As we ride the bus back to Sid’s, April leans out the back so she can see the surrounding hills.
“Are those farms?” Her voice is breathy with wonder. “They are. They’re farms.”
“I guess.” There’s farmland all around Sid’s place. Some ruined suburban architecture remains, but most of it seems to have been torn down in favour of agriculture or higher density housing.
“And that’s where we’re going, right?” she says. “I hadn’t really thought about it until now but… we’re going to live on afarm. With a bunch of other people.”
“A bunch ofmen. You need to be on your guard.”
“Of course,” she says, but my warning seems to have the opposite effect, because she smooths down her ponytail. I’m regretting giving April that stack of fashion magazines filled with “the summer’s hottest looks” we found in an abandoned beauty salon two years ago. I should have burned them instead.
The bus lets us off a short walk from Sid’s acreage. We walk past the hedge and April gasps with delight. The big field, the garden plots, the bike shed, the pump—everything earns a squeal and pointing fingers.
It doesn’t take long for us to attract attention. One of the younger boys is splitting wood in front of the house. Immediately, he zips up to Sid’s unit and hammers on the door so loudly, someone downstairs opens up, too.
“They’re back! They came back!”
What if Sid’s still wearing the same thin T-shirt from this morning? April shouldn’t see him inthat. But when the door opens, he looks ready for the cool autumn night—same pair of jeans, paired with a plaid buttondown, rolled up at the elbows.
I’m fairly certain I’m not disappointed.
He walks towards us slowly and deliberately. A handful of the other guys outpace him. The boy who was splitting wood leads the pack, but he’s followed by more shouts, more doors opening, and soon, the entire household is making their way toward us. It’s like harvesting a fish weir, everyone clamouring to jump into the net first.
Arms reach out, and April and I are drowned in a cacophony of voices. Sid might have held them back yesterday, but the dogs are off their ropes now.
“You came back! I thought for sure you were gonna wig out and—”
“Hey! You’re the sister, right? I’m Carlos and—”
“Suck it, Albert! They’re back! You owe me two bucks and—”
“I’m Wendell. Do you like potatoes?”
We both stumble backward, suffocating. April’s cheeks, ruddy with excitement a moment ago, blanch white, like she’s about to keel over.
Before it comes to that, a pair of large hands cuts through the crowd, grabbing each of us by the shoulder. “Back off, guys. They don’t need all of you at once.”
I curl toward Sid, trying to use his body to block out the commotion. April takes hold of me, her fingers digging into my arm. I latch onto the only thing from the deluge that stuck.
“What was that about potatoes?”
“Oh! Yeah, we got lots of them. Making up a chowder now,” says one of the men. He steps into my line of vision, wielding a long object. Without thinking, I slap it out of his hand—only to realize it was a wooden spoon.
“Uhhhh…” He stares at where it’s lying on the ground. “I mean, if you don’t like potatoes—”
“Potatoes sound great!” I shout.Pull it together, Kayla.They’re all going to think I’m batshit.
“Wendell, why don’t you help Carlos get things ready and we’ll eat outside? The kitchen is a little cramped,” says Sid.
“Yeah, okay.” He picks up the spoon, then leads the others away. They seem less inclined to crowd us now that they know I might attack their cutlery.
Once there’s space, I push away from Sid. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s no big deal. I’ll talk to Wendell.”
“But you guyscan’tsay anything! Not to the hospitalor Tom or… They think I’m crazy.” Or dangerous. I don’t know. But I can’t imagine this helping my case.
Sid meets my eye, then nods. “Like I said, I’ll talk to Wendell.”
