August 10

"Mom, can I go outside?" May asked in the morning.

Both Mom and I looked at her weirdly. Other than the forced trips to the food bank, the wood gathering sessions on Mondays, Mom's weird hiking session a month or so ago, the survival book hunt in the library, and Clara's birthday, I don't think May's ever left the house.

"Where to?" Mom asked.

"Just to see if one of my friends is still here," she said. At that moment, I knew it was a lie, but the reason behind it was a mystery.

Mom didn't say anything.

"What?" May asked. "If Neal gets to visit Charles pretty much every day—"

"Hey, not every day," I said, but she ignored me.

"Then, why can't I visit my friend after, like, two months."

"Alright," Mom said. "You can go, but you need to bring either Neal or Mira along with you."

"What?" May exclaimed. "This is so sexist. Neal can do whatever he wants to do, but I need a babysitter."

"Neal is sixteen," Mom said. "When you get old enough to drive your own car, I'll give you more freedom, but you're fourteen right now, and you'll need someone older to supervise you."

"I'm almost fifteen," May blurted out, grasping at straws.

"Fifteen is not sixteen," Mom said. "So either Neal or Mira are coming with you. Your choice."

"I'll come," I said, chiming in.

"Fine," May said. "I'm going to get ready now."

She walked through the hallway, though stomped would be more appropriate. Mom sighed and put her hand on her chin. There was an awkward silence between us.

"Actually, I take that back. Weren't you outside yesterday?" Mom asked. "Maybe it's better if Mira goes."

"I don't think Mira might be up to going," I said. "Because, you know."

"Oh..." Mom said. "Okay. Just for today I'll make an exemption."

Just after she said that, May popped in. "I'm ready to leave. So let's go."

"Wait," I said and walked towards the hallway. "I need to change. Give me a minute."

"Well, hurry up then."

I went into my room and hastily put on a heavy ski jacket and thick pants. When I got to the front door, May had put on her shoes and was waiting impatient next to Mom. "Took you long enough."

"So, remember—" Mom said before she was cut off.

"Yep. Less than an hour or else I'm grounded for life. Blah-blah-blah. We get it."

May opened the door. The air was still today, the ash clinging to the rooftops unmoving.

"Stay safe," Mom said.

"Don't worry. We won't die," May replied.

We walked away from our house. May kicked up some ash and watched it float, blossoming into a cloud of gray, before settling once again.

"So you want to tell me where we're going?" I asked. "Since it's clearly not a friend's house."

"No duh," she said and pulled out a key from her pocket. "This is where we're going."

I stopped walking. "How'd you even get it?"

"Dad just left it in a drawer. I found it a couple weeks back."

"So we're just going to break into the Hunters' house?" I asked. "And then what? Just take their stuff."

"Pretty much, yeah," she said. "Do you have some problem with that?"

"Yeah," I said. "We're basically stealing from—"

"They gave us the key," May replied before I could finish. "Dad's just not being smart about this. We're practically dying here, so we might as well use all the resources that we can to survive."

"I don't know about this..." I said.

"Just think about this this way. Let's say that we find an axe or something important for our survival. Then Dad will not have to work as hard to cut down trees, which means that he'll stay healthy and we'll get enough wood, which means that we'll stay warm in winter and not die of hypothermia," she replied. "Everyone wins."

"And what if Dad finds out?"

"He won't," she said. "I've got a plan for that."

"Okay," I said and looked around. "So what are we doing here then? We passed the Hunters' house already."

"Mom might be looking out of the window."

"She's not that paranoid," I said, and May gave me a look.

"Oh she definitely is," May said. "Yesterday, she literally looked out of the window until you disappeared into the haze."

We waited a bit longer. I exhaled deeply and saw my breath seep out of my mask, visible in the cold air. I adjusted my mask to tighten it. Hopefully, no ash actually made it into my lungs.

"Is the coast clear?" I asked.

"I think so," she said. "Let's go."

So we walked towards the Hunters' house, a couple houses away from our house. May told me to move quickly because she was worried that Mom might glance out of the window and see us sneaking into the house. May inserted the key into the front door, opening it with a heavy chink. We both ran inside, and she shut the door with a soft thud.

The inside was pretty barren. The living room had been stripped of everything personal, especially the photographs that adorned the room that I remember from that last time our families had dinner, and the walls laid there, starkly empty. May flung open the cabinets. Nothing.

"They couldn't leave any food behind," May grumbled. "What was the point in even giving us the key?"

I went into the kitchen to help her. Nothing in the cabinets except for some packets of pink lemonade.

"A win is a win," she said and shrugged.

"This is some sad raiding," I said.

"Did you check the pantry yet?" she asked.

"Nope," I said. "I wanted you to do the honors."

May flung open the pantry. There was a single can of brussel sprouts smack dab in the center of the middle shelf, covered in a thin layer of dust. I grabbed a stool and stood on it to check the top shelf of the pantry. There were just some old mason jars and a smiley-face lemonade pitcher. I climbed back down, and May picked up the can.

"Well that's at least something," she said.

"Did you check the expiring date?" I asked.

She looked at the back of the can, and her face fell. "Oh..."

"Yeah," I said and nodded. "There was probably a good reason they left that behind."

"Who even has two years expired canned brussel sprouts in their pantry?" she said. "And canned food lasts, like, forever, so who knows even what century that came from? Disgusting."

"Should we go check the garage?"

"What are you waiting for?" she asked. "Let's go."

We walked through the house and towards the garage. The wooden floors creaked underneath us as faded gray light passed through the dust-streaked windows. May made a detour to check out the closet, though it was empty, just like basically all of this house. I have no idea how the Hunters packed basically everything. They must be packing gods or something.

A washer and dryer hung in front of the entrance to the garage, lonely and unused. May tapped the top of one with her hand, the metallic clang echoing softly in the laundry room. It was dark in the room. "Did you bring a flashlight?"

"Of course," she said. "I'm not dumb."

She pulled out one flashlight for herself and one from me. She opened the door to the garage. "Looks like we hit the gold mine."

There was a massive clutter of randomness in the garage. I moved my flashlight around. There were cardboard boxes and supplies strewn across the floor. I spotted some toolboxes laying on a shelf and my light glinted off of something shiny and metal, and I walked towards it.

There was no axe lying on the shelf, just a bunch of screwdrivers and hammers. I sighed.

"Look what I found," May said.

She picked up a solar panel, the same brand as the one we had at home. "It's not really going to be useful," I said. "Given that the sun is gone pretty much all the time."

"Whatever," she said and moved her flashlight around, investigating the mess of supplies in the middle of the garage.

I turned back and shone my light on the shelf. There were boxes filled with personal items, beat-up stuffed animals, messily painted ceramic coffee cups, string-up lights, old Christmas ornaments, sparkling under the fluorescent light. I felt guilty looking at these. There was history behind many of them, memories and dreams imbued into them. And we were just stealing whatever we wanted with no mind to the history behind them, treating them as if they were objects and nothing else.

I tried to shake off these thoughts and kneeled down to check the bottom row. There were a couple of weights and lots of cardboard boxes. I pulled one out, but there was nothing in there other than multicolored wires and a mouse from a decade ago. Just as I was putting it back, my flashlight caught on something dull and metallic on the back of the shelf.

It was an axe, hidden by the cardboard boxes and covered in dust and cobwebs. I grabbed it, cringing at the feeling of the silky threads on my skin, and I stood up, holding it. "Look what I found."

May turned around. "Lucky. All I found were a bunch of fishing rods, and it's not like we're ever going to use them since no one in our family eats fish."

"So what's your plan for the axe?"

"So next week, when you meet up with Charles, that's when you bring back the axe."

"I don't get it."

"Just tell them you guys went to the garden and found it in a supply shed and found the axe."

"You know Dad will be," I said. "If he's so opposed to this thing with the Hunters' stuff, then he'll be even more opposed to taking something from the garden."

"You'll be able to think of something," May replied. "And Mom and Dad will believe you no matter what you say unless you say that a flying unicorn gave it to you or something."

"That was a pretty awful plan, you know," I replied.

"It sounded better in my head," she said. "Anyways, let's go now. We're probably over Mom's time limit."

So we went up the stairs and out of the front door, careful to make sure that the door was properly locked. Small flecks of ash were beginning to fall, covering the faded wooden porch, and I tightened my mask as the both of us walked home.

As soon as we opened the door, Mom began to interrogate us, or more specifically, May.

"So how was it?" Mom said in her faux casual voice.

"It was alright," May said and shrugged.

"What did you guys do?"

"Riya and I just talked a bit," May replied. "Her family is doing as fine as you can be doing with the whole world ending."

Mom looked at me. "And you, Neal?"

I shrugged. "It was awkward," I lied. "Just sitting there and not doing much, I guess."

"Anyways," May said loudly before Mom could keep interrogating us. "What delicious can of food are we going to be eating for brunch today?"

"String beans," Mom said. "And make sure to take the vitamin gummies."

May went into the pantry and grabbed a can of strong beans and went into the kitchen to open it and heat it up over the fire. "Where's Dad?" I asked Mom.

"In the garage," she replied. "We've got a lighting and heating system down, but we just need more power."

"Do the solar panels work?" I asked.

"Yes, actually," Mom replied. "We packed away the solar panels when the volcanoes erupted because we didn't want the ashfall to damage them, but your father brought them out to see if they worked and they did charge the batteries a little bit."

"So what's the problem?"

She sighed. "We just need more panels. There's just not enough to maintain the lighting and heating system."

"You think that the greenhouse is going to work?"

"Hopefully," Mom said.

How are we going to get enough power to make the greenhouse work? Solar works but not that well because of the ashfall. I don't think that Dad or anyone in this family has any clue about how to make wind turbines or river powered ones. Getting a generator might work, but gasoline is as extinct as dinosaurs. It's weird to think about how much we're all thinking about power now compared to before when we just flicked on the lights so casually.

Mom declared that tomorrow was dish-washing day. May was pretty annoyed by that, but even I could see her protests were more half-hearted now compared to when the world was a bit better.

"Can electricity just come back?" she asked during dinner.

There was an awkward pause as everyone waited for the lights to flicker back on because that's what would've happened in the movies. But the lights stayed off, and May grumbled, "I can't believe that I'm actually missing the dishwasher."

"Me too," Mom said. "But we just have to keep adapting."

"Screw the Moon," May mumbled under her breath.

Mom didn't even scold May for saying that, probably because there was a part of her that agreed with May. She only sighed and dumped her used fork in the sink. Dish-washing tomorrow is going to be a pain.

August 11

Dish-scrubbing was such a pain.

May complained the whole way through. Mira silently washed the dishes, barely speaking at all. I poured dish soap on the plates, scrubbing them with a limp sponge, feeling the mixture of suds and food scraps on my palms. I tried my best not to think about it.

It took us an hour or two to get everything washed, dried, and put into the proper cabinets. Mom looked upon us, satisfied that everyone was being productive, but May was anything but satisfied. She spent most of the time just glaring at the dishes, hoping that lasers would come from her eyes and clean the dishes. It was actually pretty funny to watch.

I got some of the stuff ready for the food drop-off for Charles. When I was getting everything ready, I realized that I had forgotten to ask about when and where we were meeting next Tuesday, so I grabbed some paper, a pen, and some tape and put them together. "What are you doing with those?" Mom asked.

"Just organizing them," I lied.

It seems like I'm lying to Mom and Dad more often. I guess I feel guilty, but it feels weird that I feel only a twinge of guilt, nothing overwhelming or anything that'll make me tell them that I'm lying. In fact, just the thought of telling them the truth scares me because what if they stop me from giving food to Charles because he's not family, and his family starves and dies, and I'll be responsible for the deaths of people who feel like family, even if they aren't.

I can't let that happen. I just can't. I hope Mom and Dad understand if they find out.

August 12

I woke up early in the morning, unable to get any proper sleep last night. I was just too nervous about the Charles situation.

Mira, May, and I were all bathed in the dark cerulean glow of dawn. I slipped on a jacket and walked softly out of the room, opening and closing the door with a faint creak. I walked more hastily down the hallway, paranoid that Mom or Dad or anyone was going to open the door and see me.

I opened a plastic bag, filling it with a mixture of anchovy, mixed vegetables, and brussel sprouts cans. Then I scrawled a short note asking when we should meet up and tape it to the front of the bag along with a pen and another piece of paper. My heart was beating fast, and my palms were sweaty. I nearly had a heart attack when I heard a creak in the hallway and thought it was Mom or Dad coming out.

Opening the front door, I walked out. There was a blind spot on the porch, an area that anyone looking at our house would be able to see, but no one looking from our house would be able to see. That's where I put the canvas bag, nestling it between ash-stained grass stalks, brittle from the lack of rain, making sure the note was visible for him.

But when I stepped back, I heard the creaking of someone opening the door. I quickly moved to the porch steps, standing there and gazing at the sky.

"Neal?" I heard someone say.

I looked back. It was Mira, dressed in pajamas, her hair in a mess like she had just woken up. "What are you doing out here?" she asked.

"I couldn't sleep," I replied. "And I wanted a breath of fresh air. What about you?"

"Same thing," she said. "I think I had a nightmare or something, but I don't really remember."

She sat down at the top of the porch steps, and I sat next to her. There was this awkward silence that settled between us.

"Thanks," she said, and I must've looked confused before she clarified. "For being there, two days back. I never thanked you for being there."

"No need to thank me," I said, and she sighed. "Is something wrong?"

"I'm sorry," she said, and her voice cracked a bit. "I'm trying to stay strong for you guys, but I feel like I'm even failing at this."

There was a long silence between us. What was I supposed to say?

"You just lost someone," I said after a long pause. "It's alright to feel like this."

"I hate that I can't put just everything that I'm feeling to the side and just deal with it," she said. "I just can't, and it's frustrating."

"Then don't."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't really know, but I guess you're supposed to confront your emotions headfirst, you know, like what they do in the movies."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know either," I said and sighed. "I wish I knew the right things to say."

There was another silence between us. The air was frigid, and I could see my breath in the navies of the dawn light, like a small puff of smoke.

"Do you think Leon's out there, staring at the same sunrise as us?" she asked

"I guess," I said. "He's probably in Arizona or New Mexico by now. They'd have seen the same sunrise as us, but a bit earlier."

"Actually," I added. "They wouldn't see the same sunrise as us. The skies would be clearer down south, and they'll be able to see the sun slowly rising above the desert."

"Do you actually believe this?" she asked and swung her foot.

"I try to," I said.

A gust of wind kicked up a small cloud of dust, forming ghosts of flowers awash in lighter blues as the sun rose behind the ash clouds.

"So tell me more," she said.

I could see something in her eyes, wanting to believe that Leon was better, so I weaved a story for her. "They'd be in a cabin with a watering well far away from everyone that they'd be safe. The government would be handing out gasoline to everyone because they've got plenty and there would be heating and power. There'd be plenty of greenhouses and food for everyone, and Leon would be there, thinking about you, finding a way to come back because he loves you."

I knew she didn't believe a word that I said, except for the very end of my story, but it's one of the things where you know someone is just making up a story, but it feels easier, almost better, to believe every word they said. I don't know if it's worse letting someone feel like they've lost hope or handing them a sliver of hope, only for the world to take it away from them.

"Thank you," she said.

"He's coming back," I said, but from her half-hearted nod, I knew that even she didn't believe that was going to happen.

"I'm going inside now," she said. "You probably should come too. You don't want to breathe in all that ash."

"I'm coming after you," I said.

I stared at the sky, hoping that the ash clouds would break and let sunlight come through, cutting through the cold and ash. But nothing happened and the haze of ash stayed put, enshrouding the sun. And I sighed and stood up. I guess I even fell for my own story.

The other portion of the morning was spent trying to make sure that no one saw that Charles came and took the bag of food. I closed all the curtains in the front of our house so no one would peek out and accidentally see him. When Mom woke up and asked what I was doing, I said, "I'm tired of looking at the sky."

"Aren't we all," Mom said. "But keep the curtains open."

"Why?"

"It's too dark inside, and we have to make do with what little sunlight we have."

"Just for this morning," I said. "I just need to take my eyes away from the sky."

"Fine," Mom said and shuffled out of the living room. "I've got a headache anyways. I'm going to try and get some sleep."

She turned back and looked at me. "Open them sometime in the afternoon, though. I hate how dark it is every day."

"Will do," I said and closed the curtains hanging over the living room.

When I was busy eating a can of limp corn in the middle of morning, May woke up and went into the kitchen, asking, "Why is our house so angsty?"

"Mom's tired," I lied. "She told me to close some of the curtains to help her get some sleep."

I don't know why I lied. I guess it would feel weird to tell May this thing because I don't think she'd understand, at least not in the way that Mom and I do.

"That's weird," she said. "Everything is weird right now."

"No, duh."

She sat down and stabbed at the little bits of corn in her can with her fork. "The moon messed up everything."

"Way to say the obvious," I quipped.

"The next three years were supposed to be my years," she said. "I was supposed to get a car and start driving. I was supposed to celebrate my sweet sixteen with all of my friends. I was supposed to get a boyfriend and have him take me out to prom. But the moon had to just come closer to the Earth and ruin everything."

"Now, everyone is gone," she added. "And life just sucks."

"So that's it then. Your whole life ruined because you couldn't go to prom."

"That's not the point," she said. "Those next three years of my life were mine until the moon stole them away from me."

"I don't get it."

"I don't expect you to get it," she said. "It's not like you were going to prom next year anyways."

"I literally don't understand. What's the big deal with missing those three years?"

"You don't get it," she replied. "These experiences were supposed to be mine. They were supposed to happen until our dumb moon decided to rob them from me."

I kinda understood what she was saying then, the loss of the normal part of her future. Even though it felt shallow, and I didn't know why she'd attach her dreams to pointless high school stuff, I understood her pain. It was like Mira's pain too, the apocalypse snatching away both of their normal futures they had planned in their minds.

"What?" she said. "Nothing to say. See, I didn't think you'd get it at all."

She picked up her fork and dumped it in the sink and stormed away before I could say anything. Not like there was anything to say to her. Sometimes, conversations are meant to end in an awkward reply-less silence.

Around noon, I went outside to check on the bag of food, making sure to wear a mask tight around my face. It had disappeared, and there was a note in its place.

This coming Tuesday. Mid-afternoon. Library. ~ Charles

I grabbed the note and tucked it into my pocket, heading back indoors and opening up the curtains, letting the pale light in. Our house grew a bit bright, the gray afternoon sunlight washing the counters and cabinets with a faded glow, like they were being painted on by watercolor.

"You got what you were looking for?" someone asked.

I nearly jumped. It was Mom, holding a cup of hot water. "Yeah," I said. "It was nice to avoid the sky for a whole morning."

"Good," she said. "So you want to tell me where this came from?"

I shrugged, trying to show nonchalance even though my heart felt like it was going to explode. "I don't know. I guess I'm just bored looking at all the grey."

"Anything you want to talk about?" Mom asked with a more concerned face. Did she know I was lying? Or did she think it was something else? I wasn't going to find out.

"No," I said and left, heading towards my room, where I spent the rest of the day re-reading some old coming-of-age books. In nearly every one of them, the characters told the truth and got rewarded by it with everyone forgiving them in the very end. I sighed while reading those sections, wishing that was how the world works.

It's too bad that that's not how life is like. There are some things that I just can't tell anyone.

August 13

Dad woke us up early in the morning.

May mumbled and turned on her bed. "Don't disturb me," she mumbled.

I blinked groggily, attempting to find my glasses while Mira yawned and stretched her arms. "Why are you waking us up so early?"

"We're going to the food drive," Dad said. "Right now. Hurry up. Your Mom thinks it's a good idea too to get out early."

"Shh," May said. "I'm trying to sleep."

Dad shook her. "You can sleep afterwards. Let's go."

May groaned and stood up, her hair a tangled mess.

"Stupid moon," she said under her breath. "I hate you."

We all got dressed in thick jackets, long pants, and gloves. May was feeling extra cold this morning, so Mom found a scarf for her in the closet. Grandma and Grandpa both were dressed in three layers of coats. The temperature must've been around thirty degrees this morning, cold enough for snow and ice to form.

It was still dark when we stepped out, but I could make out silhouettes of sycamore trunks and houses under the dark blues. Mom was going to pull out a flashlight to see, but Dad stopped her.

"It might make us a target," he said. "If they see that we have batteries."

"Having batteries doesn't mean anything," Mom said.

"It might," Dad said. "I'm just worried."

"Okay," Mom said and put the flashlight away, so we walked in the dark.

When we entered the plaza, there was an odd buzz in the air, one I hadn't felt in a while. There were about twenty people lined up, waiting for the bags of food before the crack of dawn, their soft murmurs drifting in the wind. May looked oddly happy for some reason, but Dad furrowed his eyebrows and walked more cautiously. You never know what people are going to be like during these times.

I looked around at the people lining up. None of them had any visible guns or weapons, so I thought we were going to be alright. But a weird sound broke my gazing, a rumble of some vehicle.

I think everyone collectively turned around. From the ashy haze emerged a postal truck, emblazoned with the characteristic blue eagle on the side, just driving down that street like everything was normal. All of a sudden someone clapped, and it spread like wildfire, and pretty soon, everyone was cheering and clapping. If the government could fund postal trucks, maybe everything would finally be going back to normal.

I looked at Mira. "If they've got postal trucks, that means that the roads are clear and they're getting gasoline from somewhere. Leon's going to be alright."

She looked at me. "I hope so."

"He will be alright," I said. "Maybe it's the world saying that it's time for everything to get better and return to normal."

"Maybe," she said, her words trailing off. There was a bit of hope and hurt in the way that she said it, like her heart hoping that it'll be true even though her mind is telling her that it won't happen.

There was an awkward silence between us. I was going to continue talking about this, but I stopped myself. Maybe I was hurting her, preventing her from moving on and making her latch onto something that might be just a one-time event and nothing more. And suddenly, the same feeling of guilt washed over me as before, like a cascade of ash, because I was still hurting her.

Luckily for me, May broke the awkward silence between us.

"So, if the power is coming back, what's the first thing you guys are going to do?" she asked. "I'm going to turn on all the lights in the house because why not?"

"That seems like a waste of electricity," I said.

"Meh," she said. "Who cares? Life will finally be normal again."

"I'd go on the internet," I said. "And just browse over everything that I've missed."

"Like what?" she asked. "There's no news or anything new. The internet has been pretty much frozen in time since the whole apocalypse started. What a waste of your first electricity celebration."

"Better than turning on all the lights," I shot back.

"I'd charge the batteries," Mira said. "Maybe get some laundry and dishes done."

"Boring," May replied. "We're talking about a world when everything is back to normal, normal, you know."

"No," I said to May. "Doing the laundry is a great idea. I don't know if we're all doing it wrong, but all of our clothes smell a little funky and are a little ashy."

"What about for fun?" May asked Mira. "Like, just because you could."

"I haven't really thought about it."

"Well, you must have something," May said and turned to Mira. "Like anything you'd want to do that needs electricity."

"Well, I'd probably call up the white-water rafting center, and just book a trip because I'm going to reclaim a part of summer that the volcanoes stole from me."

"That's the spirit," May said to Mira, and Mira smiled a bit. They really were getting closer to each other.

"Hey, what about me?" I asked. "Don't I get a 'That's the spirit' too?"

'You're not invited," May said. "Only cool kid ideas are allowed here."

"Wow," I said. "That's so un-cool of you."

We talked a bit more after that. Everything felt normal, for some reason, like we were not worrying about starving or running out of supplies or whatever terrible thing that could happen while the world was ending. It was just us three, or the M&Ms, as we called ourselves when we were younger.

When we got our food, Dad and I both looked into our individual bags. Five cans sat on the bottom. I sighed a breath of relief, and I could see Dad doing the same. Sure, five cans aren't a lot, but at least the number isn't going down. That's the best we can hope for now. We were just about to exit when Mom went back to ask a question. "Do you know when school is starting again?" she asked.

The volunteer at the counter sighed. "I don't know. Maybe check the billboard."

"What billboard?" Mom asked.

"Near the fountain on the left side of the building," he said. "It's the only tall thing in the plaza."

"Thank you," Mom said and turned back.

We walked together to the billboard near the fountain. It truly was the only tall thing in the plaza, except for the centerpiece of the fountain, standing tall and dry, the only things flowing over it being ashes. We all scanned the billboard.

I saw a couple of church flyers plastered to the board along with some other tidbits like letters of encouragement, decorated in paper hearts and flowers, and goodbye notices. The most heartbreaking ones were the slips of paper posted on the wall, asking for help and food. I tore my eyes away from them because I just couldn't bear to look at those letters.

My eyes caught on a bright blue piece of paper in the center of the billboard.

School is not opening for in-person classes at this moment. Pick up your supplies from the school by August 27th. For more information, an information session will be held on August 17th in the library.

Mom just stared at the billboard for a couple of seconds.

"So what are we going to do about it?" I asked.

"Tomorrow, we're picking up your books," Mom said. "And I'm going to the meeting on Wednesday."

"Seriously?" May asked. "You're still thinking about school? After all of this."

"Don't say that," Mom said.

"Well, it's true," May grumbled.

"Watch your tone, May," Dad said. "We're just trying to do what's best for you guys."

I think May was going to say something back, but she held it to herself. Ashes began to fall from the sky, filling the fountain up with gray dust.

"Whatever," she said. "Let's just go. It's snowing now."

"Good," Mom said and looked at Dad approvingly.

They took the lead, walking across the ash-stained plaza with Mira in the middle and May and I in the back. I could hear May mumble something under her breath. "I'm trying to do what's best for you guys."

Mira heard it and looked at May strangely, but I understood what she meant, sacrificing a bit of her dignity to keep the axe a secret from Mom and Dad. May looked at me, and her eyes were literally saying, "You better come up with a good reason soon."

I do hope that I come up with a good reason. I've got the ideas of one, but nothing fully formed. It's weird that I'm planning out my lies now. Before, it used to be a spontaneous thing, just to deflect away from the truth, but now, it feels like I'm lying all the time. With Charles' situation and May's axe situation and all the white lies that I've told in between, I guess I'm feeling guilty about it, especially when I think about Mira and our promise not to lie to each other and all the hurt my lies have caused.

But I can't stop. I've got to keep lying because it's going to help other people. I just hope this isn't something I'm saying to myself to make me feel better.