August 14

We went to school in the morning.

May and I got bundled in thick jackets and sweaters, tightly fastening on our masks, before slipping into our sneakers. The sky was as dark as usual, and it felt like Mom woke me up at four in the morning, though it could've been eleven in the afternoon. It's hard to tell the time these days.

"I need to clean my shoes," May said just before we exited, looking at her formerly white sneakers, now stained with streaks of gray.

"We need to save—" Mom said but was cut off.

"I know," May replied. "It's just a dream, for when things get better."

Mom's face softened, the wrinkles around her eyes deepening. "I think we might be able to afford to spend a little water to wash them."

"It's fine," May replied, looking at the ground, kicking the dusty rug. "I don't need it. Can we just go?"

"Don't kick up the dust," Mom said and patted down May's pants, smearing ash down her leggings. "You're getting ash all over your pants."

"Whatever," May grumbled. "It's not like anyone cares anyways."

I think Mom was going to say something but held it back, and we began walking towards school, one ash rimmed footstep at a time. No one really talked much while we were walking. There really wasn't much to talk about anyways, and the quiet outside felt better than the crammed indoors. It's like we could finally breathe outside, even though the air was filled with flakes of ash drifting on the wind.

Mom's scarf was billowing in the wind, and she re-adjusted it, wrapping it around her neck securely, and I put on my hood for my ski jacket, the cold seeping into my bones. It must've been around thirty degrees that morning, maybe even less. I think it might snow soon, probably not this month or the next but maybe October, when the rains start coming as snow blankets the landscape. Outside of trips to Lake Tahoe, my only memories of snow were faint wisps of an image from toddlerhood on the East Coast that become even blurrier every time that I think about it.

As we approached our school, I could hear the wrongness in the air. The school grounds were deserted and bare. The electric billboard announcing our school's name was turned off and smeared with ash as the echoes of old summer conversations and gossip about homecoming drifted in the air.

"Mom," May said and tugged at Mom's jacket. "There's no one here. Let's go back."

"There is," Mom said. "Look at the light."

She pointed at the school library, glowing a soft white.

"Maybe someone just left the lights on by accident," May replied.

"If the city is still keeping the lights on for school, it means that there has to be someone in the library." Mom stood a step forward. "Hurry up. I don't want to get caught in an ash storm."

So we walked towards the library, passing by empty buildings and hallways. I looked down one, and I could imagine myself, if the Mooncrash never happened, walking down the hallways to head to my advanced biology classes, nervous but cautiously optimistic. Now, if I wanted to learn about biology, the best I could do is a thick textbook chock full of words and a lack of clarity.

When we entered the library, there was a soft chime of a bell, and Mom looked around. "Hello?"

I heard a shuffling of footsteps.

"Hello there," a woman I've never seen before said. "Are y'all here for the textbook checkout?"

"Yes we are," Mom said.

"Great!" she said. "Y'all are actually the third family to come here for book checkouts, so most of the nicer books are available for checkout."

She ushered us forwards to rows of tables with rows of cardboard boxes set atop them along with some miscellaneous items scattered here and there. "First row is math, the second is for science, the third for history, the fourth is for foreign languages, the fifth are all our copies of English reading material, if you're interested."

"I highly recommend The Great Gatsby," she said but then hesitated. "Though you two might want to skip the Valley of Ashes chapter if it's too much given everything that's going on."

"What's the Valley of Ashes?" May whispered to me.

I shrugged back at her and followed the librarian to the last two rows of school material. "These are mostly art supplies and other miscellaneous material. We've got some spare SAT and ACT workbooks from the workshops last year if you're interested and college planning worksheets for if everything gets back to normal."

She turned towards us. "Pick anything you want and ring the bell at the front desk, and I'll be there to check out your books. Take all the time you need."

She walked away, probably towards a backroom, and I gazed over the long rows of books.

"There's no way that I can fit so many textbooks for every single subject in my backpack without dying," May said.

"Fine," Mom replied. "You have to pick at least two textbooks about anything you're interested in. And one English book too."

"One textbook."

"Nope. Two textbooks and that's final," Mom said. "I'll even grab one textbook."

"That's so unfair," May complained. "Why do you only get one textbook?"

"Because I finished college already, and I'm doing this for you. Now hurry up."

"I thought we got all the time that we needed," May grumbled as she trudged through the rows of books while I followed her as the lights flickered for a moment, threatening to shut down, before coming back again.

We went through the math section first.

"Goodbye, geometry! I'm never going to miss you," May shouted, her voice echoing through the cavernous library.

I picked up a calculus book before putting it down. There was no way that I was going to waste my time studying derivatives and integrals and other useless stuff, so we moved onto the science section.

"Have you finalized the plan yet?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper. "Because we cannot risk Mom or Dad finding out and probably start freaking out."

"Mostly."

She picked up a dusty physics book before setting it down. "Well, what is it?"

"I haven't got that part completely figured out. Why do you want to know?"

"Well I've got my own plan. And I need to be sure that you'll be able to convince Dad to take the axe."

"Well you can't always be completely sure with everyone," I said. "Especially with the whole thing we're in and if they catch us in the lie."

She turned and picked up a chemistry textbook before tossing it to the side. "Well, you know what people say about sacrifice. Sometimes we have to make sacrifices to save our family."

"That quote is so cliche."

"Doesn't make it any less true," she said and picked up a textbook. I looked at her strangely. She never liked science ever.

"I'm doing this for Mom," she added and turned into the history section.

"You go ahead," I said. "I forgot to get a book from this section."

"You're actually studying these textbooks. God, sometimes you're such a nerd."

I ignored her and went into the section about environmental science. The windmills adorning the cover caught my eyes, rolling pastures and skies saturated with so much blue that it hurt my eyes, but in a good way. I picked up the book and flipped through the pages, filled with solar panels and forests and bursts of life, before putting it in my backpack and running to the history section.

I'm not exactly sure why I picked up that textbook. Maybe I'm being naive, but I want my future to be like that, not dead and desolate but filled with shades of green, and maybe, I'd want to help make a future like that possible. I don't know why I'm writing so much about this anyways.

By the time I had reached May, she had picked up her last remaining textbook, European history, grabbed a tenth-grade comic titled Persepolis, and cursed at a Spanish textbook, before waiting impatiently next to Mom for me to finish so that we could all check out.

So I quickly made my way through the sections, grabbing a government textbook, two sets of colored pencils, and briefly glancing over the English books, grabbed a copy for The Great Gatsby before heading to check out the books.

"Took you long enough," May said.

"What book did you get?" I asked Mom.

"French one," Mom said. "I've always wanted to visit France, so when all of this is over, maybe I'll finally get this opportunity."

"Mom also forgot to mention that she got us all SAT and ACT workbooks."

"It's good practice," she said. "Has anyone dinged the bell?'

"I'll do it," May said and tapped the bell too many times.

The librarian emerged from her backroom with a smile even if she was a tad annoyed as we took our books out from our backpacks and placed them on the counter for checkout. She pulled out two notecards and placed them on the desk.

"No normal checking out?" May asked.

"I'm afraid not. There's only enough electricity to support the lighting and barely," she said. "Just write your first and last name on the card along with the textbooks you're checking out."

"And that's it?"

"Yes," the librarian said, scanning over May's books. "Ooh. French, very interesting choice to learn about."

"That's not me," May replied and looked at Mom. "It was my mom's pick."

Mom smiled. "It's never too late to keep learning."

"The best lessons I've learned were in my fifties," the librarian said and nodded. "You never get too old to stop learning."

As May and I filled out our notecards, Mom and the librarian talked a bit more as the lights flickered again.

"Are you going to be here for the rest of the week?" Mom asked.

"Only for two more weeks, and by then, I think I'll have enough gas to make the trek South, like everyone else has."

"What do you mean?" Mom asked. "About the gas part. Are there any gas stations nearby still selling gas?"

The librarian's smile faltered a bit, and she looked downwards, scratching her thick gray hair. "Well, I wasn't exactly supposed to tell, but the city has been paying workers like me with gas. Most people are using it for the lights and heating, but I'm saving mine for the big trip South before everything freezes over."

She then looked at Mom. "You're not going to tell anyone, right? The city told me to keep it a secret just because when you have something that people want, the guns come out, and it gets dangerous."

"Of course not," Mom said. "But when you leave, they'll be an opening, right?"

"Maybe," the librarian said, though there was something oddly familiar about the way she was saying it. "How about I write your name down on a notecard and send it to the city in two weeks?"

"That sounds great," Mom said and put her name on the notecard. "Thank you."

The librarian took the note card and put it in a drawer.

"Are the rumors really true?" Mom asked. "About conditions in the South."

"I can only hope so," she said and looked into the distance, chuckling. "It's funny how I spent my whole life running away from Texas and all my small-minded friends, and now, going back to Texas is the only thing on my mind. I guess maybe we weren't so different after all."

No one really knew what to say.

"Anyway, y'all probably don't want to hear me rambling," she said. "It was nice talking with y'all. Stay safe and stay strong."

We waved goodbye and left the library. Mom's prediction about the ash storm hadn't come true, the sky dark gray but not snowing flurries of ash as we thought it would but, but just plain old gray skies. The walk back was even quieter, Mom barely attempting to make conversation, tired from the one in the library.

Nothing much interesting happened today, except for the fact that May started complaining about not feeling well. Everyone mostly ignored her, not that they didn't care, but Mom and Dad just thought that she was being overdramatic. May said she had a plan, but I'm not too sure what feeling sick has to do with the plan. Wood gathering tomorrow is going to be such a pain.

August 15

I finally understand what May's plan was.

In the morning, May started complaining about stomach cramps.

"I want to throw up," she told Mom as Mom checked her temperature with the back of her palm.

"You don't seem to have a temperature."

"Well, I'm feeling super sick right now," she said and rolled in bed. "I think I'm going to throw up now."

"Maybe she has the stomach flu," I said. "Remember the last time I was sick, I didn't have a fever, but I had really bad stomach pains."

"Should I get some hot water?" Mira asked, looking at May with her eyes scrunched up with concern. "Maybe make some soup or something?"

"That's a good idea," Mom replied. "Maybe make her some tea and use one of those mixed vegetable cans for soup. See if we have some canned chicken in the back of the pantry. I think I spotted a couple cans a few days ago."

"Should I make it just for her or for everybody?"

"Make some for everybody. I think it'll be nice to eat something different for a change."

Mira nodded and walked out of our room, almost running to the kitchen, nearly bumping into Dad as he entered our room, all dressed up in his outdoor clothes, clad in a mask with the small axe in his hands. "What's happening?"

"May's sick," Mom said and pointed to May, still clutching her stomach in bed.

"How?"

"What do you mean how?" Mom asked. "She just is sick."

"What could've made her sick?" Dad asked. "It can't be the water because then we'd all be sick. It can't be the food because it's canned food. It can't—"

"So what are you saying?" Mom asked. "That our daughter is lying to us?'

"Sometimes she can be overdramatic," Dad exclaimed. "And it just happens to be today, on the day we're all supposed to go wood gathering. On the day that she complains about every single week."

"She is not well." Mom pointed at May. "Look at her."

Mom and Dad were at a standstill, glaring at each other with bright red faces as gray light seeped through the window of our room. Dad let out a harsh sigh and gripped his axe tighter. "Well then I'm going by myself."

"No," Mom said. "We stick together."

"Someone had to gather wood," Dad said.

"We can go some other day of the week. Wednesday or Thursday, when she gets better," Mom said. "It's only the stomach flu."

"Who knows if it's going to start snowing tomorrow?" Dad asked rhetorically. "We can't afford to delay a single day, not when conditions are getting worse and worse."

"Just stop," Mom said. "Just stop this stupidity. We've already had this conversation before. One—"

"One more log won't save us. Yes, I already know that. But maybe that one log will keep us warm for a couple of extra hours, so that we could find the stamina to gather more wood to stay alive. Or maybe that one log will help keep the fire going for just long enough that we make it through a deep freeze. Or maybe—"

"Stop with your maybes," Mom said. "All those maybes and what ifs may never happen. But what we know is this: Our daughter is sick right now, and we have no clue what made her sick. That's what we should be focusing on. The right now problem."

"I think I know what made her sick."

Mom and Dad both looked at me. I don't think they noticed that I was just sitting there. Mom blushed. "Sorry you had to see all that."

"It's fine I guess," I replied, scratching my head. What else was I supposed to say? "Anyways, I was thinking that it could be the either her food—"

"But it's canned," Dad said, cutting me off. "How could it get spoiled?"

"I don't know, maybe there was a dent or something. Or maybe it was the can itself."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Dad asked.

"I don't know, but I read something a long time ago that the cans themselves are super dirty because when they're being stored, rats and other insects like cockroaches crawl over them, sometimes spreading all kinds of diseases with their fecal matter."

"And you never told us this before because..."

"I never really thought it'd come true," I replied. "I mean we've never gotten sick from canned food in our lives, and I just assumed that the writers of that article were exaggerating or something. But I guess not."

"So let's get can cleaning," Mom said and turned to Dad. "If you really wanted to help the family, this is your chance."

Dad sighed, rubbing his hand over his stubble. "Thursday. We're going to go and collect wood. No exceptions."

"Fine," Mom replied. "Hurry up. We've got a lot of work ahead of us."

"Fine," Dad said. "But I have to change first."

"Fine," Mom said and left our bedroom.

"Fine," Dad mumbled as he lumbered towards the garage to put the axe away.

I turned towards May. "Well that was a weird end."

"Our parents are weird," she said and rolled in her bed, pulling the comforter to her face.

"This was part of your plan, right?"

"You think I just happened to get sick today," she replied in a whisper. "Of course not. I had to sacrifice my dignity and pretend to be sick so that Dad wouldn't go wood gathering today."

"But why?"

She sighed and turned her head towards me, her hair matted and tangled. "For a smart person, you're awfully bad at figuring things out. There was no way that I was going to let Dad keep chopping the trees with his tiny little axe instead of the big one that we're going to give him awfully soon, especially since Dad's lungs aren't doing so great, so I did what I had to do. To protect Dad and the rest of us."

I guess I must've had a shocked look on my face because May said, "Don't act so surprised. Now go and check if the soup is ready. I'm so ready for breakfast in bed."

I turned around and left the room, gazing at the ashy sky fogging up our memories of summer blue skies. Who knew May thought so far ahead? I knew she didn't want Dad to keep using the small axe, but I never knew that she would hatch something to stop Dad from actually going out and hurting himself unnecessarily. Maybe I don't know May as well as I thought even though we've been cooped together for months now. I wonder if she always had this in her, and I just never noticed or if this came from the whole Mooncrash.

Nothing much happened for the rest of the day. I thought I saw a flash of blue skies in the middle of the afternoon, but after I blinked, it just disappeared itself. There was plenty of free time today, so Mom made me do the dishes while Mira did the laundry and the whole afternoon smelled like laundry detergent and chicken broth and a tinge of orange blossom soap. It felt so normal that I could almost pretend that everything was normal, that the grey skies were from winter storms and the ash coating the ground was just from a once-in-a-hundred-year snowstorm.

But then I felt the growling of my stomach and I saw the tinge of sadness in Mira and the flurries of dark ash coating the ground in the late evening, and I know that I have to convince Dad to take the Hunters' axe because I just have to. I just hope tomorrow goes well for the good of everyone.

August 16

I was exhausted in the morning. My mind was racing all night, and I just couldn't stop going over the plan over and over, mostly imagining the worst. What if Mom or Dad caught me lying? What if May or I slip up and Mom and Dad ground us for life? Endless what ifs swam through my mind, keeping me up long after midnight.

In the morning, before everyone woke up, I put five cans into a backpack for Charles: two carrots, two brussel sprouts, and one cherry, and dumped some random towels in there so that the cans wouldn't clang against each other too loud. After I put the backpack away, hidden enough from view that Mom and Dad and the rest of them wouldn't find the backpack and open it up and find the cans. After that, it was just waiting.

And was the waiting painful.

"Is something special happening today?" Mira asked. "Like between you and Charles?"

"No, I don't think so," I replied. "Why?"

"You just seem so nervous today."

I shrugged my shoulders, just wishing she would stop talking and just go. I didn't think that I could handle another conversation, especially with all the anxiety that was pent up in my head.

"Is everything alright?" she asked and gave me that look that made me feel guilty for just ignoring her as her gaze became more investigative.

I had to say something to at least make sure she isn't suspicious about my palms shaking from nervousness. I couldn't let the plan fail.

"Have you ever felt—" I said but stopped myself.

"Felt like what?"

"Like nervous before meeting with someone that you haven't met in a while," I replied. "Especially if that someone is your friend."

"Hasn't it been a week since you both met?"

"I know, but it has felt like a lot longer than that. Everyday feels like forever, you know."

"Yeah," she said. "It's how I feel when I think of—"

She paused but I understood who she was talking about. It's been ten days since he has left, but it felt like decades, the days stretching on and on and on until the next day rolls around.

"You don't have to talk about it," I said.

She looked into the distance. "It's just that in three or however many years it takes for everything to get back to normal, when we meet again, I wonder if everything's going to be the same. Same emotions, same feelings, same normal everything between the both of us."

I didn't know what to say, so she continued, "But most of the time, I'm thinking about the worst-case scenario, where when we meet and there's just nothing between us, like everything between us just became dust the second that turned the key and drove away."

"He's not going to forget," I said. "I mean how can anyone forget about your sneezing photo."

Mira blushed and punched me lightly on the shoulder.

"And even if he did," I said. "Who cares about his opinion, you know? What matters is what you remember, if you understand."

"It's just that I feel like that girl," she said. "The one that just mopes around for the entire book instead of picking herself up and getting over it."

"It's only been ten days. Maybe you need, you know, more time to figure out things."

"Yeah," she said, her words trailing off before adding. "Thanks."

"No problem," I replied, going back to waiting for mid-afternoon to come, hoping that there were no ash storms to derail the plan.

Though the sky threatened to rain ash, by mid-afternoon, there was nothing and it was windless and clear. Maybe the universe did want me to succeed. Just as I was about to leave, Mom asked me, "What's the backpack for?"

I had prepared for this. "I've finished basically all the library books. Just checking out more at the library."

"Okay," she replied. "Make sure to keep your mask on."

"Yeah, I know." I pulled open the door and left home, a backpack full of cans and a mind filled with lies, trudging across roads covered with ash, the last of the bright autumn leaves getting dulled and coated by the dust.

The walk to the library was quiet, the air still, the only sounds being my shoes crunching against the flakes of ash on the sidewalk. All of a sudden, I started thinking about the beginning of sixth grade, where everyone in the neighborhood actually talked with each other, all of us kids gathering around and painting the sidewalks with vivid chalk. I just wish I could go back, away from everything that's happening now. The sun on my cheeks, the aroma of sunscreen wafting around, my hands dusted with green and blue chalk. There's nothing that can replace those summer afternoons

When I went to the library, I spotted Charles outside wearing a small backpack. He waved at me, and I waved back as I walked closer. He looked worse than last week, but not as bad as a couple weeks back when he looked really sick. I hope I'm doing enough for them.

"Took you long enough," he said. "I've been waiting here for an hour."

"You know, mid-afternoon isn't the most specific of times," I replied. "You should be more specific."

"Well I would if I had an actual clock."

I stood in front of him. "What's the backpack for?"

"What's your backpack for?" he asked.

"Decided to bring the cans early," I said. "Just because last Friday was just messy, you know. Anyways, what's your backpack for?"

"It's for," he said before reaching into his backpack and pulling out a clear glass jar. "This."

"A jar?" I asked. "For what?"

"Well, something that I've always wanted to do was to make a collection of pebbles—"

"Wait, what?" I said, cutting him off. "Haven't you always said that collecting things is a waste of time and money? Especially those coin collectors."

He smiled a bit. "Always is a bit of an exaggeration, it's more like the past few weeks. Everyday has felt like forever."

"I guess, yeah," I replied as a gust of wind kicked up a cloud of ash. We moved closer to the library door as dust settled in the cracks surrounding the library pillars, "But why pebbles? Why not coins or shells?"

"Definitely not shells because of the whole beach situation. I mean, do you really want to go back to the beach?"

"Yeah, I think I'll pass."

"As for coins, I don't know," he said and kicked the ground with his shoes, though I had a sneaking suspicion that he knew. "I guess I just want something permanent to have in my room."

I understood what he meant, about everything his family sacrificed to keep food on the table, so I switched the topic. "Where are we going?"

He was probably relieved by the topic change too. "Probably the nearby creek near the train tracks."

"We're not going to be breaking into your old house again, are we?"

"Now that you've said it," he said, rubbing his chin with his hand in an exaggerated thinking motion. "That would be a better idea."

"Great, let's add another breaking and entering to our post-apocalypse felony list. What do we even have so far?"

"Breaking and entering number one, trespassing," he replied, ticking off his fingers. "Probably loitering right now since we're not using the library."

"Also, the seagull thing," I added. "On the beach back in June."

"The apocalypse has turned us into real criminals," he said and we both chuckled. It's ironic that talking and laughing about everything that's happening is probably the most normal thing we both did today. Sometimes, the world leads people to weird places.

"Anyways," he said. "We better go."

I started walking behind him before stopping. "Oh yeah, I was supposed to be checking out books today."

Charles pointed at the library, its lights dark with no shadows moving behind the black tinted windows. "It's closed today. The old volunteer left and the new one only comes on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays."

"When did all of this happen?"

He shrugged. "Things just happen, I guess. You excited for stone picking?"

"So excited," I said, both mockingly and sarcastically. Charles punched me in the shoulder, and I feigned hurt.

"Might as well add battery to your post-apocalyptic criminal record."

He smiled and started walking away from me as I trailed behind him. "We're not actually going to your old house. Right?"

"We actually are," he replied and turned back to me, pausing for a second. "Now, let's go."

So we began walking towards his old house, the air deathly still except for our words and the occasional crunch of leaves underneath our footsteps. There was this buzz in the air, not from an oncoming lightning storm or from the glow of the halogen street lights, but the electricity keeping our hearts beating and voices alive.

Sorry if that was too poetic. I guess I've just been dreaming about lights and the internet and TV and everything that comes with electricity. Even after two months of no power, I still haven't gotten used to this new reality.

When I got to his old house's backyard and stared at the river, there was just something wrong about it. The skeletal oak tree, the tire swing coated with ash, the shrubs and grasses by the creek wilted and dead, the edges of the river rimmed with ash. I could feel the memory of the warm summer evening and the stars sprawled across the sky crumble through my fingers like dust, and I nearly shut my eyes to stop it from happening.

"The river looks..." He paused and sighed. "Sad."

"More than sad. It looks like the death of everything," I wanted to say, but the best I could muster up was, "Yeah."

"Hopefully, we'll find something cool," he replied and pointed at the sky. "You know what people say: You can only find a silver lining on a cloudy day. Literally."

"That was so cheesy," I said, smiling a bit. "That was like Leon-level cheesy."

"Well then he must've had good taste."

We walked down the slope and sat on the rocks on the banks of the creek, looking through the pebbles lining the outer rim of the stream. Charles grabbed a pebble off the ground and examined it. "These pebbles suck. They're all grey."

"Maybe it's the ash," I replied. "Try washing them in the river."

Charles walked up to the slow-moving creek and dipped with pebble in there with his fingers. "The water's freezing."

"Obviously," I replied back. "It's like forty degrees right now."

"I wonder when everything's going to freeze over," Charles said and picked up the pebble from the water, gazing at it. "It's going to be so weird seeing everything covered with snow."

"Did the water make it better?"

"No," he replied. "It's still gray."

He threw it into the stream, and it dropped with a ripple. I stood up and began to scour the riverbanks for cooler stones. "You know what we really need? One of those rock polishers."

"Honestly, yeah," he replied, picking up another stone. "Hey, I found a yellow-ish one."

I stooped down and picked up a random stone before turning and standing. "And I found a..."

I looked at the rock. It was probably the dullest gray-brown pebble in the world, and there was nothing positive to say about it.

"A brown one," he replied, cutting me off. "I think my yellow one wins my default."

He held his stone in front of me. It was bright yellow, like the color of egg yolk or the sun.

"Did you paint the stone?" I asked, trying to prove him wrong, whatever that meant.

"Nope," he replied. "A real, authentic yellow colored stone."

"Let me see it closer," I said, and he closed his fist around the stone.

"Nope," he said, smiling and putting the stone in his pocket. "You know what we should do. Let's see who can find the best stones. Ten minutes to find ten pebbles. Winner gets bragging rights."

"Let's do this."

"Game on," he replied and stooped over to search for small pebbles.

I went the opposite direction and scoured the floor for pops of red or orange or any other color but gray and grayish brown. Picking up a stone, I brushed off the dust from the faded pink rock and dipped it in the river water to brighten the colors. My fingers numb, I pulled out the rock and saw the sharpened pink glow. I pocketed the stone and scoured the ground for the next one.

I spent the next ten minutes collecting a variety of pebbles, light red ones, orange rust-tinted ones, dull malachite turquoise ones, spotted ones while searching for the crown jewel for my collection. Every minute or so, Charles would shout out, "Wow! Look at what I found. There's no way that you're going to beat this." or "Prepare to get demolished," to which I'd shout back, "Whatever you say."

In the dead brush, I saw a flash of turquoise. It was a weathered piece of glass, edges dull and color gray-ish from the ash. After washing it in the river, the turquoise shone bright blue. That was my winning stone.

"You ready?" I asked him.

"Always," he replied. "Let's do this."

We laid our stones on a patch of fallen leaves. He had blue-gray stones, cantaloupe-colored pebbles, and a couple of rust and tan colored ones along with his aforementioned yellow stone.

"What is this?" he said and held up my rust-colored stone. "It just looks like any other stone."

"Well I could say the same about your orange stones."

"Fine," he replied. "Also, why do you only have nine pebbles out?"

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the turquoise piece of glass. His eyes widened just for a second before his eyebrows furrowed. "That's not a stone," he replied. "It's glass. Isn't it?"

"Who cares?"

"That's cheating," he said. "I think I win by default."

"It's not like your yellow stone is any better," I replied, picking it up. "It's literally painted. I can see the paint flaking off of it."

He sighed with a small smile. "I guess we're both eliminated for cheating."

"Double elimination," I said, softly kicking a piece of gravel as it rolled down towards the creek.

Charles lifted up his fingers to his mouth and blew on them. "Your hands cold?" I asked.

"Yeah," he replied, his cheeks rosy as he rubbed his hands together. "Put them in the water too long trying to wash the pebbles off. Probably a bad move in hindsight since both of us lost."

I reached into my backpack and pulled out the multicolored hand towels buried inside it. "Just wrap it around your hand. It'll probably be like a glove."

"Thanks," he said and shivered a bit while he wrapped the towel around his probably numb fingers. "But the real question is why do you have towels in your backpack?"

"It's a long story."

"We've got a lot of time."

"It's not that important," I replied as the bare branches of the oak tree rattled with the soft whistle of the wind.

Charles turned towards me. "Can I see the turquoise glass again?"

"Sure," I said and pulled it out of my pocket. "It's pretty, isn't it?"

"If only we could just spray the sky with this shade of blue."

"That would be amazing," I replied. "And maybe the monarchs and the birds will come back too. I can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm missing all those seagulls—"

"Screw seagulls," he said, cutting me off. "I hope they never return."

"Are you still salty about that time that the one seagull pooped on your head?" I replied. "Wasn't that in, like, fourth grade?"

"Fifth," he replied. "God, that was embarrassing."

"It was hilarious. Especially when you had to go up to the PE teacher, I forgot her name, and tell her that you had to go to the bathroom because a bird pooped on your head," I replied, chuckling a bit at the memory. "I think the whole class was—"

"Let's put the stones in," he said, quickly changing the subject, his face probably red from the mixture of embarrassment and the creeping cold.

"Changing the subject, I see," I replied. "It was pretty funny though."

There was an awkward silence. There was a splash in the river and both of our eyes darted forwards to gaze at the river. "Do you think that was a fish?" he asked.

"Maybe," I replied. "Or it could just be a pebble."

"Speaking of pebbles, how do you want to arrange the pebbles in the jar? I was thinking of making layers."

"That's cool," I replied. "Kinda like the Grand Canyon."

"That would make such a cool ad," he said, putting his arms in front of him. "Buy your own Grand Canyon in a jar."

He continued, "It would certainly be a very jarring ad for many people. See what I did there."

I sighed while chuckling softly. "You really need to work on your pun game."

"If you laughed, I'm considering it a success."

'Whatever," I said and grabbed the small jar. "Maybe we can arrange it in a rainbow or something."

"What about the black stones?" he asked.

"Put them on the bottom," I replied. "And then go with the reddish-pinkish stones, then the orange-rust stones, then the tan colored stones and so on."

"How much time do you have left, you know, because of your parents?"

I had completely forgotten about that. "We probably have twenty minutes or so. I wouldn't worry."

We started putting the stones into the jar. Black and spotted ones on the bottom, followed by a couple of reddish pink pebbles on top. We had a ton of tan-orange stones (like eight or so in total), so that layer was really thick. After that, came the yellow-ish colored stone and his bright yellow painted pebble and then the malachite and dark blue stones.

"You should keep the turquoise glass," he replied. "Just think of it as an early birthday gift."

"January is, like, five months away from now," I replied.

"Who knows what's going to happen between now and January," he said. "Maybe there's going to be an alien invasion. Who knows? It's the apocalypse."

I knew that he was playing that off as a joke, but there was an undercurrent of seriousness there, and I knew what he meant when it was an early birthday gift just in case he or I don't, you know, make it till January.

"You should keep it," I replied. "Just think of it as an early birthday present for April."

"Regifting your birthday present already," he said with a small smile. "Wow. That hurt. But actually, just keep it for yourself."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," he replied. "Anyways, we have to leave soon."

"We should probably get going," I replied. "Mom might kill me today. I'll gift you the stone in my will."

"Sounds like a deal."

He picked up the jar and placed it in his bag before we began walking toward his house. As we were walking under the sycamore trees, the wind gusted through the streets, and for a second, I thought that an ash storm had begun. But the flakes of ash, drifting like snow in front of me, were just from the ash-caked trees above me, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

A couple of minutes before we reached his neighborhood, he asked, "How many days do you think we have until our first snow?"

"A month, maybe," I replied. "Probably two though since we never get rain in September. Why?"

"It would just be so weird seeing our neighborhood covered in snow."

"Yeah," I replied. "But I mean we'd finally have a White Christmas with actual snow instead of muddy puddles on the ground. That'd be pretty cool."

"Cool," Charles said. "I see your pun."

"That was not intentional."

He ignored me. "You have learned well, young padawan."

I sighed and shook my head with a small smile on your face. "Is your family, you know, ready for winter?"

"Yeah, yeah," Charles said, but it didn't sound convincing. "I've been helping with wood gathering and stuff like that."

I was going to press more, but when I turned the corner and entered his neighborhood, I noticed shattered glass windows on the closest house.

"Geez. What happened there?" I asked and pointed towards the house.

"Where?"

"There, at the house," I replied. "The window is completely smashed."

"Oh, wow," Charles said. "I never even noticed."

"Are there, like, looters in your neighborhood? Is your family safe?"

"We're fine," he said. "I think it might've been from a few weeks back. I remember that there was one of those food riots that swept through our neighborhood and destroyed some houses, but right now, we're fine."

"Okay," I said, but there was something wrong happening. I just don't know what.

"Anyways, you should probably get going," he replied. "I can head back down."

"Are you sure?"

"My house is a dozen houses down the street. I'm not going to get abducted or anything. Also, before I forget," he replied and put down his bag, taking out a garlic head. "I think you asked me to get this last week."

"Yeah, I'd completely forgotten about that. Thanks," I said and waved. "Bye."

"Bye," he replied and walked to his house while I walked away towards the Hunters' house to finish executing May's plan.

When I reached their house, my hands were shaking, and my heart was pounding. The key trembled in my hand, and I nearly dropped it because I was just so nervous about everything, but I managed to unlock the door and make it to the basement and find the axe, which we placed near the doorway.

I was just about to leave the basement area when I decided to go grab the solar panel that May placed close to the garage door for Mom and Dad. They could probably do something with the solar panels for the garage greenhouse even though the solar panels barely work. But when I headed up into the light, I realized that there was a big problem:

The axe's handle had a carved in name to it, reading "Hunters." If Dad or Mom saw that the axe handle had this on it, May and I's lie would crumble, and they'd figure out everything almost immediately, so I had to do something about this.

I opened all the cabinets, though most of them were empty, trying to find something to cover up the name on the axe handle. But luckily, I caught a break. There was one cabinet that May, and I didn't check when we first came here, the one hugging the ceiling above the microwave, and when I flung the cabinet doors open, I found some old kitchen appliances and art supplies. And in the art supplies bin, there conveniently was a roll of duct tape.

So I wrapped the duct tape around the handle at least ten times, covering the name up under layers and layers of tape so that May and I's secret would stay that way, and there would be no chance that Mom and Dad found out. After I finished, I put the tape back, grabbed the axe and solar panel, and left the house, basically speed walking home. I probably went way over the hour time limit.

When I opened the door, I saw Mom staring at me. "You were gone for more than an hour."

"No I wasn't," I denied. "I was probably on the longer end of an hour but not over it."

"Where'd you get the axe?" Mom asked as Dad came to talk to her before seeing my axe.

"What are you doing with the axe?" he asked.

"I brought it back," I replied. "For you guys."

"But where did it come from?" Mom asked. "Did Charles give it to you or..."

"I got it from the garden where Charles and I worked for that summer job," I replied with my prepared lie (even saying it now sounds weird).

"What were you guys doing with axes?" Dad asked. "Seems pretty dangerous."

"Dad, using an axe is basically like using a knife," I responded. "Anyways, Charles and I never used the axes anyways. We were always on the dandelion and grass weeding duty, but the axes were used for cutting down shrubs when we were expanding the garden since, you know, you can't really pull out shrubs."

"But how'd you exactly get it?" Mom asked.

I never really thought that much ahead in my lie, so I quickly made something up.

"Charles had the key to the shed and there were two axes left in there, so we just split them up, one for me and one for him, you know," I said. "Why are you guys asking so much anyways? I got lucky today, so just take it."

"And the solar panels?"

"From the garden too," I replied, getting them back onto my story of lies, hoping that they stopped asking follow-ups.

"What would you be doing with solar panels in the garden?" Dad asked.

What would solar panels be used for in gardens? At that moment, I didn't know, and my heart was about to explode from the adrenaline in my blood and pulsing in my head, so I tried my best to stall. "What's with all these questions?"

"This is the last one," Dad said, "We just want to make sure that you got these supplies, you know, in a safe and legal manner."

"So you guys thought I stole it?"

"No," Mom said. "It's just that with everything that's happening, sometimes people bend the rules a bit."

By then, I had scrambled together a lie. "Well, to make you guys feel better, the solar panel was used for the garden's watering system, to power it. Most of them were taken when the volcanoes started to erupt, but Charles and I found some in the shed."

"A watering system?" Dad said. "You mind taking me to the garden to see how it works. That seems very interesting."

"It's dead," I replied. "The earthquakes damaged it, and the volcano ash basically destroyed it. It's basically not there anymore."

I continued, "I'm just going to leave these two things here for guys here to do what you want because I need to shower."

I walked away from the door and to the bathroom, my body covered in nervous sweat.

"Don't waste too much water," Mom shouted at me.

As I got my clothes out for showering, I felt a tap on my shoulder. "Did the plan work?"

"Yeah," I said to May. "I think they believed it."

"Good," she replied. "Hopefully, Dad ditches the small axe, so we can get more wood for less lung cancer."

"Yeah, hopefully," I said and turned and headed into the shower.

Nothing much interesting happened after my shower. Dinner was the same-old canned food as Mom and Dad figured out what to do with the solar panel and the extra axe, but both were talking about it with a spark of hope, like everything won't keep getting worse. And oddly enough, I started feeling like that, feeling strangely optimistic about today and the day after and many days after. It's weird what a hunk of metal on a stick and a board of wires and semiconductors makes you feel. Hope certainly comes in a variety of forms.

August 17

Mom nearly forgot about the school board meeting. I think everyone basically forgot it. The only things we all remember are wood gathering day on Monday and food gathering day on Saturday. Every other day in the week blurs together and stretches out.

When Mom came back, she seemed angry and sad, kicking off previously tight boots all too easily. Dad came up to the doorway, looking a bit concerned. "What happened?"

She scoffed. "Nothing. Those people couldn't even answer anything."

"Did they say anything about school re-opening?"

"They said that the textbook distribution was just a 'right now' measure until they're able to come up with a final plan," Mom replied. "But they should have something down now. They've had all summer to figure out a plan."

"What about the school library?"

Mom sighed, rubbing her forehead. "They're still figuring that out like they're figuring out everything else. But I doubt that the library's staying open."

"Why?"

"I walked past the school today," she replied.

"Isn't it far—"

"It's only a couple of minutes detour," she said, cutting him off. "The city is dismantling the solar panels above the parking lots. I didn't get a chance to ask about it since I only saw it on the way back."

"Okay," Dad said and looked down. "So what are we going to do about Neal and May's school and learning?"

She put her hands up and shrugged. "I don't know. Make them read the textbooks? Thinking about it now, I don't even know why we checked out the textbooks. It sounded like a good idea but now It just seems pointless."

"It's not. It's not," Dad replied. "I don't know. Maybe we can figure something out. We will figure something out."

"I just wish that they'd have a chance to just feel a sense of normalcy, like everything that's happening now isn't happening, at least just for a couple of hours."

"I don't think we can," Dad replied. "It's just— There's just too much happening around us that's just too hard to ignore."

"I know. I just feel like I've failed them," Mom said with a long sigh, and there was an awkward silence between them that hung there for what felt like longer than a second.

"Oh, Neal. I didn't notice you were there," Dad said, turning towards me. "What do you need?"

I made something up on the fly. "I was going to grab something, but I guess I'll leave you two in peace."

"Actually, can you grab something for me," Dad said. "I'm sick of eating canned food every day, and I remember seeing a dhokla package—"

"No, not dhokla," I said. "I'd rather eat canned food."

"Nope, we're eating dhokla today," he said. "Go get Mira and May and get working on a batch. The instructions are on the back of the package. I think we deserve something fresh today."

"Fine," I said, grumbling.

I went to our room and poked May on the shoulder. "Guess what we're eating for dinner?"

"What?" she said, mindlessly spinning in circles on the swivel chair. "Canned corn instead of canned beans?"

"Nope," I said. "We're eating your favorite dhokla."

"Ugh," she said. "Was this Dad's idea?"

"Yep," I said. "We have to make it. Dad's orders."

After I grabbed Mira who was reading one of the books that I checked out from the library ages ago, we rummaged through the pantry and found the package of dhokla mix near the back, covered in a thin layer of dust.

"Is that even edible?" May asked.

I shrugged and handed her the package as she took it reluctantly. Making it really wasn't that hard, probably because it was one of those instant mixes, as I mixed around two cups of water with the package while May poured water in the steamer and greased the steaming plates. Mira opened up a can of tomato sauce (because we didn't have any ketchup) and mixed some masala with oil for Mom and Dad because that's what they liked.

Everything felt oddly normal at that moment, all of us just talking about random stuff and complaining about cooking and making sure to keep track of time and not overcook the food. It's weird how this whole week has been crazy, careening from May's absurd plans to just standing around as the smell of food wafted around us. Even though dhokla wasn't my favorite food, my mouth was watering as I opened the steamer with my oven mitts, taking out the mix, now puffy from steaming, and letting it cool.

After they had all cooled and Mira had cut them, all of us, including Grandma and Grandpa too, sat at the dining table. There were only enough for eight one inch by one-inch sized squares per person, and Mom and Dad both gave May and I two squares. When I tried to give it back, Mom said, "I'm not that hungry today."

"Same here," Dad said and patted his stomach. "Still got to burn off these college calories."

"And plus, you'll need energy for tomorrow," Mom said. "Since everyone seems to be doing well, we're going to be doing wood gathering again."

"Ugh," May said, though she probably only half meant it.

"Wood doesn't gather itself," Mom said. "So eat up and get ready."

There was a small lull in the conversation before Dad cleared his throat and spoke up. "The dhokla tastes good."

"Better than average, I guess," I said. It was about the only truthful thing I said this week, but there was something nice about it. Maybe it was because the texture was softer than what I remembered or maybe it was because of the sensation of fresh, warm food on my tongue or maybe it was the clenching of my stomach from the hunger pangs, but whatever it was, it tasted good.

"So it tastes great," Dad said. "Since okay for you means good, so better than okay means that it must be great."

"Whatever you say, Dad," I said and put another piece into my mouth.

"We should do this more often," Dad said. "It's nice to sit here and eat food together."

"Maybe my parents can make something next week. I don't think we can do this every day, but weekly sounds good," Mom said and asked Grandma and Grandpa something that loosely translated to "What do you want to make for food tomorrow?" or something similar to that. My Chinese skills have clearly deteriorated after stopping lessons in middle school.

They said something in Chinese back to Mom about pork and cabbage and Mom asked something about vegetables, probably since Dad is a vegetarian. Mom turned back to the rest of us and said, "They'll look into the pantry and see what they can make."

"Maybe I can start pulling out some of the old cookbooks from the bookshelf to see what we can make using the cans," Dad replied.

"Staring at cookbooks is probably not the best idea," May added. "I'd get so hungry looking at all the pasta and pizza and all the other food."

"I'll be fine," Dad said and he paused for a second before saying, "Maybe we should start a new tradition."

"Where did that come from?" May asked.

Dad ignored her. "I think it would be a good idea to have dinner together, at least every week, and talk about something that we're grateful for—"

"No," May replied immediately, cutting him off mid-sentence. "That's so cringe-y. It's literally so cliche."

"I think it'd be good," Dad said.

It really was a cheesy idea, and I said, "I kinda agree with May. It sounds really cheesy, and we know what everyone's going to say."

"And what are they going to say?"

"Family, food, being alive, water, that kind of stuff," I said before quickly clarifying. "It's not that I'm not grateful for all of those, it's just that it doesn't really add anything new, you know, like we're all grateful for those too."

"Exactly," May said. "Listen to Neal. And plus, every single time a family does this in an apocalypse movie someone dies, and I think I'd prefer not to inherit the gratitude curse."

"Also, we should save this for Thanksgiving," May added. "If you really want to do it, make it a one-time event."

There was a brief lull in the conversation, and May was about to put her dishes in the sink and leave when Mira said, "I'll go first."

No one really said anything for a couple of moments. I think May was going to snark something back, but she held it back. Dad turned to Mira. "Great! We have our first volunteer."

Mira made a small smile and began speaking. "One thing that I'm grateful about is just all of your support over the past week and a half since—" she said, pausing before taking a deep breath and continuing. "Since Leon left and just helping me work through everything that I'm feeling."

"I'll go next," Mom said. "I'm grateful for the axe and solar panel Neal brought back yesterday. Sometimes the world just gives us lucky breaks, and I sure as hell need one."

Dad laughed a little before saying, "Well I'm just grateful for this hot meal in front of me and for my kids for making them. I know we've had our disagreements—"

"That's putting it lightly," May muttered.

"But I'm so proud of you guys, and I know we're going to make it. We have to."

He tried to sound confident with the last part, but I think everyone could hear the little tinge of doubt in his voice, one that he unsuccessfully tried remedying with confidence, that dampened all of our moods. There was an awkward silence.

Mom turned towards both of us. "What about you guys? Neal, you want to start first?"

The odd thing was that the first thing that popped into my mind was the Mooncrash. I know I wish that everything could just go back to normal, so that everyone, Mom, Dad, Charles and his family, wouldn't need to worry about starving or gathering enough wood to survive the oncoming winter or the tides of the end of the world really.

We would all just be living our lives out perfectly happy and normal: Mom and Dad saving up for retirement while discussing vacation plans to Hawaii, Grandma and Grandpa gardening and talking with their church friends, May going to parties and hanging out with her friends in boba cafes, Mira and Leon being together, married and joyful, a grand future ahead of them, and me just making it through school, one day at a time, until it was time to face college.

But at the same time, things have gotten better. Mira and Dad haven't fought in quite some time, something unthinkable for me in April when they were barely on speaking terms, and my only friendship has gotten better, you know, from when I thought that everything was drifting apart. And I guess I wonder if things would've ever gotten better if everything didn't happen, and I guess I'm just grateful that things did get better, even if I wish the Mooncrash didn't have to intrinsically come with them.

But it was too hard to say in words, and even reading over what I just wrote, I can't seem to capture all my jumbled thoughts right, so I just went with something generic. "I'm grateful for all of you guys too."

"Maybe something a bit more specific?" Dad implored, but I shrugged my shoulders.

Dad towards May. "You have something to say?"

She crossed her arms. "Fine. I conform to your peer pressure. I'm grateful that I'm not dead."

"Thanks to everyone for doing this," Dad said, stacking everyone's plates.

"That was so syrupy," May said. "Like disgustingly sappy."

"Well we got to add a little syrup to a bad situation to make it sweeter."

"Please kill me," she said. "I think I'm going to die."

Dad smiled a bit and said to everyone. "C'mon, time to sleep early. A long day ahead of us tomorrow."

Mira and Mom both yawned and stood up, walking towards the bathroom as Dad went into his bedroom, leaving May and I as the only people in the living room. She turned towards me. "Mom and Dad tried brushing off eating less."

"I know."

"Are we going to make it?"

"I don't know," I replied, trying to muster as much positivity as I could. "But I know we're going to make it till tomorrow. So just try to be positive."

"Do you actually believe that though?"

"Does it matter?" I said before adding. "I read about that time when they did an experiment and fake smiling actually—"

"Goodbye," May said and walked away.

"What?" I said. "It was an interesting study."

"I think I'd fall asleep on the couch by the time you finished," she replied. "And plus, you know what Dad said about waking up early tomorrow."

So she left, leaving me alone. And for some reason, I started thinking about that day Charles and I went to the creek when the air was fluttering with summer warmth and closeness, his arm guiding mine over the sprawling night sky during that weird time in between, after the worst of the tides but before the volcanic eruptions. There was something precious about it, no fears about the college, no fears about surviving the next day, just living in that moment.

I know it's pointless to think about a past that would never happen again, and maybe I'm over exaggerating the moment, gold-washing that memory to bring myself hope right now, but there's something about that memory that's irresistible that I can't stop replaying over and over in my head.

I wonder if there's more to that memory than what I'm writing out.