All Good Children - Catherine Austen [69]
“It won’t work, Max.” He almost shouts the words.
A girl at the next table turns around and stares at us.
Dallas perfects his zombie face and says politely, “It’s too sudden. I don’t have enough money to go shopping with.”
“Sudden? We’ve been saving up for six weeks.”
He says nothing, sips his soda, moves his food around his plate.
The nosy girl turns back to her tray. Beside us, three ninth grade girls suck their soup in silence, eyes glued to their RIGs.
I sink into a whisper. “‘How long do you think we can keep this up?’ Those were your exact words three weeks ago.
This is not sudden.”
“Thank you, Max,” Dallas says loudly. “It’s nice of your family to invite me shopping. It’s good to be with your family at Christmas. My family would like to be with me too. It’s sad to be with someone else’s family at Christmas, especially when you obviously don’t belong with them because you’re different races and couldn’t possibly be related.” Anybody listening might think he was a recall, but they wouldn’t suspect he was talking about fleeing the country.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “Of course it’s better to be with your family. But if you need to shop and your family can’t take you, then my family would be happy to adopt you as my half-brother. I know you’d like to come with us because you’ve said so many times.”
Washington sits down a few seats away with two other goons-turned-zombies. “Hello, Max. Hello, Dallas. How are you?” he says.
I’m pissed off so I say, “We’re fine, Washington. How’s Tyler? Oh. I forgot. He’s dead. You must be so sad.”
He opens the lid of his sandwich box. “It’s his memory that keeps me going.”
Dallas looks down at his plate.
“You can’t stay home while I go shopping,” I say.
His jaw tightens and he sucks air through his straw.
I have to fight the urge to swat him. “Dallas, man, you’re more desperate than I am,” I whisper. “Once I’m gone there’s nowhere you can relax. You won’t make it.”
The gurgle of the straw fades out with a sniffle. His jaw twitches and he blinks rapidly.
It’s always a bad idea to needle your only friend until he cries in public, but it’s especially bad when you’re surrounded by zombie tattlers. Our escape from this sad school is so close— it’s exactly the time fate would kick us in the throat for fun.
“I’m sorry,” I say at normal volume. “We should never pressure our friends to do what we want to do.” Then I mumble, “Just keep it together. We’re surrounded.”
He takes a few breaths, then looks up in perfect zombie mode except for the twitch in his eye. “I’m not sure I want to go that far.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“Now that Christmas is so close, I might stay home and buy my gifts locally.”
“There’s not much selection.”
“I love this country,” he whispers.
Washington stares at us while he chews his sandwich.
“I know your parents love it too,” I tell Dallas loudly.
“I know they’d be very happy for you to shop locally for the rest of your life.”
His head falls with the weight of that thought.
“How long can you last alone?” I whisper.
“I’m becoming good friends with Brennan. That’s like trading up.”
I nod to show I like his joke. “But what will you do when Brennan goes shopping? Think about it. My family would like to take you shopping with us and this may be your only chance.”
“It’s forever, Max,” he whispers.
“This is forever,” I say. “What do you think will happen to you? Look around.”
Dallas turns his head slowly left and right. The zombies are staring at us curiously because we’re the only people talking in the whole place.
I head to my hair appointment at 3:30.
“Hello, handsome,” Kim says. “Didn’t I just see you at Thanksgiving? You don’t usually get a Christmas cut. I was surprised when you called.”
“We’re visiting my cousin this year. Mom wants me to look premium.”
“You always look premium. Come to the sink.”
It’s unsettling to lean my head back into the porcelain bowl where she spits her toothpaste every morning, but the hot water and scalp massage feel glorious.
“Same as usual?” she asks as she towels me dry.