The Last of Us

3 | How to Disappear Completely

The next day an awful noise woke me. First, the hoover and then the grinding of the blender, and I knew without needing to ask Mom was killing nervous energy.

Sunlight spilled through my blinds. The benefit of tornadoes was the following day, the sunrises were glorious. My phone buzzed. My best friend Simon Porter's face flashed twice. I swiped, declined the call, and rolled onto my back. Everyone and their dog would have post-nado tales this morning, and Simon acted as a public service announcement. As the son of the sheriff's deputy, he had an ear full of secrets but a mouth the size of a canyon.

Before I could drag myself out of bed, my cell phone chirped with a new message. I snatched it and squinted at the screen.

Simon: Did you hear?

Not wanting to get into the dramas unfolding in town, I needed to help Dad first; I couldn't shirk this time and was familiar with tornado clean-ups. Throwing my cell phone onto the bed, I decided to catch up with him later.

Finishing up in the shower, I dressed and headed downstairs. Mom was perched on an exercise bike in the living room, her feet pounding the pedals.

"Hey, honey." She panted out a breath.

I smiled and walked into the living room.

She paused, her legs halting on the peddle. "Honey, are you okay? How did you sleep?" She dabbed a towel over auburn hair that slicked across her forehead.

I shook my head. "Not well."

"Mercury's in retrograde, and as a Pisces, your emotional resilience to all of this negative 'Derek' energy will be out of whack."

I nodded slowly, still not sure what she meant. "Have you seen my hoodie?" I lifted the cushion in the living room before moving to check the kitchen.

"You wore it yesterday before you went to school," she answered, climbing off the bike. "You lose everything!"

Frustrated, I groaned; it was my favorite one, emblazoned with the number eight on the back.

Mom offered out a plate of buttered toast. I grabbed a slice, pinned it between my teeth, and pulled my boots on.

I eased myself onto a stool at the breakfast bar. Emma bounded down the stairs in her signature skinny jeans and Nirvana T-shirt. She slid onto the breakfast stool beside me. Picking up a piece of toast, she stuffed it into her mouth and wiped the fallen crumbs from the countertop onto the floor.

"I want you both to help your father clean up the yard. You know the drill by now." Mom rounded around the side of the breakfast bar and formed a barricade in front of us.

"Sorry, but I can't," Emma replied. "I'm on my period and snapping post-tornado selfies with Rosie." She swiveled in her seat and slid off.

"Schools announced they'll be closed for a week," Emma said, reaching for a glass in the cupboard.

"They need to safety assess, I suspect," Mom replied.

"They've canceled the dance." Emma sighed and yanked open the fridge door, grabbing the orange juice.

I rolled my eyes. "I'm devastated."

"Sounds like no one would go with you," she scoffed.

Shaking my head, I dismissed everything Emma had just said. "I don't want to date; I am a young eligible bachelor in my prime. Why does society place romantic relationships above other ones, anyway?"

Mom went to speak, but Emma cut in. "I've got this. When a boy likes a girl, he prefers to show her physically. When a girl has a desire for social acceptance, she reciprocates. And that's how babies are born, hence why romantic relationships among your kin are highly regarded."