The Last Boy and Girl in the World (25 page)

“Do you not want this job?”

“No, I don't. I want to be with my friends right now. Having fun.”

“So go.”

“I can't. My mom says we need the money.”

“All right then,” he said, smugly clearing his throat. “Our second duty is to make sure the place isn't full of trash. If it is, that's a fire hazard. We bag up what we can, set the stuff on the curb, and page the sanitation team.”

“Sounds disgusting.”

He ignored me. “Then, if we've accomplished tasks one and two, we can move on to task three and spray-paint a red
X
on the door.” And then he actually pulled out the spray paint can, shook it up, and pretended to do just that. “The red
X
means a house is ready to be torn down.”

I rolled my eyes. “Can we go inside now?”

“I can, but you can't.”

“Why not?”

“Because this house is too damaged, and you are wearing capri jeans, or whatever you call them, and, like, little girl sneakers.”

“They're Keds.”

“Whatever. Also I forgot to bring a hard hat for you.”

“So what am I supposed to do while you're inside?”

“Sit and wait for me.”

“I'll still get paid for this one, right?” Levi had told me we'd get twenty bucks a house, to split down the middle.

He pulled a face. “Do you think that's fair? What will you have done to earn that money?”

“I'm here lending moral support.”

“Lucky me,” he grumbled, and shut the front door harder than I felt necessary.

That was fine by me. I sat on the stoop and waited for Levi to do his thing, while refreshing Jesse's video page, hoping to see some smashed toilets.

We went through a couple of houses like that and then moved deeper into town, where things weren't as bad. Maybe some damage to the roof or a busted window or two. A soggy carpet or a swampy basement. But totally repairable. Salvageable, so long as someone wanted to save it. Which, apparently, these families didn't. Levi allowed me to enter those houses.

The abandoned homes were like giant doll houses, without any furniture or appliances. Some of the people had taken care to leave their place clean. Some people had swept the floors. Some houses smelled like Windex and bleach. Other people had left piles of trash and weird belongings behind. Those were the kinds of houses where Levi handed me trash bags and put me to work.

Though it was gross to sift through that stuff, it was also kind of interesting. Every time I found something random, I'd hold it up. A pair of antlers. A bowling ball. A shoe box full of smudgy old reading glasses. I'd assign myself points out loud for every weird find, as if we were playing a game with each other.

We weren't. Sometimes Levi looked at whatever it was, sometimes he didn't bother.

“Levi! Come up here!”

He came bounding up the stairs. “What?”

I pointed across the bathroom. There was a completely decorated artificial Christmas tree in someone's shower stall. “Whoever put this here was clearly trying to mess with us. Right?” Levi barely smiled. “I mean, this has to be worth like a hundred and fifty points.”

He sighed, completely exasperated. “Keeley, I don't care why it's there, but it has to go.”

Then, out of nowhere, in the last house of the day, Levi came walking into the room I was in. “Umm, how many points do I get for this?” He lifted up a hand and presented a black tuft of fur.

“What the hell is that? A stuffed animal?”

“Nope.”

“Dead cat?” I asked, wincing.

“It's . . . a toupee.”

I gasped. “Eww!”

Levi turned it over in his hands. “I don't get it. So this guy wanted people in Aberdeen to think he had hair, but in his new life, he's okay with being bald?”

“Please put it on.”

“What? No!”

“Please, Levi. Please. I've always wondered what you'd look like with hair.”

He rubbed his hands over his peach fuzz like he was contemplating it.

“My uncle used to wear one,” he said. “I had no idea when I was little. It was dark brown and really shiny. Anyway, one time when I was maybe four, he slapped it on my head when I was hugging him good-bye, just to be funny.”

“That is funny.”

“Well, he wasn't laughing after I peed on him.” I must have made a gross-out face because Levi got all defensive. “What? It was very traumatic.”

“Okay, here's a little tip from me to you. Next time you tell that story, leave the pee part out, especially if you're telling it to a girl.”

“Thanks for the advice.” He flung the hairpiece at me like a Frisbee.

Then Levi must have realized he was having fun. Because he immediately turned around and walked out.

•  •  •

Later that night, my parents and I watched the KPBC nightly news with our dinner on our laps. Mom had been too tired to cook, but Mineo's was still closed, so we couldn't order pizza. Luckily, she found a box of Bisquick in the cabinets and made us pancakes.

The reporter—Shawn Wilcox—introduced my dad as one of the leaders of what he called the Reservoir Resistance.

I laughed out loud. “Oh, Dad, seriously? That's so corny!”

Dad, his mouth full, said something like “I didn't say that! It was his idea!”

Mom scooted in from the kitchen with a fresh pancake balanced on a spatula. She dropped it on my plate and said, “Annie said you'd talked to a reporter, but she didn't tell me anything about this.”

Dad turned in his seat and offered a goofy smile.

Corny moniker aside, Dad looked good on television. Handsome, even. But he was nervous. He wasn't sure where to look, at the reporter or at the camera, so he went back and forth between the two. He also kept squinting and running his hands through his hair. “It's crystal clear why Governor Ward wants to get rid of Aberdeen. He might think if he plays dumb about his waterfront deal, we won't put two and two together, but I'm here to assure him that we weren't born yesterday. We know what he's up to.”

“You're referring to the Waterford City redevelopment project currently on hold.”

“I am. And I also find it strange that our own mayor isn't advocating for us. Why? Where is he going to go after there's no more Aberdeen? Has Governor Ward offered him a new position, possibly in his cabinet? He's got to be getting something out of this.”

I glanced over at Dad. He was throwing down some serious accusations. Stuff I knew he couldn't actually prove. I wondered if the reporter would question him on it, but instead, he moved on and asked, “Isn't this the chance of a lifetime? You and your family can start over someplace new with a payout lining your pockets. Set down new roots.”

My dad shook his head, resolute. “This is not about money. This is about our identity. My family has been living in Aberdeen for over a hundred and fifty years, on a street named after my great-great-grandfather. We're not going to be able to find that in some other town. That's the kind of thing worth fighting for.”

“Are you saying, then, that you won't be leaving Aberdeen?”

I set my fork down and leaned forward.

“I have to believe there are other options, other ways the government can think about addressing the flooding issue that won't require such a sacrifice from the people of this town. I'm encouraging my neighbors not to speak with the adjusters, to refuse to make deals until we know for sure that we've exhausted all other options. And I'd like to invite anyone who might support me in that idea to a protest this Sunday in front of Aberdeen City Hall, where we will call on Mayor Aversano to be accountable to the people who elected him. I want proof that he has our best interests at heart, that this is truly the only way forward. If he can show us that, then I'll sign whatever they want me to sign.”

His last words hung in the air. Dad quickly turned to Mom and me and said, “Don't worry. I'm not signing anything. I said it to look reasonable.”

I smelled a burning pancake in the kitchen.

Mom bit on her thumbnail. “I'm afraid of you making yourself a target. I mean . . . you said some pretty out-there things just now. And you're already disobeying orders by helping people repair their houses. I don't want you getting arrested.”

“Who's going to arrest me? Sheriff Hamrick?” Our telephone rang. Dad lifted himself off the couch. “Trust me. I'm thinking about our future. That's the one thing I care about above everything else.”

He held his hand on the receiver and let the phone ring and ring. Mom finally nodded. Only then did he answer it.

I jumped up and took the spatula from Mom's hand and walked quickly into the kitchen. The pancake was charred. I threw it into the trash, turned off the heat, and opened the window over the sink so the smoke detector wouldn't go off.

Friday, May 20

Sunny, 66°F

Though I had all the hope in the world for Dad's rally, especially after seeing the parental anger in the gym the day before, I knew it was way unlikely that our school year would be salvaged. Everyone must have felt the same way, because things immediately fast-forwarded to that End of Year feeling. There wasn't much learning going on, that's for sure. Lesson plans were replaced by movies. Hall passes were handed out liberally, for any and no reason. Teachers offered us extra credit for nonsense tasks like taking down a bulletin board in the back of their classroom or packing a box of books. I definitely wasn't complaining. In one day, I managed to raise my average in every single class.

Jesse sent me a text during third period. It was a picture of the art room full of supplies.

You should loot this for the rally. We can make signs and stuff.

It was such a sweet yet illegal idea. I curled up in my chair.
Where are you?

I'm down in the gym grabbing stuff for Julia. Do you think she's too young for badminton?

I don't think so. Not if you hang the net low for her. Follow-up question: by “grabbing” do you mean “stealing”?

You can't steal trash. Coach Dean tipped me off. There's a Dumpster already parked outside. Everything Must Go! So why can't it go to me?

I was not surprised to hear Coach Dean had given Jesse that heads-up. Jesse had that kind of chummy, lovable persona that made teachers treat him special. I did too, mostly. The only exception for me was Principal Bundy.

Also taking a couple of the floor scooters. Hey! Let's do an Aberdeen Gym Olympics. You and I can be the judges and we can award people trophies from the trophy case outside the main office.

Umm, you are crazy!
I wrote, even though it did sound super-fun.
They will totally notice if you steal the trophies!

No one's going to miss a 2nd place state bowling trophy from 1971. And no one will miss a couple sheets of poster board and a set of markers. Go get them! It's for a good cause!

I was happy to hear Jesse say that. I wondered if his mom would show up at the rally. And though I didn't want to infer too much, maybe if Aberdeen was saved, we'd be saved too. I'd take any possible extra time I could get with Jesse. A week, a day, a minute, a second.

It was as if he could see me hesitating.

Come on, girl. Be brave. All this crap is getting pitched. Plus, Ms. Scala left town already. I bet she's halfway to Paris by now. You know how she has those posters of the Louvre hanging all over her classroom.

No way! Ms. Scala is gone?

Yup. I heard some of the other teachers trying to guess how much she got for her house when I was grabbing my morning cup of coffee from the teachers' lounge.

OMG Jesse. Only you.

I didn't even ask to go to the bathroom. I just got up and slipped out. Mr. Zeilman had a movie on. I'm not sure what
Jurassic Park
had to do with social studies, but whatever. I had already ensured an A+ for the semester because I'd rolled up all his classroom maps and stuck them into cardboard tubes.

Jesse was right. Our school was getting cleared out fast. Every single trash can was overflowing with things that wouldn't normally be considered trash at all. Textbooks and supplies and even computers. It was grossly wasteful. We should have donated the stuff to another school, maybe even in another country. But that would have required someone in the administration caring. And it seemed like, for them anyway, caring was in short supply.

I walked through the halls and made my way to the art room. Through the window in Ms. Scala's door, I saw there wasn't anyone inside her classroom and the lights were off. It was full of supplies, just like Jesse had said. And Ms. Scala's desk was cleared off. I guess she really was gone.

I put my hand on the doorknob.

“Keeley? What do you think you're doing?”

I turned around and there was Principal Bundy, arms crossed, smug smile on her bitchy face.

“I . . . wanted to see Ms. Scala. I had a question for her. About art.”

Bundy narrowed her eyes. “You're not a good liar, Keeley.”

“I'm not lying,” I said. “I really did have a question for her. A Picasso question.”

Bundy was not amused. “There's such a thing as taking a joke too far, Keeley. Have you honestly not learned that yet?”

My heart was thundering in my chest.

Bundy stepped past me and reached for the doorknob. She seemed pleased to find it locked. “At some point, people stop laughing with you and begin laughing at you.”

I know she wanted to provoke a reaction in me, just like she had at Mock Congress. I wasn't going to give it to her. I was going to walk away. But then I spotted Jesse Ford opening a door from an adjacent classroom and stepping into the art room. He grinned and held his finger up to his lips, like
shhhhhh
.