I used to love irony.
Not anymore.
And why not? Seeing how getting to safety meant speeding in a van crammed with kids screaming, crying, and singing (yes, I know), I think you would hate irony to. Especially since we were driving on everything but road, through rubble, up and down stairs, sidewalks, etc.
"We're free!" Mallory screeched repeatedly, happy tears streaming down her dirty face. "We're finally free!"
I hugged her, mostly because of happiness, but also so if I went rolling out the trunk, she would come with me. "I know! How long were we in there, anyway?"
"I'm not sure. Month?" She struggled to shrug under my grip. "More? I know, cause our hair is much longer. And grosser. Ew, I have to wash it! I wonder if there are showers at Garfunkels?"
"Ask greasy." I tilted my head towards the greasy, weaselish kid from when we were escaping. Oh, that beautiful escape.
The warm air, the blood rushing back to my legs, which urged to move around when they were caged. Who cared that it was raining and there were guards with stun guns and creepy whistles chasing us?
"Byron!" She called over to him. He was sitting near the front of the van, next to the next Girl on Fire. When did he tell us his name?
"Yeah, Mallory?" He turned from his constant pestering of her, when she was clearly with another guy, to face Mallory.
How does he know Mallory?
"Would you happen to know if Garfunkels has showers?" She asked, fingering her dirty hair.
"Yes they do, but they're very low pressure and low heat." Byron replied. "Our plumbing is not quite all there, you know, due to bombing-,"
"Actually, I don't know." Mallory interrupted him, matter-of-factly. We had been in jail for about a month; a lot can happen.
"Well, yeah, bombing. But the plumbing was disrupted, so we just use bottled water, or the water Sasha takes from the mountain."
Almost every single one of his words confused me.
"Will it clean my hair?" She asked, just to confirm.
"Yes." He nodded, and turned back to his dream girl.
"How do you know each other?" I asked, eyes widening.
"We're cousins." She replied, simply, as the van screeched to a stop.
What a rollercoaster of a day!
