Quaranteen: The Loners

  David needed to keep his mind on the game, but he couldn’t.

  That Scrap would probably starve if that hand didn’t heal. He ran an arc around a cluster of people who fought over a new pair of jeans. He snatched up the soup packets and tossed them to the Scrap. The kid picked them up, smiled at David

  with genuine surprise, and staggered away. Whatever grungy mouse hole that kid was crawling back to, at least he’d have something to eat there.

  David caught a glimpse of neon green through the flickering of running legs. A box of laundry detergent sat perfectly on top of a hot plate. He sprinted toward it.

  As David wove his way through the fray, a giant Varsity was doing the same from the other direction, his eyes fixated on the hot plate. David could try to snag the hot plate too. It would catch a good price in the market. But a broken leg could cost him everything, and then Will would have no one to look after him. David plucked up the detergent and kept running. The trihawked Skater from earlier, his box of salt locked under his arm, pounced on the hot plate. He had it in his hand for only an instant before the Varsity steamrolled him into a concrete bench. The Pretty Ones erupted into more cheers as the Varsity did an end-zone celebration dance.

  David made one last circle around the edge of the drop.

  One box of detergent was all he needed, but if he could get another, or a replacement sewing kit for tailoring jobs, that wouldn’t hurt. There were fewer people fighting now, and the bigger items were already taken. Skaters loaded their loot into their cage on wheels, constructed out of sprinkler pipes and duct tape. Most of the movement on the quad came from the writhing of the wounded.

  There was nothing left to grab. David peered to the

  southeast corner, his rendezvous point with Will. His brother wasn’t there. Nausea curdled his stomach. He whipped his head back in the direction of the drop, looking frantically for his brother, sweat stinging his eyes.

  Finally, he spotted Will, not far from where the Skater met the bench. He was making out with a Scrap girl with tangled white hair. David jogged to them. Their mouths were mashed together with such force that David didn’t know if he was watching two people kiss or a mother bird feeding her baby.

  Will was bigger now, thanks to a recent growth spurt. He looked like a young man; there was no trace of boy anymore.

  His body was lean and wiry, and apparently it was working on the ladies.

  “Will,” David said with a grin.

  The mouth-mashers separated, their lips still wet. David had to stifle a laugh; he knew the girl, she was Weird Peggy.

  Scratch that big brother pride he’d just felt. Peggy was David’s year, and she used to come to school every day in an old top hat, the same one that lay at her feet at the moment.

  She prided herself on being as unique as possible, but David never really thought she had a choice. Grooming, normal conversation, and pauses that weren’t painfully awkward were all things beyond her capabilities. He would have been more impressed if he found Will making out with his own shoe.

  “Oh. Wow, I didn’t know you two were together,” David said.

  Weird Peggy brightened at the notion.

  “We’re not, we’re nothing,” Will said.

  Weird Peggy held a frown for a moment then shrugged, put her top hat back on, and ambled away.

  “After everything that’s been destroyed, why did that hat have to survive?” David said.

  Will said nothing. He wiped his white mop of hair from his brow, shoveled his loot from the drop onto his threadbare sheet, and bundled it together into a sack. Will stood and avoided David’s eyes.

  “So . . . Peggy?” David said.

  “Lay off it.”

  “Hey, I think it’s great you have girlfriend—”

  “She’s not my—you listen, you’re not allowed to give me shit about this,” Will said.

  “I don’t know . . . see, I kind of feel another comment coming on.”

  “Oh, yeah? Sure about that? Then I guess you don’t want any of this then.”

  Will produced a plastic jar from his sack with an inch and a half of creamy peanut butter at the bottom of it. David could almost smell the nuttiness through the jar. Thick, oily, and dense but still dripping, oozing. Pure fat packed together with so much body it might as well have been meat. He imagined it coating his mouth, working its way between his teeth, a gorgeous, glistening glue spreading its sweet butter over

  the back of his tongue and leaving a film that would linger on his taste buds for days.

  “You traded for this?” David asked.

  “Guilty,” Will said with a smile.

  Will popped the jar back in his sack and strutted away.

  David remained under the peanut butter’s enchantment for a moment, before he caught up with Will.

  “What did you trade, a testicle?”

  Fifteen minutes later, David pulled his tools from a rolling backpack and laid them out on a towel on the crusted bathroom floor: the new detergent, two buckets of soapy water, one ripped yellow dishwashing glove, three toothbrushes for heavy stains, a penknife for gunk, a plunger handle, an eyedropper, chalk dust for grease, salt for blood, and a soda bottle of ammonia. David took a bundle of white clothes out of the backpack and plunged it into one of the buckets. He agitated the garments with the plunger handle.

  Laundry was David’s daily routine. It wasn’t what he wanted to do; nothing about it was fun, and there was no end to it. It was what he had to do to keep them alive; this was his job.

  Naturally, Will did nothing to help. He did push-ups in the corner. Again.

  “If you’re not watching the door, help me wash,” David said.

  “I’m watchin’ it.”

  “You’re staring at the floor.”

  Will groaned.

  “What good does it do anyway? Not like there’s a back exit,” Will said. He sprang to his feet. “If a gang finds us, they’ll jump us. If they don’t, they won’t.”

  “Right, right. If we starve, then we starve, why worry?” Will stayed silent. He interlocked his fingers behind his back and stretched his chest.

  “Do something for once. Humor me,” David said.

  “On it,” Will said. He flexed his triceps at himself in the mirror.

  David sighed, Will was never going to learn. He bore down on a brown stain, scrubbing the blouse’s fabric into itself and grinding in the gritty salt.

  “When I graduate,” David said, “you’re not gonna have anybody to mooch off of.”

  Will rolled his eyes.

  “You’re gonna need a trade. Lemme teach you my system.”

  “I don’t want to learn your system.”

  But he sure loved eating the system this bought.

  “You gonna flex for food?” David said.

  “I’ll come up with something. Something good.”

  “One person can’t survive off only what they get at the drops. You’re not Gonzalo.”

  “Whatever I do,” Will said, “it won’t be washing blood out of

  other people’s clothes.”

  David stood, squared his shoulders to Will. Tossed the garment aside.

  “Hey,” David said, “Straight up. I want you to answer me.” Will tensed up, ready to defend himself.

  “Was it the top hat that turned you on?” David said.

  Will managed a laugh, but he was still keyed up.

  “Yeah, fine. Fine. I hooked up with Weird Peggy,” Will said.

  “You happy? It’s your fault.”

  “Interesting. Explain that to me.”

  “Tell me who I’m supposed to date. Can’t date girls in gangs.

  And that’s pretty much every girl. Off limits. Whose fault is that?”

  He didn’t say it like a joke; his words had teeth. He wondered if Will would ever forgive him for the life they had to lead.

  “So,” Will continued, “there’s Scraps. Weird little losers scattered through the school, hiding in their holes, probably eati
ng their shoes, and hoping no one hits them that day.

  That’s who I get to pick from. Thanks.”

  Will returned to the corner and dropped to the floor to knock out reps. David’s desire to win the argument died somewhere during Will’s speech. David faced himself in the mirror. He examined his white hair, the stained clothes in his hands, the filthy bathroom behind him; it was just nasty

  enough that no one else would want to use it, a place where David could feel safe that no mob of kids would wander in and rob him. He could handle these indignities for the handful of months he had left. But he knew Will couldn’t, he knew Will wouldn’t try. And he was scared of what Will would try when David was no longer around.

  6

  The wet clothes were hung up to dry where no one would find them, and David’s dry deliveries were folded and packed into his bag, ready to be exchanged for food and essentials. Will and David stood at the mouth of the bustling market.

  It was a wide hallway, with classrooms on either side. Each gang transformed their own room into a trading post, in which they offered their particular goods and services. The floor was marred with dirt, tracked in from the quad. All the ceiling lights worked, a rarity in McKinley. Other than in the trading rooms, the gangs did not mix. Each stayed with their own and traveled in large groups from room to room until their shopping was done.

  David had deliveries to make to the Geeks and the Sluts. He

  strode into the market, with Will a step behind. A surly group of Skaters stepped out of a classroom and crossed the hall in front of him. A pack of Freaks crossed too, from the other direction, making it tough for David and Will to pass. David got a good whiff of the toilet bowl cleaner they used to dye their hair blue. He’d never understand how they could live with the chemical smell.

  The two groups slowed as they passed each other. They bared their teeth, cracked their necks, and walked far too close to be friendly. One Freak’s face was badly busted up. He shoved a Skater. Both gangs tensed for a fight. David watched the Skater. If he attacked, David knew both gangs would go at it. He recognized the kid, Jason he thought his name was.

  David remembered that Jason and the busted-up Freak were really tight before the quarantine; they always ate lunch together, just the two of them. Jason spit at the Freak and walked away. His gang followed him. David relaxed.

  He and Will approached the guard outside of the Geeks’

  trading post. The guard had his hair died in multicolored stripes.

  “Laundry for Zachary,” David said.

  The guard nodded them in. There were tables of drawings from art Geeks on offer, all too expensive unless you were a Varsity or a Pretty One. A girl with caramel skin sat on a stool and sang her own take on a ballad that was on top of the charts right before the quarantine. A bucket drummer

  and a kid with a three-string guitar accompanied her. David watched her rock her hips back and forth slower than pouring honey as she pushed out the high notes. All the Geeks dyed their hair black with charcoal as a foundation, then added touches of loud color by dying sections of their hair or weaving colored things through it. They dressed in bright colors as well, with carefully chosen items of individual flair.

  As a group, they were boisterous, bawdy, and generally hard to miss, which was probably the point. They wanted all eyes on them.

  But no one commanded as much attention as their leader, Zachary. He wore a cape. It was made out of two school flags sewn together and slathered with gold poster paint. That would have won the battle for attention right there, but he was the only boy in school to buy the wigs the Pretty Ones sold. Today his hair was long white braids, with ribbons of brightly colored paper woven through them.

  “David!” Zachary said and clutched David’s hand melodra-matically. “I knew you’d come.”

  “Got your laundry here.”

  “Why are you really here? Let’s talk about that.”

  “Laundry.”

  “You tease and you tease.” Zachary squinted at David and smiled. “That’s probably why our first kiss will be so electric.”

  “More likely, that would be a taser I’m hitting you with,” David said with a smile, and pulled a stack of Zachary’s clean

  clothes out of his rolling bag.

  Zachary chuckled, loving it. “You could be an actor, David.

  Think about it. I’ll write a scene for us. It could be in the next Geek show.”

  “I’m shy,” David said with a grin.

  Zachary held out six Geek show tickets, but drew them back when David reached for them.

  “Do you love me?”

  “Oh, Jesus,” Will said. He shook his head and walked over to a table where tattoo designs were displayed.

  “David, what’s with him?” Zachary said. “I know he’s your brother but . . . attitude adjustment, please!”

  “He’s jealous of your hair, which looks fantastic today, by the way,” David said.

  “Mmm. I’ll have more clothes for you tomorrow, pretty lips,” Zachary said.

  Zachary handed him the tickets with a wiggle of his eyebrows. David collected Will from the tattoo area and hurried to the hall.

  “Are you sure you’re not gay?” Will said. “I can’t believe you go along with that stuff. I wouldn’t have.”

  “You’re so homophobic.”

  “You can’t call me homophobic for not wanting to flirt with Zachary. But I can call you gay, because you want to have a bubble bath with him.’”

  “Gotta keep the customers happy.”

  “You mean horny.”

  David laughed. He held up a bundle of black clothes for the tall girl on guard duty at the Sluts’ doorway.

  “Go ’head,” she said.

  Before David could enter, a herd of eight blonde Varsity linebackers trudged out of the room. David spun his back to them. He whipped his black hood over his head. He hoped his body blocked their view of Will. They sounded drunk. He could almost feel a hand about to thud down onto his shoulder, but then their footsteps faded.

  He opened his eyes. Will was looking at him with a face like he’d just sniffed rotten milk. David dared a look over his shoulder. Varsity was gone. Why were they here? Did they not go first today? They always demanded to trade first. That was why David had spent so much time washing clothes earlier, to avoid them. But this was a jarring reminder that no matter how many precautions he took, he was never truly safe.

  Will shook his head and walked ahead of David into the Sluts’

  trading post.

  Inside was an expanse of red hair. You could tell what fla-vor of Kool-Aid the girls used, cherry here, fruit punch there, a faded pink that probably was strawberry but needed a redye. Two Sluts slap-boxed just inside the entrance. Nearly all of them wore tight black pants, and there wasn’t a sleeve left attached in the whole room. The Sluts were not a rich gang, they had no special item or service, but they traded almost

  everything. If you wanted it, they probably had it, which was great for anyone who didn’t want to, or couldn’t, get their supplies from Varsity. The Sluts were the only gang with an open-door policy. As long as you were female and you were willing to fight tooth and nail on the quad, you could have a place in the Sluts.

  David spotted their founder, Violet Kelly, behind a trading table nearby. She went by the name Violent now. Violent wore football shoulder pads with pencils sticking up out of them like porcupine quills and a necklace made of sharpened cafeteria cutlery. Violent had the reddest hair in school, and her eyes were vibrant green. She had shaved off her white eyebrows and replaced them with fake ones made of carefully cut pieces of black electrical tape.

  David approached her. She was counting out condoms for a Geek girl, who traded them for a three-pack of fresh athletic socks.

  “Got your order,” he said.

  Violent looked up at David, her face pinched in aggravation.

  “What?”

  “Delivering your stuff.”

  “Oh. These be
tter be spotless, Jacob.”

  “It’s David, but yes, don’t worry . . . they’re clean.” She stayed suspicious as another Slut collected the laundry.

  David could never tell if he really had remained a stranger to Violent week after week, or if she just wanted him to think so.

  “Didn’t I call you ‘Ragman’ last time? I like that. That’s your name, Ragman.”

  “You could call me David,” he said. Violent didn’t laugh. He pushed on. “So, we’re looking for the usual, a week’s food, whatever you got. We have six Geek show tickets and these items for trade. Will lifted his sack of loot from the drop onto the table. Violent looked through Will’s items and fixed him with a direct look that made him blush. Violent’s demeanor cheered a bit.

  “Kathy, bring me five days’ worth, on the light side.” A Slut girl brought over a small collection of canned fruit, canned tuna, refried beans, dry soup, and two bottles of tomato juice. As David stuffed those items in his bag, Violent stared at Will with increased interest.

  “What’s your name?”

  Will met her stare with a look of defiance.

  “I’m Will.”

  “That’s not a lot of food for a week, Will. And there’s two of you.”

  “What about it?”

  “Ooh, he’s got a little fight in him,” Violent said to the other girls. “I’ll tell you what about it. I could help you. I have a lot of food, I got everything. Maybe you should come visit me some night. I’ll make it worth your while.”

  David stopped putting the food away. He watched Will stand there, frozen on the edge of a response.

  “What do you say, girls?” Violent said to the entire room.

  “Would he make a good rent boy or what?” Sluts converged from around the room, circling Will, looking him up and down, squeezing his arms, giggling, and detailing their opinion of each part of him, like they were buying a horse.