Instructions for the End of the World (11 page)

“What kind of party?”

“Kind of a weird one, actually. My mom's throwing it to welcome herself back from rehab.”

“Oh.” I don't know what else to say, so I look at him to see how he feels about it.

“I have to warn you, my mother is nuts.”

We are walking back toward the well, and I get the urge to tell him exactly how nuts my parents have been lately, too, but I don't.

“My friends said they already invited your little sister, so I wanted to make sure you got an invite too.”

After my argument with Isabel last night, she vanished into her room and hasn't spoken to me since. I don't know what kind of response I was expecting to my acting like Dad, but I am sort of relieved not to have her making demands and complaining about every little thing.

I want to complain, too. I really do.

But who's going to listen or care?

“Thanks,” I say, trying to imagine going off tonight to a party with a bunch of kids like Wolf.

I know without a doubt that I would not be allowed to go if our parents were here, and Izzy at fourteen would not in a million years be allowed to go. But a party … it's the sort of thing I sometimes fantasize about, wonder about, maybe even pine for, when I'm thinking about what it would be like to live in a normal family, to have normal rules, to be a normal teenager.

I have heard kids talk at school. I am not interested in getting drunk or using drugs or making out with guys in front of other people. But laughing and having fun? Acting stupid? Falling into swimming pools with my clothes on?

I am ashamed to admit it even to myself, but it sounds kind of great.

I want so badly to feel carefree, it takes my breath away when I allow myself to think about it.

“So does that mean you'll come?” Wolf says, a half smile on his lips.

We are back at the well, and I put my weight into trying to penetrate the ground with the tip of my shovel. I barely make a dent.

“I'm not sure.”

All the true answers I can give sound completely lame. Like, that I'm not allowed to go to parties, that my sister is way too young, that my dad hates hippies and will kill us if he comes home and finds us off partying with a bunch of them.

“If it's lame, we'll just go do our own thing,” he says. “I can't guarantee you'll have a good time, but I can guarantee it'll be more fun than trying to dig up ruptured water pipes.”

He grins, and I can't help but laugh. These past few days have been so completely ridiculous, I don't know what else to do.

“Good, it's settled then. You know how to get to the village?”

“No, I don't hang out in the woods watching people the way you do.”

“You should. It can be illuminating.”

“I bet.”

“You just go down the hill and make a right on the next gravel road before you get to the main road. It's only about a half mile walk or bike ride, but if you want we could come get you in a friend's car.”

“That's okay,” I say. “We can walk. If we decide to go, I mean.”

But the moment the words exit my mouth, I know we'll go. I can't really stop Isabel from going anyway, and I might as well be there to make sure she doesn't get into too much trouble.

Wolf motions me to step back, and I watch as he slams his shovel into the earth, penetrating far better than I could have managed. He has a decent hole dug in a matter of a few minutes, and I start working on making it deeper while he moves a foot closer to the house and continues to dig there.

My chest is tight with nerves, and I realize I don't feel at all like myself when he's around. I feel fuzzy headed, confused.

I'm going to have to be on my guard with him. He's got a certain wily, elusive quality that reminds me of real wolves in the wild.

We dig until we are drenched in sweat. The earth is so hard near the surface that it's slow going, but about a foot and a half down, the earth starts to get soft and wet, which has me exhilarated with the promise that maybe we've found the burst pipe. Wolf digs down another foot or so while I watch, being careful at the end not to dig his shovel too deep and hit pipe. Then we both get down on our knees and dig wet soil out with our hands. We are filthy by the time my hand hits metal, and I'm so hot I feel like I'm going to pass out, but I am grateful to Wolf for helping me. I wouldn't have figured out what to do without him, and I see that already all the preparation, all Dad's so-called training, didn't mean a thing when I faced an actual problem while trying to survive on my own.

I look over at Wolf, watching him as he unearths a rusted-out pipe with water spraying out, and I feel a surge of gratitude, and something else.

A buzzing, magnetic force, urging me to him.

WOLF

I've never been a fan of parties, but the thought of Nicole coming to the one at Sadhana makes me feel like celebrating.

Maybe not celebrating the way Annika has in mind, with hand-holding and drums around the fire all night, but just feeling good … having fun.

I think I may have forgotten how to have fun.

I remember reading that Winston Churchill called depression “the black dog,” and that is what I imagine has been following me around recently since my mother's return. Or maybe it's more of a storm cloud forever hovering overhead, turning all my thoughts and feelings gray. I never thought of myself as being depressed, but I realize as I ride my bike home from Nicole's house, my arms and legs and clothes stained with dirt, sweat soaked through my shirt, that I feel alive, really alive, for the first time in a while.

I want to know what happens next, which is not something I have been curious about for a long time.

We weren't able to fix her broken pipe problem. It's not like there were spare plumbing tools and pipe lying around. But she said she would call a plumber, and I was glad I could at least help a little. We ate some of the bread I brought over, and drank some water, and then I figured I'd better go, since I hadn't really been invited in the first place.

I jump into the pond when I get back to the village, let the cool water wash me clean, and then I spend the rest of the day avoiding the adults. They will ask me to do things—gather firewood, chop vegetables, set up tents for the overflow of out-of-town partiers who want to camp out tonight—and I just want to revel in this feeling of being happy for a while.

The rest of the pack, as I have my entire life thought of the kid group at the village, is scattered, some helping with party preparations, some doing their best to hide out and avoid any work.

I slip away to the tree house, where I spend the afternoon nailing on the last of the roof tiles, and by the end of the day I am tired but exhilarated, my head buzzing with images of Nicole sweating, streaked with dirt, and working beside me.

She is even more of a mystery than I first thought when I saw her headed into the woods with the gun. She's a whole world unto herself, waiting to be explored.

ISABEL

At first I thought the kids from the Sadhana place were weird. Like the homeless kids we saw on the sidewalk in Hollywood once when we went there to see the tourist stuff. But the more I talked to them, the more they seemed like the exact opposite of my sister and my dad, and therefore, the kind of people I can totally hang out with.

Plus that Kiva guy was kind of hot. And I think he liked me.

Then when they were driving me home last night and told me about the party, it felt like my life had finally started making some kind of sense. I almost cried I was so happy. Like seriously—tears of joy and all.

But then of course I returned to harsh reality, a house so disgusting I couldn't even let them drive me all the way up the hill to drop me off. I told them to stop halfway and I walked up. Seriously. I lied and said I didn't want anyone to see me catching a ride, that my family thought I'd gone for a hike in the woods.

And how to get ready for a party, with no running water? Oh my god. I had to stand in the tub and pour gallon jugs of water over myself. I'm not kidding. Nicole told me I could only use one but I used three, and I don't even care if we run out of water, because it's not my fault.

I'm going to the party smelling clean. That's all I care about.

 

Nine

WOLF

I watch from my perch in an old tree house as people arrive to the party. Most animals (including people) rarely look up, so I can see everyone who comes and goes without them seeing me. I recognize most of the faces—people from town, a few old-timers who used to live at the village back in its early days, and plenty of my mom's cronies, her former party crowd. This doesn't bode well for her staying sober. I've read all the literature. I know she's supposed to avoid people she used to party with, or else she'll slip back into old habits.

But like Helene said, I'm supposed to let her succeed or fail on her own. Her staying sober is not my responsibility.

I can never tell with Annika what her true motives are. She could be serious this time about wanting to stay sober, or she could just be lying to herself.

I am starting to think Nicole won't show as I watch one person after another pass by—all people I am not looking for. I see Laurel return from town with Pauly, both of them carrying bags of ice for the party, and I am finally busted when they see me. They're the only ones who would think to look up to the tree house.

“Loser,” Laurel says. “Come down here and help me carry this freaking ice.”

“I'm busy,” I say.

“Waiting for someone special?” says Pauly.

“Something like that.”

“You're just trying to get out of doing any work,” says Laurel, who knows me best.

“A little of both,” I say, but now that my cover is blown, I might as well come down.

It's getting dark, and the scent of ganja is thick in the air. We carry the bags of ice to the coolers that line the patio and start dumping it in on top of the endless supply of beer. I feel my jaw tighten as I think of Annika here with all this temptation.

I don't have any control over what she does, but my problem has always been wanting to control it anyway.

Laurel grabs me by the arm and tries to pull me toward the sounds of music and voices behind the house, but I dig in my heels and refuse to be led.

“What?” she says.

“I'm not in the mood for noise.”

“Ooh, big news there.” She rolls her eyes. “Come on, please? I need someone to dance with.”

“I'm sure you'll find plenty of dance partners.”

Pauly swoops past us, catching Laurel as he passes. “I'll be your dance partner, babe.”

She mouths, “Help me,” but I just stand there and watch him whisk her away. There's no worry about him taking advantage of Laurel when she gets stoned or drunk, which is usually a problem. She likes to get taken advantage of.

She'd never call it that. But she's pretty, and wild, and willing to do anything for attention. It's a terrible combination. I used to try to protect her from herself, but I've learned over the years it's about as effective as trying to protect my mother from herself, or trying to stop anyone from doing anything they've got their mind set on, pretty much.

I am headed back out front to resume my post in the tree house when a heavy hand slaps the center of my back, good ol' boy style.

“Wolfgang, my man,” a male voice says, and I turn to find Annika's new boyfriend beaming at me.

The smile doesn't reach his eyes.

“I was hoping we could have a talk, man to man.”

“I'm a little busy,” I say, edging toward the door.

“Nothing that can't wait, I'm sure. Let's take a sauna together, yeah?”

“Maybe later.”

Or never. Never would be good.

He crosses his arms over his chest and frowns. “I'm starting to get the feeling you don't like me. Is that true?”

“I don't have any strong opinion of you one way or the other.”

He flashes the false grin again. “I don't believe you. We might be family someday, so we need to work out whatever bad blood there is between us.”

I hold up my hands as if this somehow makes clear my lack of involvement in this whole family thing. “Whatever you've got going with Annika—”

“With your
mother,
you mean, also involves you.”

“I'll be gone soon as I turn eighteen, which will be in a few months.”

More like seven months, but still, I want him to fully understand the transient nature of my presence in his life.

I turn and head for the back door, pushing past a group of women I don't know, who've just wandered in.

When I'm outside again I blink as my eyes adjust to the darkness, and I am about to go back out front to the tree house when Nicole and her sister emerge from the darkness at the edge of the woods. Nicole is carrying a flashlight, and I'm instantly impressed that she dared to find a shortcut through the woods at this time of night, when the road would have been easier. It's the kind of thing I would do.

I wave my arm to get her attention as she surveys the scene, and her gaze settles on me. Her sister, beside her, is still scanning, probably looking for the guys she hitched a ride with. But she's a bit too young to be hanging with them on a night like this, when they will be up to no good.

I head over to them and am saying hi to Nicole when her sister makes a quick exit left.

Nicole, looking at me, doesn't notice until my gaze follows her sister.

“We might want to keep an eye on her,” I say.

“I've had about enough of keeping an eye on her. She's determined to get away from me, so fine.”

“You walked through the woods?”

“I found a trail when I was hunting and realized it led this way.”

“You haven't been spying on me, have you?”

“I've been too busy with broken pipes and runaway sisters for that. Thank you again for your help today. It was really nice of you.”