This Isn't the Zombie Apocalypse

23. Calvin and I Have a Nice Chat

Calvin was still staring at me strangely. I wanted to slap him for it, because I was nice that way.

He wasn't doing it openly, at least in his mind, but it was obvious to me. I could feel his eyes on me every time I turned, his calculating gaze trying to figure out some bizarre problem in his big, fat head. And I had no idea what the problem even was. It was like when a teacher was doing a problem, trying to see the different point of views and figuring it out for themselves, and you're left wondering where the heck they are in the first place. Like, is it on this worksheet they passed out, in the text book, or was this just made up? Did someone ask this question? I thought this was math and that looks like English to me, so what class is this?

It was awful, and it wasn't as if I could just outright ask what was wrong. He would deny it until he figured it out or he eventually gave up, which I found unlikely. And I knew this for a fact, because when I asked him why he was gawking at me so much, like some sort of love-struck teenage girl, he denied ever looking my way in the first place.

It was beyond frustrating and awful. It was downright torture. We were trapped in a car with each other, and Calvin was trying to figure something out, and it was going to be something I didn't want him to figure out, and it was all a huge mess.

I thought over my choices.

I could ask what was wrong and talk it out like a normal person, because even if I didn't want Calvin to know some stuff, he should. He had been a huge help lately.

I could ignore it. Also something a normal person would do. Because was it that big of a deal that he was staring? No. It was just staring, and not even like a pedophile or anything; Calvin was spacing out every time, deep in thought.

I could bring up something random—just shout about dragons or spaceships or presidents. Or maybe bring up a weird thought, like how I would love a pink unicorn for a friend.

I could ask why Sarah's car was so freakishly shiny. I didn't know why, but it sounded like a good question. Because, yes, somehow, someway, it was still brand new looking from the outside perspective.

I could ask how he knew Ana, and how he thought she was doing, and if we would find her, and if he thought she would survive. Basically, be my jerk-ish self and break his heart by bringing up the touchy subjects. A nice heart-to-heart, with tears and yelling and everything else. Yeah, that sounded nice.

And guess which one I chose? If you guessed the last one, you were almost correct.

On to what stupid thing I decided to say: "Were you there when Ana died?" It just came out of my mouth, without the approval of my mind or whatever common sense I had, and since it was out I couldn't take it back. This was one of those moments where I wanted to eat my words, even if the words spilling from between my lips were word vomit.

Calvin, upon hearing my question, jerked, the wheels making a sharp turn on a one-way road leading to nowhere. If there had been any other cars, there would have been a massive crash. Maybe an explosion. Although it would suck to be in that explosion, because then I would have been on fire... and not in the good way, like the Human Torch. (It would have been in a bad way, because I am not immune to burning to death, and it would be rather painful.)

Visibly gulping, Calvin shakily asked, "Where did that come from?" He coughed, winced, and then clenched his jaw, as if to keep from saying anything stupid like I had.

"Sorry." I grimaced, cursing my abilities, or lack thereof, and stammered out, "It's just that—on the way— I mean, when we were walking through— We were sort of in the city, and I saw—well, you know what I saw, right?—and Ana brought me to the hospital. You work there, or you did. Did you quit? I'm sorry if you quit. You weren't supposed to. Now you've lost your job and—"