August 18

I was kissing a guy in my dreams.

Or at least I think I was. The memory is a bit of a blur, like pretty much every non-nightmare dream, the golden tones smearing the dream. But I do remember that we were in a bright green field overflowing with vivid flowers, glowing oranges and pinks and turquoise. I remember my hand brushing a bit of scruff and I remember our faces being close to each other and that there was this warmness surrounding me.

And then I woke up. Or more specifically Dad woke me up with a shake of my shoulder. The cozy warmness shifted to a coolness and the saturated colors dominating my dreams faded to muted grays.

While I was layering up in thick socks and extra sweaters, I thought a lot about the dream. I know people have all kinds of weird dreams where they do weird things, and when they wake up, they acknowledge the reality of their dream and move on with reality. Hell, I've had dreams where I was running away from May, armed with throwing knives and trying to kill me, but when I wake up from that nightmare, I know that May doesn't want to kill me (Or at least I hope so).

But there was something different about this dream. There was no lingering wrongness about the dream, when you know you've crossed the line between fantasy and reality. If anything, it felt oddly right and almost surreally beautiful, if that makes sense.

Actually, reading over what I just wrote, I don't think what I just said made any sense. I don't even know why I'm spending so much time writing about this dream anyways. The memory of it will probably fade away in a few days.

Mom left Grandpa and Grandma to guard the house, but I think we all knew that if anyone tried to ransack our house, there wouldn't be anything that Grandpa and Grandma would be able to do. But we didn't really have much of an option and we trudged through the streets dusted with ash, shivering ever so slightly as our wagon creaked behind us. Dad turned to Mom.

"We need to start doing wood gathering at least two times a week," Dad said. "The weather. It's getting much colder than I expected."

Mom sighed. "We've—"

"I know we've already talked about this, but circumstances have—" Dad said, before a fit of coughing cut him off.

"See," Mom said. "We shouldn't be spending much time out anyways. Lung cancer will kill us long before starvation or the cold."

"That wasn't from the ash," Dad said. "It was just autumn allergies."

"From what plants," Mom said and pointed around at all of the bare trees, branches hanging out like skeleton fingers, lining the streets. "Everything around us is dead."

"It's from the dust," Dad quickly replied before pivoting. "And going by what you said, we don't want to join them."

"And going by what I said before, we'll join them long before the cold kills us."

May stepped in between them. "I swear I've heard this argument a hundred billion times already, and now it's just getting boring hearing you two argue the same old crap over and over again. Just find some compromise and move on."

"Maybe have rotating axe shifts," Mira said. "Dad can cut one tree, then Mom, and then me—"

"No," Mom said. "Only Dad and I do the axe rotating shifts—"

"Why?" she protested. "I can help—"

"I don't want any of my kids risking their lives cutting wood and breathing in all that ash. Let your father and I handle this."

"I know the risks, and I want to help," Mira replied. "I'm an adult anyways. I'm perfectly—"

"And we're your parents," Dad said. "And I agree with your Mom. No more axe cutting shifts anymore for all three of you."

Mira stopped walking and faced Dad. "I can—"

"No one's saying that you're not capable," Mom said. "We don't want you to get hurt, or worse, get really sick in the future, that's all."

Mira opened her mouth, and I could nearly sense the retort that was coming out from her mouth, the unsaid thought that had crossed every one of our minds at least one: What future is there even to look forwards too with the never-ending volcanic eruptions and ash storms that threaten to bury us six feet under a layer of gray?

"Okay, great," Mom said, taking Mira's non-answer as a sign of agreement. "What about you two?"

May shrugged. "Fine. Whatever."

Mom then suddenly turned to Dad. "What did you mean by 'anymore'?"

There was an awkward silence. I think Dad was referring to that time with Leon when I spent about ten minutes struggling to chop even a small notch into the tree.

"It was for only two minutes," I lied, hoping that downplaying the number would downplay Mom's worries. "And it was all the way back when the ash wasn't all that bad."

"Well, no more," Mom said.

"Works for me," I replied.

"Also," Dad said. "We may need to make some changes in our house."

"What do you mean?" I asked.

"We'll have to start moving all the mattresses and comforters to the living room sometime soon," Dad replied.

"What?" Mira, May, and I all exclaimed at the same time, and May added, "I first lose having my own room, and now I lose my room completely. That's so unfair."

While May complained for a bit longer about losing her privacy and how her life is going to fall apart if we all moved to the living room, my mind went straight to the pantry of cans. With everyone eating, breathing, and sleeping in the living room, right adjacent to the pantry of cans, there's no way I'm going to sneak out enough to help Charles and his family. Mom and Dad will always be keeping a close eye on the food, along with Mira and May and Grandma and Grandpa.

"But why?" I asked Dad.

"Well if you guys would let me explain and stop complaining for a second, I would," Dad said.

May shut up, leaving Dad's hoarse voice and the creak of the wagon filled with rustling canvas bags as the only sounds.

"Natural gas is going to be shutting down soon," Dad said before Mira cut him off.

"How do you know?" she asked. "There's been no announcement, nothing—"

"They'd never announce it," Dad said. "No one would agree to it, and there'd be hoarders siphoning natural gas or people threatening to burn down city hall if the natural gas was projected to be shut off. A quick, quiet shut off will cause protests, but everyone in leadership would be long gone or they'd be able to say they kept it on for as long as possible."

"But what I know is this. The cold will set in, and winter will be bad," Dad warned. "I've been keeping the heater on low the past week or so, but without the heater, the nights are going to be freezing. So we're all going to have to move to the living room because we've got the fireplace there."

"But what about the laundry?" May asked. "Where are we going to dry the clothes? I don't want to be sleeping in a puddle of soapy, gross water."

"We'll figure that out later," Dad said.

"Don't we have a heater in the garage?" I asked, desperate to try and stop Dad from making this happen. "Why don't we just charge the heaters using the solar panels?"

"That's what your Mom and I are doing," Dad replied. "But the panels barely get three watts an hour, not even close to being able to power the heaters on the long term. And we've still got the issue of lighting up the greenhouse—"

"How is the greenhouse doing?" May asked. "You guys have been working on it forever."

"We've..." Dad said, his words trailing a bit. "Hit a couple of roadblocks."

"It's pitch-dark in the garage," Mom said. "I'm not even sure why we were trying to build a greenhouse down there, so we're moving our set-up to the living room tomorrow to take advantage of the natural light and figure out the lighting system."

"What about the solar panels on the ro—" Mira said before being cut off by Dad.

"I don't know how to remove and disconnect the solar panels from the roof," Dad replied. "I'd need a mound of textbooks. Anything salvageable would probably be destroyed by the ash anyways. The panels on the roof are dead. Completely useless."

"What about scavenging for solar panels?" I asked and May shot me a warning glance. "In other—"

"No," Mom and Dad said at the same time. They looked at each other and smiled a bit. For some odd reason, they were finding a sense of unity by tearing down our ideas.

"We're not stealing," Mom replied. "Don't even think about it."

"And what's with all the what ifs," Dad replied. "We're moving when the natural gas shuts off no matter what."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Now I can only pray that the natural gas won't shut off. If there even exists a God, hopefully, they will understand and make sure that doesn't happen, at least for now.

We stopped in front of the forest, gazing at the ash covered stumps of the sycamore trees, a skeleton forest holding up the dark gray sky with its spindly, bone-colored branches. Hopefully, that'll be long enough for us to get our wood and leave before the ash storms start again.

We split up, Mom and Dad to the nearest tree, Mira, May, and I deep into the dark forest (by deep, I mean about 10 meters away from Mom, with her hawk-like eyes watching us) to gather the kindling, bending down to pick up branches and twigs every couple of steps and dump them into our canvas bags.

"I've got an idea," Mira said, suddenly appearing next to me. "To solve Mom and Dad's greenhouse problem."

"The lighting or the heating problem?" I asked.

'The lighting one," Mira said and outstretched her arms around us. "If, after all this work, the heating problem isn't solved, Mom and Dad are going to be in serious trouble."

"Deathly serious," I said before quickly adding. "Was that too dark?"

"Probably," Mira said with a sigh. "It's hard not to think about it though."

"Yeah," I said, my words trailing off and leaving the crunching of fallen leaves and scratching of branches against canvas as the only sounds. "So what is the plan? We kinda got off-track."

"There are basically two parts to it," Mira said. "You remember the random solar phone chargers, right?"

"Didn't we get a whole bunch of them?" I asked. "What happened to them anyways?"

"Probably disappeared when Grandma and Grandpa organized the whole house or maybe Mom and Dad stored it away when they thought that the solar panels weren't working? I'm not sure," she replied, picking up another branch from the ground before continuing. "I was thinking that we could use that to charge all of our phones."

"How does that help?" I asked, genuinely confused. Maybe she was high or maybe this was her anger-planning. "What use is charging phones?"

"Well It's not so much the phone as it is for the phone's flashlight," Mira said. "Since we can't charge the small batteries that we have since the big solar panels are being used for the heaters, the only flashlight we've got that we can use are our phones."

"That's... actually really smart," I said. "Is this what college education does for people?"

She chuckled a bit and shook her head.

"More like waking up in the pitch-dark this morning and trying to grab my phone for its flashlight only to realize that I hadn't used my phone in months," she replied and then sighed. "Old habits do die hard."

"Yeah," I said, both our words trailing off before I continued. "But how exactly are we going to get enough light for the plants, especially since the phone flashlights aren't super strong."

"This is the fishier part of my plan," she said. "Mostly because I don't know much about this, but I think we should use mirrors and point them inwards to the plants to reflect any light that is being wasted."

"The question is how are we going to position the mirrors," I said. "To make them reflect light properly."

"The library might have some information," Mira said. "We should go sometime next week, maybe Monday or Tuesday."

"I can't go on Tuesday, just because Charles and I have a thing planned," I replied. "Why don't you just ask Mom and Dad first?"

"I don't know," she said and looked down, not to pick up branches but to kick a stone. "It's just that they never listen to me."

"I mean they listened to you last night—"

"But that was when I was agreeing with them," she replied. "And it's like they're always treating me like I'm a little kid, and I thought I was making progress, but I'm just not. It's like I took a step up the mountain yesterday and then got buried by an avalanche today."

"Mom and Dad are just worried," I said. "And they care, a lot, and sometimes in the wrong way, you know."

"But then why don't they care about what I say?"

"Who cares about what other people think?" I said. "I mean you've literally done so many daring things that I wouldn't even have the confidence to even think about doing."

"But I hate that I do care," she said.

She sighed and stuffed a couple of twigs in her bag. "Remember that ugly fight Mom and Dad and I had back in April?"

"Yeah," I said. "It was about the blue hair, wasn't it?"

"It's weird how we were all just arguing about the stupidest little things," she muttered and then spoke more loudly. "But that night, I dyed my hair black and sat in my room with my finger hovering above my phone screen, almost clicking on Mom and Dad's number, so that everything could be sorted out 'cause I cared too much about what they thought of me, and it hurt me to disappoint them."

"But I mean you didn't call them back," I said and pointed at her hair, red roots growing out. "And you kept to your beliefs."

"The red was from an anger-dyeing session," she said with a little chuckle, lightening the atmosphere a bit. "Just wanted to go for the angstiest look I could manage to get back at Mom and Dad."

She continued, "It feels like the only time that I do what I want is when I'm just angry, and I want to change."

"I guess you have to make a new identity," I said. "Or find a new one or something along those lines where your, I guess self-worth, isn't tied with Mom and Dad."

"But how?" she asked. "It's not like I can go off on a grand adventure and find a new me while battling dragons and zombies."

"I don't know," I said. "I guess it's just something that finds you or maybe you find it or something. I don't even know what I'm saying anymore. Lit class never taught me any of this."

She chuckled a bit, and then I chuckled a bit and the woods echoed with our soft laughter. Mira turned to me. "I thought I'd gone past this after I turned eighteen, but twenty-one just feels like a second puberty."

She picked up a branch and added, "How do you always know the right things to say?"

"I didn't really say much," I replied with a shrug. "You mostly did the talking and I just repeated back things. Maybe you're the one that knows the right things."

"Maybe. But seriously?" she asked. "Where do you get all this advice stuff from?"

"Advice columns, I guess?" I replied. "Maybe books? Whatever you're thinking about just comes to me."

"Anyways, I should probably go to May," Mira replied and turned the other direction from where I was walking. "Meet you back at Mom and Dad's tree?"

I nodded and waved at her before going back to picking up branches.

I wish I could come up with a snappy metaphor for twigs (though I suppose a badly placed pun will do). Gazing over the ash-covered landscape, I could imagine the forest in winter, the flakes of ash mixing with snow and ice that will glitter like crushed little stars whenever the sun shines, even if it lasts only a second.

The rest of the day wasn't much. Mom and Dad were able to fully chop up four trees in the two hours or so we spent gathering twigs, which was much more than the last few trips combined with the tiny axe. The wagon could only take about a quarter of a tree's worth of logs per trip though and the bags only could hold a couple chopped up pieces, so we had to make multiple trips back and forth, carrying 10 to 15 pound logs on the five-minute walks back home.

Mom and Dad took over after the fourth or fifth trip back and forth. "We've got this," Mom said after we lugged the logs into the timber corner of the garage, slowly but steadily increasing every week. "You guys go shower."

"Okay," May said, a little too excitedly. "I call dibs on going first. I think I'm going to get an acne outbreak from all this sweat."

"I call second," Mira shouted.

"I guess I'm third," I said and muttered under my breath. "Middle child syndrome."

Mom and Dad came back after at least an hour or two, after we had all finished showering and the air around the bathroom felt like a little taste of an old Florida summer. Dad fell asleep right away and Mom fell asleep on the couch before she could finish brewing her chamomile tea. Neither of them ate dinner.

Mira gave them both blankets, and May commented, "They're not dead, right?"

All of a sudden, Dad's snores reverberated through the hallways.

"I guess not," she said and shrugged. "Should we make them dinner?"

"Maybe a bigger breakfast tomorrow," Mira said.

August 19

Mom and Dad refused to eat breakfast.

Well Dad did, but only a couple of nibbles, and then gave it back to us.

"You're eating all of it," Mira said. "We spent all morning working on it."

It's true. May had woken me up too early in the morning with the fluorescent glare of the lamplight, the sky a dark blue-gray color. Mira was with her, and I groaned. "What do you guys need me for?"

"We're making fresh bread for Mom and Dad," she said.

"Then make it yourself," I said and turned in bed. Unlike my brain, any semblance of generosity and selflessness did not wake up the glow of light.

"We don't know how to make it without yeast," May said. "That's why we need you 'cause you're so smart and cool and know everything."

"It's too early for sarcasm."

"Hurry up." May snatched the comforters off of me and tossed me a jacket. "Let's do something nice for Mom and Dad."

Huddling around the stove, May and Mira vigorously mixed the flour and water with a tablespoon or so of powdered milk, just for texture, while I explained, "You know, the whole purpose of the yeast is—"

"Blah, blah, blah," May said. "Get to the point. We don't need the whole science background or otherwise, it might take a whole hour."

"Well the whole point I'm getting to is that yeast makes carbon dioxide, and you know what else makes carbon dioxide, those baking soda and vinegar experiments we did in elementary school."

"Ew, vinegar is so gross. There's no way we're putting it in here."

"Do we have any other sour things, stuff like lime or lemon juice?" I asked.

"We might have used up all the lemonade in the summer," Mira said and reached for the pantry. "It's vinegar, I guess—"

"No, wait," May said and rushed into the pantry, digging through some items before pulling out the packets of pink lemonade we had taken from the Hunters' house. "I remembered finding a couple of these a few weeks back."

"Weird," Mira said. "I don't think Mom and Dad have ever let us get pink lemonade ever before—"

"I think I got some from a birthday party," May lied quickly. "Who doesn't smuggle food out from parties?"

Mira furrowed her eyebrows and looked at me. I shrugged and looked at May. Her lie this time was uncharacteristically weak.

After we mixed together the mixture of pink lemonade powder with some water and baking soda, Mira and May quickly kneaded the dough together to capture the fizzling of that mixture. After waiting for the pan to heat up, I oiled the top with a halo of avocado oil and placed the flatbread on its surface, listening to the sizzles and crackles that remind of the campfires seventh grade camping trips that we took with family-friends.

The air smelled heavenly, with the slightest tinge of butter, that made even Grandma come out of her room.

"Good morning," she said, trying to practice her English. "What are you cooking?"

What was bread in Chinese called? The first thing I thought was "pan," but that's bread in Spanish, and at that moment, I realized how much Chinese had slipped away from me. I felt like I should know the word, but it just wouldn't come out.

Luckily, Mira filled it in. "Mian bao," she said. "Bread."

They talked a little more as I flipped the flatbread on the pan with my spatula. I tried thinking of all the Chinese words that I could remember how to write. Outside of the basic pronouns, numbers, and extremely basic words ("tian" or field looks just like a window), I barely knew how to spell complex anything in Chinese, the most complex one being "yu" or fish.

But May snapped me out of my thoughts when she reminded me to make sure that I wasn't burning the bread, and I quickly flipped it into a plate, the bottom browned well. After serving Grandma and Grandpa, who appeared a couple minutes after she did, Mira gave me a cup of reheated tea and gave May the plate with the bread on it with a drizzle of olive oil and told us to serve Mom.

But Mom refused.

"I'm too fat," she said and grabbed her stomach, but there wasn't a whole lot to grab.

"Well we're not going to argue with you," May replied and put the plate on the tabletop next to her. "Eat it or we're throwing it away."

And then we left the room.

"Was that a good mic drop exit?" May asked.

"Very," I said, and we turned back into the kitchen, making some for ourselves and Dad.

After some guilting and mind games, Dad eventually began eating the flatbread.

"This is really good," he said, but I wasn't sure if it was his taste buds or his hunger-addled mind talking, especially since when I ate one, the flatbread was a bit hard, the dough un-fluffy because of the lack of yeast.

There wasn't much else that happened in the morning. Mom went into the kitchen and grabbed an ibuprofen and swigged some cold water before going back to bed to sleep. Dad took a shower and then presumably flopped into bed and fell back asleep. As ash flurries sprayed the windows, Mira, May, and I pulled out a snakes and ladders board, not to socialize but to just push pieces around until the day ended.

When I went to our room to search through some old magazines to read, I found one with a male model emblazoned on the cover, muscled and shirtless, dripping wet with water. For some reason, I blushed but at the same time, wanted to read more. But if May and Mira walked into the room, that'd get awkward, so I went to the only place with any privacy: the bathroom.

Locking the door behind me, I sat on the toilet seat, opening the magazine. After flipping through pages of old gossip and ads and Polynesia vacations, I arrived at the pages I was looking for. There was a piece dedicated to their success story, but I didn't care about the words, just focusing on the images.

The man posing like one of those Greek sculptures, the man leaning back in a chair, sipping from a coconut, the man putting his hands together, abs glistening in the light, his face dark and brooding. And suddenly, I could feel the rush of emotions, the same weird fluttery nervousness that I felt when I was around Leon for the first time and one that I've felt for a long time.

I've always brushed it off as jealousy when those attractive, male characters appeared on TV and movies. With my clunky glasses, acne-scarred face and back, and decidedly un-hunky body, I could never be like them, and despite my resistance to do weightlifting and working out, there was always a part of me that wished I could be them, if that makes any sense. Just wake up one morning and find myself in an attractive body with all the confidence and self-assurance that pretty people have.

But now I'm wondering if that rush is more than jealousy or just my socially anxious nerves flaring up, but possibly, maybe attraction? I guess, would I want to kiss this person, not just as a weird-dream-addled fantasy, but in actual real life? But before I could even attempt to untangle everything, May knocked on the door and said she needed to use the bathroom, so I flushed the toilet and turned on the water and dumped the magazine in the far corner of our bathroom cabinet. Hopefully, no one else finds it.

And going back to the last question, given about half a day of reflection, I still don't know. I guess I'm worried that I'm overthinking this or maybe that if I go with my gut and my heart that I might cross a line that I won't be able to go back from. It feels wrong to think what I'm feeling should be is forbidden because it shouldn't be. Maybe some sleep will help me.

When everyone in middle school said that being a teenager was complicated and confusing, I mocked them.

I guess they were right after all.

August 20

I think we could all sense that there was something wrong.

Maybe it was the tenseness in the air around the ash-stained plaza, as families huddled together, dressed in thick scarves and faux fur jackets and bulky ski-jackets, in case the ash storms started again. No one was really talking to each other, everyone focused on themselves or the people closest to them, waiting for the food supply station to open once again.

"Why is it so quiet?" May asked, a little too loudly, and some people stared at us.

Mom quickly shushed her. "I don't know, but we have to stay quiet. I don't want to attract any unneeded attention."

"Now, I can't speak too," May grumbled under her breath. "Literally cannot do anything anymore."

Dad looked down at his wrist, but there was no watch there, and looked to the sky. "They must be waiting for deliveries. There's no other reason why we've been waiting for over an hour."

"Maybe we'll finally get better food," I whispered.

"Chocolate," May replied. "That's what I was dreaming about all night."

"Don't—" I paused and caught myself before I said that we had a couple bags of M&Ms. Who knew how other people would react?

"Never mind," I said and continued. "Maybe we might be getting fuel or something."

"Chocolate is way better," she said. 'What are we even going to do with a bucket of gasoline anyways? It's not even like our electric car runs on gas. Maybe some of my friends could come back here if they knew that the town was giving out chocolate."

She sighed. "Hopefully, life gets a little less lonely with chocolate."

Suddenly, there was a loud static sound coming from the megaphone at the front and everyone stopped what they were doing, eyes swiveling to the front of the plaza. "Sorry for the technical difficulties. The pantry is now officially open."

An echo of cheer rang out from everyone in the plaza, waiting in the line that curved around the cobblestone floors and fountains dotting the plaza like a meandering river. But all of a sudden, the loud cheers stopped as a rising wave of hushed whispers erupted, and everyone turned back. I looked back at the edge of the plaza, where the stone edges met the dead and dried grass.

There was a group of six men there, docked dark black masks and odd camouflage clothing. But they weren't government soldiers, their clothing too casual to be military, and they clutched the long guns dangling from around their necks tight. The two security guards at the entrance, carrying tiny handguns and a bottle of mace spray, looked scared and tense, their hands instinctively at their waists. They just stood at the edge of the plaza (guns were banned on the inside), staring at the undulating crowd.

Dad swore under his breath. Mom looked at Dad with panicked eyes and whisper-shouted. "We should go. Now!"

Dad held her wrist. "We have to stick together. And not just us, but all of us—"

"But if they start firing and the guards start firing, we're trapped between the bullets," Mom said. "We can't risk it—"

"I know," Dad said. "But if we leave, we'll be more vulnerable. Maybe they're looters, just looking to pick off stragglers. If we all stick together, we'll stay as safe as we can be."

While Mom and Dad whisper-argued over what to do, May poked me and Mira. "What?" Mira asked.

"I overheard the people next to us," she said. "Apparently there have been rumors about looters going from town to town, ransacking all the food pantries everywhere."

"You think they are one of them?" Mira asked.

"Maybe?" she said. "How would I know? If I die today, promise me that you'll burn me. I really don't want worms and maggots feasting on my brain."

"I'm joking by the way if you can't tell," May added, but it wasn't all that funny, and I don't think she even found it funny.

"If there are looters and raiders, then..." Mira said and her words trailed off. "What about Leon and his family and them—"

"Don't worry—" I began before getting cut off.

"I can't not worry," she said and began whispering something under her breath. "What if he's just lying in some ditch somewhere, a gunshot to his chest and his Mom's chest—"

Before Mira could finish her nightmare, Mom shook her shoulder. "If bullets start flying and me and your father don't make it, take care of Neal and May. Make sure you three get to safety. Ignore us"

Mira's eyes crystallized into something sharp, and Dad said, "If they start shooting—"

"Get down on the ground and lie flat," May replied. "Too many lockdown drills have taught me that."

"Good," Dad said and corrected himself quickly. "I mean that's not good, to have to do the lockdown drills, but good that you know."

"If people start leaving," Mom said to Dad. "We're leaving too. Just like you said, we're going to stick with the crowd."

"Fine by me," Dad said and shivered while rubbing his mittens, looking over his shoulder every few seconds. "We're going to be alright. They won't shoot, hopefully."

The group of men kept standing at the edge of the plaza, holding weapons in their hands that could kill everyone in the plaza many times over. It's weird how a hunk of metal can have the power of life and death, especially with the hospital probably in dismal condition. No one dared to say anything, and the announcer at the megaphone didn't speak, either out of fear of retribution or just because the men technically weren't violating these apocalypse laws, though they were in violation of state open carry laws.

"Why are they just standing there?" May asked.

"Scoping the situation," I replied. "Intimidation. Just because they can. Who knows?"

May squatted down.

"What are you doing?" Mira asked.

"Just in case they start shooting. So I can lie down quickly," she said. "I don't want to die, especially not like this."

"They can't risk shooting," Mira replied.

"Well, it's pretty obvious that everyone thinks that they will," she said and extended a hand. "You guys should join me. It's going to be lonely in this hellscape if I'm the only one that survives."

Despite the snark, there was something genuine underneath it all, a real fear or a will to live if you're a person that likes looking at a glass half-full. I squatted down with her. "Better safe than sorry," I said. "Best motto to live by."

Mira scoffed. "Not unless you want your life to be boring as hell. The best things come from mistakes."

May and I both cringed.

"For that, you've been demoted to squatting status," I said.

Mira squatted down and Mom and Dad looked at us a bit weirdly but quickly went back to anxiously glancing over their shoulders. "Well, how do I redeem myself?"

"You don't," May said. "It's an eternal punishment."

There was a little chuckle before a long awkward silence descended on us. Mira's eyes softened and she reached out a gloved palm to May.

"We're going to be alright," she said, somewhat half-heartedly because I knew her mind was occupied by other thoughts. "We have to."

But May brushed away her palm and gazed into the distance. Ash began snowing down and Mom wrapped her two scarves over May and I's masks, just for double protection in case one of the layers failed. The men seemed to disappear into a haze of gray, their figures just dark gray silhouettes under a shroud of ashy dust that clung to the air around us, like the sides of a coffin.

"Are they gone?" May asked.

"I can't tell," Mom said. "But I can't see their shadows anymore."

"I believe they've left," Dad said. "The visibility is probably too bad for them to use their guns efficiently or maybe they saw the guards in front and decided that it wasn't worth it."

"But do we know?" May asked.

"Unless someone goes over to the edge," Mom said. "We can only hope."

"But—"

"Don't be pessimistic," Mom replied and cut May off before she could say anything. "Cynicism doesn't take anyone anywhere."

"That wasn't deep, Mom," May rebutted.

"It wasn't supposed to be," Mom said and faced her back to the edge of the plaza with May and I in front of her.

The rest of the wait was just waiting for the echoes of the bullets, firing from the dust and ash. Dad was running his hand through his hair, kicking up small clouds of ash, as Mom held May in front of her with an iron grip. The soft murmurs of the early dawn were gone, and everyone was basically stone silent. My heart leaped a couple of times when someone kicked a stone, the clattering across the stone like a bullet ricocheting. No one should have this much power over everyone.

When we got the bags of food, we all rushed out as fast as we could, trying to escape the walls of gray closing into us. No one breathed a sigh of relief until we entered the house and Dad locked the door and we were finally safe. There was an awkward silence before Dad asked, "Does anyone want to shower first?"

Everyone looked at each other before bursting out laughing. "Why are we laughing?" May asked.

"I don't know," Mira said between wheezes. "I call dibs."

"Don't shower too long," Mom said. "We need to save the water."

After everyone but Mom and Dad and I showered (since they were worried about using up all the hot water), it was mid-afternoon, and the adrenaline wore off as my mind drifted to other places, like the magazine from yesterday and that guy's eyes and body, but before I could start overthinking, Mira said, "What are you thinking about? Or looking at? That plain, boring wall sure is interesting."

"Just stuff," I said. "It's nothing."

"Well it must be something," Mira said. "You looked like you were breaking out in sweat just thinking about it."

"It's complicated," I said.

"You want to tell me about it?" she asked. "Maybe I can help."

"It's not something you can help me with."

"Try me."

"It's just not."

"Well you just got to try."

I hesitated for a moment. Should I tell her about this, about the weirdness I feel when I look at guys in magazines or the odd fluttering of my heart when I was standing next to Leon making bread that was more than just social anxiety?

"It's about," I said. "School stuff."

"School stuff," she said slowly and skeptically. "What kind of school stuff?"

"You know, I think I have to go and study my textbook," I said and started walking away. "Maybe it'll help solve the world."

Mira looked disappointed in me. "It's okay to talk, you know, and get things off your chest. Remember what we said a while back: no secrets about important things."

"It's not important," I lied. "It's just thoughts."

Then I left and opened up the textbook to the first chapter, but I wasn't really paying attention as I skimmed through the pages. I know it was wrong to not tell her, and I know that opening up to others can help me figure out who I am. But this just feels too close to me, too hard for anyone to untangle except for me by myself.

Thinking about it, maybe I'm the one doing the tangling of something so simple. Honestly, who knows? I doubt even God, if he exists, would even know.

August 21

Moving day (partially).

Dad spent all morning removing the TV while the rest of us pushed the couches out of the way to make space for the beds when the time came. Mira and May took measurements of the beds to see if we had made enough space for everything while Mom and I moved out all the bookshelves and random plastic bins of books and electronics that we stored in the living room to the garage. Moving out into the living room would make it much harder for me to sneak food out to Charles, but I didn't resist because Mom and Dad could get suspicious, and for now, my secret is safe.

After a quick and uneventful lunch break, Mom and Dad began moving up their greenhouse set-up from the garage and designated areas to put the solar panels in to charge the heaters. They had built a frame from some old plastic pipe shelving in our garage and draped it with a clear sheet of plastic to keep the heat in. Small lights were attached to the frame, providing ample light to the plants that will be growing inside.

Even though everything was still awkward from yesterday, I went up to Mira and said, "Now's your chance to show Mom and Dad your idea."

"You sure?"

"They'll love it," I said.

She took a deep breath and walked over to Mom and Dad. "Hey Mom, Dad. I think I have a way to fix your power issue."

"Well, unless you have a way to get more solar panels—" Dad said before being cut off by Mom.

"What is it?"

"I was thinking we could use mirrors," Mira said. "So we can reflect back light to the plants and make sure none of it is wasted."

"That's... actually a good idea for once," Dad said.

"It's a good idea, period," Mom said to Dad before turning back to Mira. "How are we going to get enough mirrors though? Our room has one wall mirror, and we have a couple hand mirrors around our house, but that's it."

"Do we have other reflective things?" Mira asked. "Sheets of metal or glass, maybe."

"We do have aluminum foil," Dad said and you could literally see the gears turning in his head. "We can wrap the foil around the sides of the planter box to keep the light in. Do you think other things, like white paint, will reflect light?"

"I'm not sure, but maybe," Mira said. "I also had a second idea."

"What?" Mom and Dad both asked, and it was great to see that they were all on the same page, building each other up instead of tearing each other down. I know it's weird, but just watching them is making me feel weirdly joyful.

"Mom, you remember all those solar panel phone chargers that we bought from the camping store."

"Yes, but what does this have to do with—" Mom said and paused. "I'm so stupid. How could I not have thought about this before?"

"To be fair," Mira replied. "I literally did not think of this until this week."

"What?" Dad asked, genuinely confused. "Is this some woman thing?"

"Flashlights," Mom said. "All of our phones have it, and we can use the— how many did we buy again?"

"Around eight or so," Mira responded.

"Eight solar panel phone chargers to charge up our phones and give ourselves some extra light."

"Oh..." Dad said, his words trailing off. "I'll go get the aluminum foil to start the wrapping."

"I'm finding the solar panel chargers," Mom said and looked at Mira. "Can you check to see if we have some white paint or maybe watercolors from some old kit? I think I have an idea."

As Mom and Dad basically ran into different rooms, Mira looked at me and beamed. "It worked."

"Yes, it did," I said. "See, it went great!"

"What do you think we should grow here?" May asked.

"Maybe something hardy," I said. "Cabbages or onions or potatoes probably. Maybe something fast-growing like peas or mustard. We can save the tomatoes for a sunnier day."

"Yeah," she said. "I'm tempted to grow a pumpkin, though, for the upcoming Halloween."

"I completely forgot about that," I replied. "It's in, like, two months or so."

"Yeah," she said and there was a bit of an awkward silence. "Thanks for helping me out."

"No problem," I said and looked at the greenhouse before turning my eyes away from it.

Looking at Mira, she seemed so happy. Maybe this peace with Mom and Dad will only last a couple of days or maybe it'll last for the rest of our lives, however long they may be. I think she's figured out her identity, or at least a part of it, because she talked. Maybe I should too, at least a little bit.

"I lied yesterday," I said. "About the whole school stuff."

"I know," she said. "It was pretty obvious."

"I lied also about it not being important," I replied. "It is important."

"Do— do you want to talk about it?"

"It's an identity thing," I replied before adding. "Like values and a sense of self stuff."

"That's very vague," she replied and brushed her hair to the side.

"It's the most I'm comfortable with," I said. "It's just too personal."

"Well it's a start," Mira said. "And you know that I'm always open to talking, and look, if you don't feel comfortable talking about it, you don't need to lie. You can just tell me that."

She continued. "And just know that you don't have to figure everything out in a few days. I mean I didn't even figure out what my own values are until college, and even then, sometimes I don't know exactly what I want with life, so just know that there isn't any pressure to understand everything."

"Yeah," I said. "Thank you."

I stood up. "I guess I'm going to go shower since I didn't get a chance yesterday."

When I got into the bathroom and locked the door behind me, I pulled out the magazine and flipped to that page with that guy's pictures. With steam curling around me and the air warm, I could feel that this magnetism I felt was just more than jealousy or forbiddenness. It felt right. It was right, at least at that moment.

I know I should be panicking about survival and losing water and natural gas (since after all, this is the apocalypse), but it's weird that the thing that is bothering me the most is this.

I guess I just need more time to figure out myself.