  We decided to tell our parents we’d be sleeping at Debbie Granger’s house. Debbie was a girl we’d both known since kindergarten. We’d hide our prom clothes in our book bags, then change, and do our hair and makeup in Morgan’s car.

  “So have you and Jesse talked about what’s going to happen after . . . whatever happens?”

  “Not really,” I said, breezy. “We’re just enjoying the here and now.” I tried matching how Elise would talk about the boys she dated, with a touch of indifference. It used to drive me crazy how little she cared about something that I so desperately wished that I could have. But Elise wasn’t acting. She honestly didn’t care. It wasn’t that way for me. Not with Jesse.

  “Is he going to college?”

  “Yeah. Community college. That way, he can be around for his little sister, Julia.”

  “Well, that’s awesome. If you get into Baird next year, you won’t have to do the long-distance thing.”

  I nodded, even though that wasn’t something Jesse and I had ever discussed. Our vibe was more Let’s make the most of our time here. Which was fine when I had all the hope in the world that that day we’d have to leave Aberdeen would never come. But now, things were looking a bit less optimistic.

  “Have you had sex with him?”

  “What?” I practically screamed it.

  “You heard me.” She was looking at me intensely, scouring my face for some kind of clue.

  “Morgan, if I had sex with Jesse Ford, I would call you immediately after. I might even text you during it, honestly, if I felt I could get away with it.”

  She seemed satisfied. “Do you want to lose your virginity to him, though? If you did, the night of Secret Prom would be pretty epic.”