August 27

"Excuse me, everyone," the announcer at the food pantry made, the megaphone buzzy as he cleared his throat before stating, "I have an announcement to make."

"No duh," May muttered as everyone shuffled around, glancing at each other, whispers of hopes and anxieties filling the air: "Are there going to be more food cuts? Maybe we're going to get some gasoline. I think the power's coming back. There's no way that they're going to cut the water and natural gas supply. I think this might be the end. Maybe this is going to finally end."

There was some feedback, and everyone was silent, some waiting for good news, but most waiting for everything to go wrong. "First of all, I'd like to take some time to celebrate the beautiful sunshine that we have today. Maybe better times are coming ahead."

Everyone cheered, and even Dad let out a little whoop. The skies had fully cleared overnight and were tinged light blue as thin wispy clouds cling to it like cotton strands. When we were walking to the food drive, everyone was just staring at the burst of orange pouring from behind the mountains east of our city as a pale sunlight filtered through the branches, painting the white skeletons of the trees shades of golden, amber, and topaz.

"With that being said," the announcer continued. "We do need volunteers for some work."

The joyful attitude quickly crumbled, and Mom and Dad looked at each other.

"What work?" someone shouted.

"As many of you guys know, during this crisis of ours, the roads haven't been maintained well," he said. "And with the volcanic ash and our current drought, the trees and soil haven't exactly been the most stable and with the exodus of cars and chaos, the highways are clogged and—"

"Get to the point," a woman shouted.

"Are we going to become slaves?" a man shouted.

"My point is that the roads bringing us food are through the mountains," he replied, megaphone blaring loudly. "And we've already lost both of the main ones to landslides two weeks or so back. We need to preserve the last pass because we are going to be trapped here if we don't."

"That's BS," a man shouted. "There's a lot more roads that lead to the city."

"All of those take too long to get here," the announcer said. "And the government doesn't want to waste time, especially when gasoline is sparse, and many other towns are fighting for food shipments too. We've been very lucky to receive all the food that we have received, and I'm sure that you don't want to lose that."

"They can't just leave us," another person shouted.

"We don't want to find out," the announcer said. "So I'm asking for volunteers to help install rockfall netting around the slopes of the road and another group of volunteers to help sweep the streets to keep them ash free."

No one raised their hand, everyone looking at each other to see if another person was going to raise their hand. I saw that Mira was going to raise her hand before Mom whispered to her, "Don't."

"Why not?" she asked.

"Just wait," Mom said.

After a minute or so of no one raising their hand, the announcer said, "Please, we really need volunteers. We'll be giving double rations and two gallons of gasoline to everyone who helps for at least six hours today. Plus, it'll be the perfect way to spend all day in the sunshine on this lovely day."

There were more murmurs in this crowd of three hundred or so people. Dad looked at Mom. "We should do it."

"Too dangerous," she said. "You heard them. If we go there, we're going to be working on slopes that might collapse on us. I don't want to take that risk."

"Then how else are we going to be getting gasoline," Dad said. "Just like you said when the Shepards came to our home, we're going to need an escape plan just in case bad people break into our homes."

"I've already got a plan," Mom said. "I got a job at the school's library or some other posting."

"How?"

"I asked the worker there, and she wrote me a note," Mom said. "She's leaving this Sunday, off to the South, and there will be a vacancy. The city pays these people in gasoline, maybe a gallon or two a week. It's far better than doing that dangerous work."

"Do you know if it's even true?" Dad asked. "She could be lying for all we know."

"We've just to trust her word."

"Why wait for trust when we can get gas right now?" Dad asked rhetorically.

"How do you know that they're actually going to go through with their promises?"

"Trust," Dad said. "And a whole lot of angry people if they don't."

"And plus," Mira said. "We're going to help other people and ourselves. It's a win-win for everyone."

"The only people we look out for are each other," Mom said. "You—"

"How can you be so cynical, Mom?" Mira asked. "What if, by not volunteering, we're the reason why the landslide buries the road."

"Or what if, when you both go there, the landslide does occur?" Mom asked. "I can't afford to lose both of you."

There was another feedback of static before we heard a loud, staticky sigh. "I didn't want to do this, but if anyone wants food, they'll have to work for it. Only children twelve and under, seniors sixty-five and older, and people with disabilities or special needs will get food freely. Everyone else needs to contribute."

"You can't do this," someone shouted. "We're not your slaves."

"I haven't had food in days," a woman shouted. "Please, I need food."

"No exceptions to the rule," the announcer said with a heavy sigh. "I'm sorry that it had to come to this, but we desperately need help."

People slowly began joining the small group of volunteers that came forwards before the threats. The joy of the sun was sucked from their bones as they shuffled into a tight circle in a corner of the plaza, where rockfall netting installation and road sweeping directions were being given.

"We have to go now," Dad said. "At least Mira and I."

"No," Mom said. "It's clear that if they're so desperate for volunteers that the situation there is dangerous or becoming like that."

Dad began to walk away, and Mira followed him before Mom grabbed his wrist. "No, you will not leave. We're making this decision, together, like a democracy. All of us voting."

"We're sacrificing our lives," Mira said. "You can take Grandma and Grandpa and get the senior citizen food and take them home while we bring home the double rations and help everyone else."

"It's not about you two," Mom said. "Death isn't just some one-off thing that only affects you. It ripples and can sweep away everyone around you, all the people that are left over. Would Leon want you to do this to yourself?"

"Yes he would," Mira basically shouted. "Because he actually gave a damn about people."

There was a silence as people stared at us, and Mom glared at them.

"I agree with Mom," May added. "I don't want to die, especially not in a week like this, where the sun is actually out, and I don't want you both to die."

"Well that's two votes on my side and two votes on yours," Mom said. "So everything's on you, Neal."

Everyone started staring at me. Mom and Dad both giving me hard stares, Mira's eyes practically pleading for me to let her go and save our town, and May just staring at my feet, partially bored and partially scared. I hate being in this position and being the one to make that crucial decision, the one that'll make half the people mad and the other half less so.

In my heart, I really wanted to side with Mira. Maybe, even before this event, I would've gone with her and helped fix the side of the roads and help keep food deliveries going and the town happy. It was the right thing to do because it was selfless and brave, and something that all of the characters in the old books that I read would do.

But I began thinking about what Mom said and the ripples of death. If the cliffs collapse today or there is a big earthquake and both Mira and Dad die, I don't know how we'll be able to cope with it. What if Mom or May or I fall into shock, shattered so much by grief that we can't function or do anything, even things like gathering firewood or coming here on Saturday?

And as much as I wanted to go and help, I realized that I also had people that I was looking out for: Charles and his family. If I die, they won't have anyone to help sneak them some extra food to keep them away from the edge of starvation, and I'll be responsible for their deaths. Our whole family has got to stay functioning and healthy and whole, all seven of us, because that's the only way that Charles makes it through because I can't let the only person that was willing to be my friend from all the way from elementary school just turn into dust. I just can't.

"I'm so sorry, Mira," I said. "But I agree with Mom. We've got people we're looking out for, and I don't want you or Dad to die."

"So, it's settled," Mom said. "I'll take my parents to the food drive while you guys wait here."

"That job better be real," Dad said.

When I tried looking at Mira, she wouldn't even give me a glance, and I stared at the floor, hoping that it would swallow me shut. This had to be the worst feeling in the world, a long, deep sense of disappointment that I don't think would ever fade away. Why did I have to be that middle person? Just why, universe?

August 28

Just when things couldn't get worse on this sunny week. Apparently, Mom's job wasn't real.

Well, it was real, but the key word is "was." It turns out that that job was only a two-week stint, and afterwards, when most of the students and families that chose to stay had gotten their books, the school library closed down forever. It was probably because of electricity concerns.

With the ash knocking out solar panel farms and disrupting wind turbines (since ash quickly wears down and clogs the rotating systems for those turbines), the only power plants that could be producing power were hydroelectric and coal, both of which can only produce a bit of energy (especially since there literally is no coal in California). And even then, whatever electricity is left has to be divided up between the hospitals, natural gas, and water systems, and I guess there just wasn't any room for the library.

"Told you so," Dad said. "It was a lie."

"Well, it's better than going to die," Mom replied. "You should be glad that I saved your life."

"No one died."

"How do you know?" she asked. "We don't have any internet, TV, anything."

"Common sense," Dad said. "Because if they did, people would be marching towards the city hall and tomorrow it'd be burned down to ashes."

"They wouldn't," Mom replied. "People are scared and nervous, but they wouldn't do that. Not when they need the government."

"How do you know that people died?" Dad asked and raised his voice. "It's not like you have the internet or any connection. We needed that gas—"

"How was I supposed to know that it was a lie?" Mom shouted back.

Looking back on it, I think it was obvious. That librarian was too nervous, too scared, especially when Mom found out that she'd been getting gasoline. Maybe she was worried (somewhat irrationally) that Mom would stalk her and rob her house for gasoline since every drop is like liquid gold, especially since the volcanoes, where the only cars with gasoline were Leon's and those weekly food delivery trucks. That's probably why she offered Mom the job that wouldn't exist after she had left, so that Mom would wait for two weeks for gasoline instead of taking a risk and robbing her house for some. It was just so obvious, but I don't think anyone was cynical enough to put that together.

They continued arguing, going in circles over and over again, until both of them got tired of repeating the same exact points again and again and just resigned to giving each other icy glares with the occasional snarky comment. I think I normally would've broken up the argument, but with May disappearing to the kitchen and Mira still frosty towards me, there was nothing I could do that wouldn't have made it worse.

So I sat in the bathroom and locked the door behind me and hoped that the wall drowned out the sounds of shouting because the sounds of people arguing are the worst in the world, even over the clattering of plates or the squeaky sounds of wet rubber soles on smooth wooden floors. I don't know why, but I could feel my heartbeat rushing, fluttering too fast, completely unable to focus on anything with this pit of dread sitting in my stomach. I stayed in the bathroom until May knocked on the door to ask what was taking me so long, and I spent the rest of the day in the living room, trying but failing to read one of those fantasy books.

Dinner was awkward, to say the least. Lately, Dad has been making a lot of soup and today, we had soup and mixed vegetables, and everyone sipped the warm soup in silence.

"I'm cold," May said.

"Go get a sweater," Mom replied.

"I'll go turn up the heater," Dad said at the same time.

"No," Mom said. "It's warm enough right now, and we need to conserve natural gas right now."

"We need to keep the plants warm too," Dad replied and stood up. "If it's cold enough for May, then whatever seeds we had sprouted will be dead by morning."

"Listen to me. It's sixty degrees in the house already. There's no need to turn this place into a greenhouse."

"Well maybe you should've listened to me when I said we should've taken the job and gotten some gasoline and food instead of trusting strangers over family and the government."

I tuned out for the rest of the argument and stirred the carrots bobbing on the surface, trying to convince myself that carrots were delicious, but as soon as I put one in my mouth, I spit it out. Because Mom and Dad were deep into their argument, I slipped away quietly from the table, hoping that they wouldn't notice that I hadn't finished all of my food.

I ended up hiding in Dad's office study area, swiveling in the twirling chair before quickly leaving after hearing the storming of footsteps in the kitchen area. Everywhere I went seemed to send a spike in my heartbeat as I dodged Mom and Dad, trying not to get caught in their storm of rage, and ignoring Mira, who keeps giving me icy looks.

In the end, I ended up hiding in the bathroom again, gazing into that man's dreamy eyes in the magazine until the thoughts and questions and weirdness about these feelings started flowing and making something that felt so natural just awkward, and I shoved those glossy papers in the back of the cabinet. I don't think I can handle any more of this stuff anymore, at least not right now.

August 29

If yesterday was the storm, then today is the aftermath, not rainbows and sunshine filtering out into rays from behind the clouds, but that uncomfortable dampness that rises from the asphalt when it stops pouring and the clouds clear the sky.

Wood gathering was tense, and unlike last time, when Mom and Dad and all of us were like a well-oiled machine, picking and gathering maybe a week's worth of wood that day, today we maybe gathered enough wood for two or three days, if I'm being generous. Mom and Dad weren't working well together and while I wasn't getting the same icy looks as before, I knew that Mira was still mad at me. It wasn't really anything based on evidence, but just a feeling, you know.

The only other thing that happened today was that Dad moved the greenhouse closer to the heating vents so that the hot air would blow better on the plants. Even though the sun is out, it's still around fifty-degrees at most during the afternoons and the mornings are pretty frigid, so even though everything about the sky screams summer, from the early dawns to the sunsets around seven or eight, the weather still feels like the depths of winter.

Actually, one other thing happened today. I saw Mom filming the sunset today, the bright reds and lavenders filling up the sky tonight, colors swirling so much with the clouds and the walls of the houses and ash-rimmed windowpanes that I felt like I was in a hallucination.

"What are you doing?" I asked, even though I knew exactly what she was doing.

"Filming the sunset," she said. "For times when the sky isn't so clear anymore and the clouds return again."

"Have you talked with Mira about the collage idea?"

"She hasn't said a word to me since Saturday," Mom said. "Any luck with you?"

I shrugged and gazed out the window as the indigos of the night began dimming the celebration of colors.

"I'm surprised you haven't played any of your phone games," Mom said.

"I thought you and Dad were all about restricting my screen time."

"I think a two-month break is more than enough," Mom said. "And maybe it'll be a good idea to have something normal to do."

"I guess," I said. "But it's better to use the phones for the flashlights for the greenbox."

"Calling it the greenbox now," Mom said before nodding her head. "You truly are your father's son."

"I don't even know what that's supposed to mean," I said before leaving Mom to capture the dimming of the sun as it slipped behind a wall of shingled roofs and the sloshing ocean.

August 30

I nearly got caught this morning.

I had already prepared the bag of canned food last night, and all I needed to do was to drop it off in front of the porch in the same spot as last time, so that Charles could fill up his bag safe from the prying eyes of Mom and Dad. And in the dawns of the morning, I unlocked the front door, making sure that the heavy lock did not thud too loud, and managed to get the bag into place. But before I could hurry back inside, May had seen me outside.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

"Stuff," I said before gazing at the wispy tendrils of clouds above me. "Looking at the sun and the sky."

"Looking at the sun and sky..." she repeated.

"Yeah."

"Yeah..."

"Stop repeating after me," I said, on the outside, probably sounding pretty annoyed, but I was panicking on the inside. I think she would've said something if she knew because May isn't the type of person to hide her thoughts, but who knows? "What do you want?"

"Nothing, geez," she replied. "I was only asking. It's not like you have something to hide or anything."

"Whatever," I muttered and walked inside. I don't think she knows, but I know she's suspicious, and I know that one day I'll be caught. I don't know how I can keep living like this, sneaking food out every week and having a scare every single time, mostly because of my paranoia but sometimes because I'm just seconds away from being caught and losing everything. But if I don't do this, then I'll lose my only friend, and I don't know what I'd do.

I guess I still feel suffocated, you know, by the world. I thought that when everything happened that I'll finally have at least a little freedom to live a little and for a while, it actually came true, but now, it's like the world has snapped into place again. College and jobs are just being replaced with starvation and death and the cold that's going to come in a couple of months.

I waited all afternoon for Charles outside until Mom asked me why I was sitting outside with the dusts of ash kicking dust into the air and told me to wait inside.

"Charles is coming here," I said, and she sighed at my loophole to her rule before doing whatever else she was doing before. I think it was after an hour or so that he finally appeared.

"Hey," I said and closed the door behind me before stepping outside. "You got it, right?"

"Yeah," he said and turned back. "I got the package. I feel like I'm a spy or something in the movies."

"That makes it sound a lot cooler," I said before remembering what I saw last time, with the rivulet of blood. "How's your leg doing? You know, after last time."

"It's fine," he said before scuffing the ground with his boots. "I'm fine."

"That's good," I said and nodded before gazing at his boots, remembering how their soles shined with the glittering of what I imagined was glass. But these weren't the same shoes, and I think these were new, the sides undusted by ash and the laces unfrayed. "New shoes?"

"Not really, no," he said. "More like my dad's old pair that we found buried in the corner of our attic that probably haven't been touched since I was in kindergarten."

That sounded really odd to me since I thought they had pawned everything away during July. He couldn't be lying to me about that since he looked sick, and I know that I'm not imagining it. But there are things that just aren't adding up, unless I'm thinking about it wrong. But I don't think I am.

"Are you sure?" I asked.

"Why wouldn't I be sure?" he replied.

"Okay," I said. "I guess everything is fine."

He nodded before saying, "So what's your fourth one? I know we didn't get much time to talk last time."

"I don't know," I said. "I guess I just wish I could just leave everything behind."

"Like running away?"

"Yeah but not really," I said. "I guess I just want to leave some stuff behind and just disappear into the mountains. Maybe the pretty ones around Wyoming—"

"Wyoming," he exclaimed. "That's in the middle of nowhere. And who knows what's going to happen with Yellowstone?"

"I mean, if you want to live life on the edge..." I said.

"Maybe I should," he said. "Who knows when an earthquake will collapse a building on me when I'm sleeping?"

"That was awfully specific," I said with a soft chuckle. "And really dark. Anyways, maybe the mountains around Montana, and just live in the woods, you know, with the tall trees and crystal streams and everything without the pressures of society."

"Wow," he said with a smile. "Leaving me behind. That really hurts."

"Fine," I replied with a smile of my own. "You can come, and we can, I don't know, do whatever people do in the mountains, like being cowboys and riding horses or herding sheep or fishing even though I have no clue how to do any of the things that I just said."

"I thought your dream was Hawaii or some warm place?" he asked.

"I guess," I said and shrugged. "I'm probably reading too many westerns right now. I don't think it's even possible anyways, probably just my overactive imagination."

I expected him to say no or something, but instead, he just nodded on before softly saying, "Yeah."

I looked down. "Yeah. I know."

"It's not like it's not possible," he said. "I just feel like that's for something in the future, future, you know."

"It was a stupid idea anyways," I said before sighing.

"It isn't stupid," he replied. "I wish we could go camping in the mountains and disappear or something, but it's not possible, you know. It's not like your Hawaii dream, where we could go to the library and travel the world on book pages."

The winds kicked some ash into the air and Charles coughed a bit before I said, "I thought we could ask anything."

There was a bit of silence between us before he cleared his throat.

"I guess some dreams aren't possible now," he said. "At least, not right now."

Then he stood up suddenly. "You know what? Remind me in twenty years when we're a lot older and the world will be back to normal, and let's do it: camping, sightseeing, whatever-you-want in middle-of-nowhere Wyoming."

And then he was back to normal Charles, not the more hopeless one that I've seen more and more, but just normal him, and I smiled. "How will we even keep in touch?"

"I don't know," he said. "Send letters in the wind, and destiny will bring them to each other."

"That sounds like it comes from a cheesy romance movie," I said. "And plus, I think by then, cell phones will actually be working."

"Cell phones better be working," he said before picking up his bag.

"You have to leave?" I asked.

"Yeah," he said. "I've got stuff to do for my parents, you know."

I nodded. "I'll see you next week?"

"You better have your fourth wish down," he said to me as he walked down our porch stairs, facing back at me. "Consider your current one as a future wish."

And then he walked down the street and disappeared into the sun, and with his talk about letters, I think I knew what my fourth wish was. I think I want to write a novel or a book. I'm not sure what, but I just want something for people to remember me by, like Mom and her sunsets and Mira and her collage. I guess I want to just have something permanent, so that in twenty years in the future, it'll still be there, unchanged. I know that I have this diary, but I just want more than this, if that makes any sense.

August 31

Today was a mostly quiet day.

It was still quite busy. In the morning, Mira reported that the mustard seeds had germinated and grown thin roots, so it was probably time to plant them in the greenbox before they got too used to the wet towels that we stored them in. So that's what May, and I were assigned to do in the morning while Mom, Mira, and Grandma worked with creating some sort of fertilizer with the kelp that was now stinking up the house.

"How'd you manage your whole gardening job?" May asked as we scooped little germinating mustards and put them in the aluminum cans.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Gardening sucks," she said. "I had a dream where we were all eating oranges, but I'm starting to think that I don't really want that if gardening is this much work."

"Well, life is life," I said and formed an indent in the soil with my thumb. We were planting five mustard seeds per can since it would be a waste of space to do once per can.

"Everyone says that all the time, but what does it even mean?"

"I don't know," I said. "I guess it's just a way to condescend to younger people or dreams or who knows?"

"I guess we'll never find out since life is life," she said and brushed her hair before turning towards me. "Can you cover for me, next Tuesday?"

"Why?"

"I'm going on a solo mission," she replied. "To scope out one of the houses that was broken into. Maybe the people missed something."

"That's a terrible idea," I said. "How am I supposed to even cover for you? Mom won't even let us leave the house, so I can't use me visiting Charles or you visiting your friends as an excuse."

"I don't know," she said. "You'll figure something out. Say I'm in the bathroom or something."

"For a couple of hours?" I said in disbelief. "Mom would never believe you."

"Mom and Dad barely pay attention anymore," she said. "They're too busy giving each other cold glares and looking at the plants and just laying around—"

There were footsteps behind us, and I saw that Dad was dressed in his outdoor clothes, thick parka and pants, with the axe in his hand, a mask on his face, and the wagon in his other hand. May turned towards him "Where are you going?"

"Wood-chopping."

"Did Mom approve of this?"

"It doesn't matter," Dad said before opening the door and stepping out. "Just like she did what she thought was best for the family, I'm doing what I think is best."

"Well, don't die," May said.

"I won't," Dad replied gruffly before shutting the door with a slam that may have been a result of the wind or some sort of lingering anger.

It was hard to tell, but as soon as he left, May turned back to me, and I said, "Well, even if I can cover you, it'll be dangerous. There's going to be glass everywhere and not to mention the militia. You could get shot."

"They're a night watch," she said. "They do night patrolling and not in the middle of the day. And plus, I have these things called eyes and ears, so I won't die or anything from glass or guns or whatever."

"I thought you didn't want to die," I said. "Isn't that why you literally stopped us from doing the rockfall—"

She cut me off. "You also stopped us from going, and anyways, that's different. A landslide is just out of your control, and you can't really stop it from happening because it just does, but this is different. I'd know when the militia is coming or if there is glass that I might step on."

"I don't know about this—"

"It's not even illegal," she said. "Other people broke into the house, and I'm just taking the leftovers. And you're not even doing it, so there's literally no worry for you."

"How will you tell Mom and Dad about the supplies that you find?"

"I won't," she said. "Not until later when they become desperate enough to see that what I'm doing is right. So will you do it?"

"I don't know," I said. "We'll see."

"That's good enough for me," she said, and we returned to our comfortable silence, spooning mustard roots into the canned soil and filling up the greenbox with little bits of life.

Later on, Mom and the rest of them brought their kelp mixture for the plants. They ended up washing and shredding half of the kelp with scissors and are going to mulch the soil with it and the other half is currently fermenting in a bucket of water outside to make a liquid fertilizer for later on to help the plants grow. The rest of the day was pretty quiet. I picked up an old cowboy book and started reading it while Mom and Mira washed our week-long backlog of dishes before I was summoned to dry them.

But it was at dinner when everything erupted.

After weeks of soup, we finally got rice today, just a handful for everyone, along with one can of mixed vegetables for everyone. I managed to trade out all of the carrots from my can with May in exchange for her string beans without Mom and Dad catching us. Today was supposed to be our gratitude day, but no one was grateful for anything that happened these past few days.

"So, does anyone want to start?" Dad asked.

We looked up from our bowl of rice and steaming can of mixed vegetables before looking back down and spooning it into our mouths. May stuffed the rest of her food into her mouth and stood up. "Goodbye."

Dad stood up. "Where do you think you're going?"

"It's not like we have anything to be grateful about," she said. "And this is a stupid idea anyways."

"Sit down right now," Dad said, louder and sterner, but May refused to move. I don't know what's gotten up with her since she seemed fine in the morning, and this wouldn't even help with her whole plan to disappear under Mom and Dad's radar.

"No."

"May," Dad said and raised his voice.

"I'm already grounded for the rest of my life," she said. "Who cares?"

"We need to do this," Dad said, though it was more like a shout. "To stick together as a family, so sit down and share."

"No," May replied and crossed her arms. "It's not like you and Mom have been helping keep this family together all week with your all-day all-night arguing."

Dad crossed his arms and turned towards Mom. "Aren't you going to back me up?"

Mom shrugged and said, "I don't think anyone is in the mood for this this week. Maybe next time."

"This is supposed to be our family thing," Dad said. "And we can't stop doing—"

"You made this," Mom said. "Not us. I know that you went wood-cutting today without even asking all of us, and you keep making unilateral decisions without even asking. We need to make decisions about things together. Not separately."

"I'm doing what's best for the family," Dad said. "Someone has to step up."

"Stepping up is not dying," Mom said and their argument droned on and on and on. In most movies and TV shows, arguments move people forward, like they find some sort of solution to make it stop or they find some sort of middle ground compromise, but it seems like they keep arguing about the same things. Maybe this is what happens when you're stuck with each other for a long time with more time in the future when everything new is exhausted and you're only left with old grievances.

You know, before Saturday, everything was going great. The sun was out, and this was supposed to be our week of celebration, of the sun and our garden and leaves and the sky and constellations and everything because we don't know how long it'll last or whether it'll disappear tomorrow under a layer of ash as the cold returns and seeps whatever life we have away, one day at a time.

September 1

Today was a silent day.

No one really talked to each other, like we were all walls. The most that Mom said to me and May was that we had to open up the textbook and read at least one chapter, but May was still mad from last night, so she just ignored Mom even though Mom took her side, and I was the only one that actually read my textbook.

I flipped open the first chapter. It was an overview about the Earth, in all its blue glory punctuated by blobs of green and tan colored deserts like the Sahara. I don't think Earth looks like this anymore. It's probably more gray, maybe with a bit more orange from the volcanoes, but far less green and some more blue and a little less Florida.

I tried reading the first few pages, I really did, but every time that I got through a few lines, my eyes would dart right back to the Earth and how great it used to look and how awful it must look now. Even though the textbook was made relatively recently, it already feels outdated, and at that moment, everything that I was reading about felt pointless, so I closed it to gather dust once again.

Instead, I pulled out the set of colored pencils that I got and began sketching landscapes and filling them in with vivid colors. I tried showing some of my drawings to Mira, but the only response she gave me was an impersonal "Looks fine," so I kept my drawings to myself.

I've also been drawing a lot of mountains lately, not our boring rolling hills filled with dead branches that will someday blossom with dull looking leaves, but from one of our old travel books about Western landscapes. The tall ice-capped mountains, the alpine woodlands and meadows saturated with green, and the lakes that seemed to reflect the shimmering skylight with the perfect amount of rippling. I know that I wouldn't want to live there since it's too cold, but there's something beautiful about them.

Frankly, I don't know why I've become a bit obsessed about mountains since my conversation with Charles. I guess there's something solitary and protected about them, like an escape from society and suffocation, unlike the beaches, open and probably full of people. Maybe it'll give me some time to think.

Because sometimes, I wonder if what I feel towards guys is actually real and not something that I'm making myself feel in order to feel special or something. I know that it sounds awful when writing it down, but it's something that I think about. Can you convince yourself that you like someone even if you don't really? I'd ask someone this, but that would be too much of a weird question for anyone but myself because it's too personal and personal stuff is just weird to talk about.

But still, I wish I knew. Maybe that's why I'm thinking about mountains because I wonder if those people that wander and live in the Rockies for much of their lives know the answer, and I wonder if maybe some time to myself or maybe with Charles or something, I'll find the answer, far from society and from judgement and everything. But I think, like he said, it's not possible right now because there's no running away from the moon and volcanoes.

At least not now.

Or ever.

September 2

I finally worked up the courage to talk to Mira after a week of relative silence and terse replies. "Do you want to go to the library?"

She shrugged before asking, "When?"

"This afternoon," I said. "I'll get it approved by Mom and everything. I just want to get some new books, you know."

"Fine," she said and continued staring at the little cans that we put in the greenbox. The mustard plants have sprouted, and I could see tiny little leaves poking out from the dark soil, reaching for the artificial sunlight, powered by the real sunlight that, so far, hasn't started fading away. It was bright and sunny outside, though a thick morning fog gave everyone a scare because they thought the ash blizzards had returned. But no, it was just normal, dreary fog.

Mom was actually pretty alright with the both of us going out to the library but gave me the electric lighter. "What is this for?" I asked.

"You can use it to taser someone," Mom said and turned it on, the end of the lighter sizzling with a bright white and blue electricity. "Just in case."

"Does it even work?"

"Hopefully," she said before turning back to starting outside of the kitchen window. The skies were still blue and clear, and I think she was savoring every moment of it while it lasted.

There was this awkward silence between us while we were walking to the library, the sun losing its cheerful effect. Or maybe it still had it, but our frigid atmosphere was breaking it up, hurtling the positivity in a thousand different directions until they faded away far from us, alone and miserable. Even though both of us were there, it felt like a one-sided walk, me on the left and an ice statue gliding next to me on the right.

"I'm sorry," I said.

"I know," she replied. "But a thousand sorries doesn't change it."

"You have to understand—"

"I don't understand," she said. "How can you just let everyone else sacrifice their lives for you while you just sit back and do nothing?"

"It's more complicated than that," I said, the thought of Charles and his family popping in my mind.

"There's nothing complicated about just putting a little help to make the community better for everyone," she said. "Including yourself."

"But I mean what's good about having people die, especially when death ripples—"

"I know what Mom said," Mira replied. "But think about all the people whose lives will be affected if the rockfall netting isn't built on time or properly. We're lucky that we have so much food, but many others don't."

"I know," I wanted to say. Charles and his family are starving. I know their pain and how, for the past two months, I've seen Charles get weaker and weaker, though lately that has stopped, probably because he's close to the edge of starvation and just a step away from spiraling. But all I could manage was, "We have to look out for our own."

That made Mira visibly angry, and I almost immediately regretted my choice of words. "I didn't mean—"

"I understood it perfectly," Mira said. "How could you be like this? This isn't the Neal that I knew from before all of this, the one that'd spend hours helping his little sister on homework and studying."

I could feel the rush of emotions: guilt, anger, regret, and all those lies protecting the truth about Charles and his family, swirling together in my mind, my forehead flushed as I began feeling dizzy, stumbling a little, kicking up some ash. The same question repeated over and over in my mind, drowning out all my other thoughts: Should I tell her the truth? Should I tell her the truth? Should I tell her the truth?

Was it worth it to keep all the lies? I knew that if I continued that it'd ruin my relationship with Mira, possibly forever, and it's not like my conversation with her had made things better. It probably made things worse, cutting the rope between us to a fine thread, a couple of tugs away from snapping fully. But the alternative felt worse, the risk of Charles and his family starving to death because once a secret is out, it spreads like wildfire until everyone knows and is consumed.

But when I looked into her eyes, I saw a devastating mixture of disappointment and anger, and I just couldn't lose my older sister. Not when all I needed was to tell the truth, and I just hoped that Charles and his family wouldn't get hurt when I'm trying to stitch Mira and me back.

My heart thundering, I said, "I know someone who ran out of food."

"Please, I have no time—"

"It's Charles and his family," I said before letting out a big sigh of something that resembled relief. "They didn't store up any food when everything started because they thought everything was going to be fine, until it wasn't."

"What?" Mira said and stopped walking. Ocean breezes kicked up ash between us, as I continued telling her the full, unvarnished truth.

"I've been slipping them cans," I said. "Every week, about half a dozen cans for the past month or more, so that they can have enough energy to stay alive."

"Well, why didn't you tell me about this earlier?" she asked. "I mean, I could've—"

"Helped?" I said before kicking a rock down the road. "Telling someone would be too dangerous. Imagine if Mom or Dad found out. They'd ban me from ever even seeing that pantry, and who knows what's going to happen to Charles if that happened."

Mira didn't say anything as I continued. "I know what it's like to see people without food. I see it every week with him. I didn't tell you this, but when he came to your wedding, he threw up because he was so hungry that he couldn't stop eating. And even though he hides it, I can see it."

"I'm sorry."

"And that's what I meant about people I've got to look after," I said. "Because I'm looking after Charles and his family."

And that was the end of my truthfulness. I thought I'd feel relieved or unburdened by my lies, but all I felt was a deep sense of dread, weighing me down worse than any lie had ever done. Instead of flying, I was stuck on the ground, two stones taped to my wings, a stone of lies and a bigger stone of the truth holding me down. If anyone ever found out about me giving food to Charles and taking me away from the pantry, I don't know how I'd be able to live with myself.

"You can't tell Mom and Dad," I said.

"I know. You said it already."

"I'm serious," I replied. "If they found out... I just can't risk it."

"Your secret is safe with me," she said, and we began walking again, the frigid atmosphere between us warmed but the awkwardness still remained there, like a lingering smoke.

We walked for a couple of minutes before she said, "I'm sorry. About what I said earlier when I said that you didn't care."

I shrugged. "It's fine, whatever."

"Okay," she said before taking a couple of more steps. "I'm really sorry."

"You don't need to keep apologizing," I replied. "And for the record, I would've gone to help."

"I know," she said and for the rest of the way, we walked in silence. It was actually kinda warm today, maybe around sixty degrees in the middle of the afternoon. Still cold for summer, but much warmer than before, especially compared to the midday thirty-degree weather a couple weeks ago. But it did feel strange that, with the sun shining, there weren't any birds chirping, not even during the morning hours when they usually chattered their beaks off. I wonder where they all went. I'd hope that at least some of them found their way south, but with all the ash in the air and their fragile lungs, maybe they're all dead. Hopefully, that isn't the case (even if I hate all those geese that poop on everyone's' heads).

The library was actually open. I never actually knew whether the volunteer guy that came on Monday, Wednesday, and Friday was actually a real person, mostly because I always met up with Charles on Tuesday, but it turns out that he's actually real. It's a different guy from when we went to the library a long time ago, but the rules and procedures were the same, and once we got flashlights and lanterns, Mira and I split up to cover more ground. She went to look to see if there were any survival manuals that we had missed the first time while I browsed the contemporary literature section, hoping to find some interesting books to stave off boredom.

None of the horror or historical fiction books interested me, so I turned to the next section, a long row of teen fiction and romance novels, and immediately, one book caught my eye. On the cover, there were two guys with hearts lining the outlines of their lean figures, and my heart pounded as I reached for the book. I'd never really read any books about guys liking other guys. Maybe it was just because my library didn't have any of those books or maybe it was just because I tried avoiding them to avoid feeling the way that I feel and just the weirdness that comes with it.

But for some reason, I grabbed the book and put it in my bag. And then I went through the section, grabbing five books, ranging from rom-com to serious coming-of-age stories, about guys who like other guys. I'm not sure why I did this. Maybe it was because I wanted to expand my reading horizons, especially since it's the end of the world. But I guess I wanted to just find help for everything that I'm feeling, and maybe in these books, I'll be able to see if what I'm feeling is really true or if it's something that I'm making up or just trying to convince myself to have. I think I'm searching for validity, like whether what I'm feeling is actually possible in other people, so that I'm not so alone in figuring things out.

I did dump about ten or so fantasy books that I'd never read on top of my six choices, just to hide them away from Mira, so that she wouldn't think I was being too weird or whether this was my whole identity thing. I know it's a contradiction for me to hide my emotions from Mira while wanting to be less alone in figuring stuff out, but it's more like I want people like me, guys who might be interested in other guys, to be together with, not so much Mira as much as she wants to help. It'll be too complicated, and I guess I don't want to really make any decisions or conclusions about this sort of stuff with another person hovering over my head. And plus, it's just too personal too.

Luckily for me, I never even had to take the books out for checkout since barely any books had been returned, and the volunteer guy was sick of spending hours scouring the shelves in the dark to find the right place to put the books, so there was one less person to reveal my secret too. Even though I just wanted to open a book and dive right into the story, I was worried that Mira would find out and our already awkward atmosphere would get even more awkward. So I fidgeted my fingers as my mind wandered and sunlight filtered through the heavily tinted library windows.

She found some wild Alaska biographies, a couple baking recipe books, and some environmentalist memoirs. "Hopefully, they'll have something on them," she said. "All of the useful books were taken."

The walk home was better than the way there since there was a lot less pressure to talk when we were sweating and panting hard as we lugged fifteen-pound backpacks on the walk home. The silence, only punctuated by frequent "Wait, I need to take a bit of a break" or "Slow down"s, was pleasant, and with the sun shining on both of us, it was probably the best day of the week, relatively speaking.

When we got home and Mira went to take a shower, I quickly took out all of my books and stuffed my contraband, books spines facing inwards, on the top-most shelf, where no one but Dad and I could reach, and when she finished showering, I grabbed one book and put it deep in the bathroom cabinet alongside that magazine. Locking the door behind me, I opened the book and read the first few pages, starting off with an awkward coffee shop meeting, before turning to go shower.

Dinner was okay, and Mom and Dad mostly ignored each other instead of fighting. I guess it was nice to end this chaotic week in a very pleasantly boring way. Hopefully, good things come next week.

Midnight edit -

It's technically "tomorrow", but it still feels like "today." Thank goodness that no one was injured, and that the ceiling and walls were strong enough to not collapse on us. Mom and Dad have a flashlight right now, scouring through the cans and making sure that there weren't any broken glass jars that they had missed. We lost some of Leon's jams and pickles, but it could've been worse.

This earthquake wasn't like anything I've ever felt before, nothing like the rattling of dishes in the beginning of June or the troubles that we had felt this week. It was like a roar, like the Earth was opening up a rift that threatened to swallow all of us whole, and for a second, I thought all of this would be over, and I'd be meeting the darkness. I had heard some crashing of bricks, probably from the houses that were built before the newer earthquake standards, and the sounds of the rushing waves seemed to get louder before becoming softer and fading away. I hope that Charles and his family are alright. Please be alright.