So Many Goodbyes

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Scott was one of the few teenagers on campus that could actually drive to school. His car thou, had seen better days. It looked like it should have been thrown on the scrap heat before Z-Day (I know, I know, tacky isn’t it?). It was still better than the bus. I hopped in the passenger side and didn’t even bother searching for the seatbelt. I knew it would be pointless. It wasn’t the first time I had been in Scott’s car, but I hoped it would be the last. It felt like a death trap. But most of the vehicles now-a-days did. It was all the rust and mistreatment that did it. And the fact that parts were hard to make and find. Most of the mines were outside the cities and towns, so they had been overrun with Zombies many years ago, and people are too scared to return to them. Scott drove as safely as he could, but that was still maniac driving. At least his brakes worked. He pulled up outside his driveway. It wasn’t the first time I had been to his house. It was nicer than mine, but still not in the great part of town. I think I should mention here that there isn’t really  a nice part of town, but we defiantly don’t live in the acceptable part of the city. Scott unlocked his front door and we both stepped inside. His mother was there, making herself dinner before she went out. She was an attractive woman, time had been kind to her, but her clients hadn’t shared that same kindness. She just (like my mother) looked so tired all the time, but put on a smile.  

“Hey there kids.” She said cheerfully.

“Hi Miss Lawson.” I said. She gave me a stern but playful look.

“Please Roni. Call me Sarah. Everyone else does.” Scott put down his bag and gestured with his head for me to follow. I did, and his mother just smirked at us. I ignored it. His mother had been smirking at us ever since Scott brought me home to do homework (I swear, that’s all we did).

Scott’s room was just how you would expect a teenager’s room to be: the school flag (or flags in his case) nailed to the wall, posters of cars, motorcycles and girls, child’s bed sheets that he hasn’t mustered the courage to get rid of yet.  On one wall, was all his achievement: certificates, awards, medals. He showed them off proudly. I had just as many as him, but whenever I brought them home, my step father would starch out my name and put his own. It was so obvious it was just ridiculous, and yet he still continued to do it. We set up the Xbox, listening to it hum into life, and just played that for a few hours, swearing at each other, laughing at the best kills, being sore losers. Just like we always did. Once it hit 7, we ordered food, which wasn’t great but it was better than either of us trying to cook (and believe me, we have tried). We stuck a movie in the TV, booing at the bad guys, cheering whenever the good guys won a fight, and arguing over some of the facts or details. By the time it reached 11, we were both ready for bed, which was a little awkward to sort out. When we were younger, we would just share Scott’s bed (Scott had always been in the same school as me, but I always got booted earlier) but now we couldn’t do that, because we wouldn’t fit. I normally took the sofa, but today, Scott protested more than usual, until finally I was forced to take his bed. And so, I walked to his bedroom, and slipped under his covers. It didn’t feel right. It just felt wrong. I wriggled out again, and hoped Scott hadn’t fallen asleep yet. To my surprise when I opened the door, he was there, standing right there.

“I don’t like the bed.” I said.

“I don’t like the sofa.” He said, smiling.

“Switch?” he nodded, and I smiled back, scooting past him to get to the sofa. I snuggled down under the covers and sighed with pleasure. That was so much better. And I drifted off to sleep in no time.

I woke to the smell of bacon cooking. I loved bacon. I opened my eyes slowly, and was suddenly aware that I was on the floor. The pillow was still under my head, the blanket still over me, but definitely on the floor.