Page 10 of We’re All Going to Die Tonight!

I keep my shoes on. I slip back out the door, into the rain. I pocket my phone but still feel Mom’s eyes on me, even from all those miles away.

Ten minutes. I set a timer, just in case I get distracted.

I’m outside before I can second-guess whether or not I’m just adding another bad decision onto the pile.

After all, my choices have already been made. And at this point, there’s nothing left to do but film what happens next.

Chapter 6

Avery

October 17

12:01 a.m.

We don’t have service here.

It’s the first thing I notice as I’m changing into dry clothes after my shower. I discovered it as I tried to pull up Google Drive to organize the notes I took during the competition—the notes I took before everything went completely off the rails—but nothing would load. Then I tried to send a text and got a Delivery Failed for my trouble.

Downstairs, it isn’t any better. I circle the living room, phone held out in front of me, but it remains a moderately useless brick that only works as a flashlight and a camera.

“It’s everywhere,” says a voice behind me. “Trust me. I already checked.”

Trust me. Two simple words that the owner of that voice tosses out so easily, as if they haven’t recently betrayed me. As if they don’t know that I’m explicitly trying to avoid talking to them.

“Caulder,” I say, as politely as I can. He’s not alone down here, after all. I see that when I turn around and find Marlene bundled up under a blanket with headphones on and a sketch pad in her lap on one end of the enormous leather couch and Caulder stretched out on the other side. Everyone else must still be in their rooms making use of the fancy showers. Marlene and Caulder clearly already showered, based on their wet hair and pajamas, plus the room smells like the same “orange bergamot” bodywash that was in my bathroom.

As usual, Caulder appears calm and unrattled. His brown hair falls a little in front of his eyes, making it look for a moment like there’re shadows under them. But then he runs a hand through his hair, and the illusion’s gone.

Perfect as always. Infuriatingly so.

Sometimes I slip into a fantasy where I imagine what my life would be like if I had never known Caulder at all. If we hadn’t grown up next to each other and spent Saturdays eating ice cream at the park while our parents watched us from the benches, would it have been easier to deal with who he is now? Or if we had still known each other, would we have stayed best friends if the rupture in my life happened after puberty fully sank its teeth into both of us? Would it have made it easier to start ninth grade back at the same school and find that he’d turned into a completely different person, the kind of person who would never, ever be friends with an awkward nobody like me?

I can still remember the sting that zipped through me the first time I saw him again at freshman orientation. He was facing the other way, picking up his schedule, when I heard his voice, and it seized me and yanked me toward him. He’d always been a tall kid, but he’d been a tall kid with a bad haircut and a missing front tooth who called me “Aves” and tried a million different slime recipes with me. Now he was tall in a way that I knew I’d never catch up to, and there was an easiness in how he traded words with the people around him that I didn’t recognize. His smile was the same slightly crooked smile, but there was something charged about it. Something everyone around him seemed to respond to.

Effortless in a way I’d never be.

I realize I’m staring at him, which a normal person would ignore or at least look away from, but because he’s Caulder, he stares right back. Forces me to sit in the discomfort. Forces me to break his gaze as I finally avert my eyes and sit down across from him and Marlene.

“Emerson’s probably got the Wi-Fi password,” Caulder says, not acknowledging my dissociative moment. “I dunno where he went, though.”

I nod but hold up my phone anyway, stubbornly stabbing at the Wi-Fi button to see if there’s any nearby connection. Of course, there’s nothing.

“Told you,” Caulder says.

I glare at him. “I just wanted to make sure. That’s not a crime, is it?”

It’s easier this way, to settle into these new roles. To pretend that the only reason I distrust him is because of our history at Coastal Canyon and not because he used to know more about me than anyone. To act like what hurts is just the fresh blood between us and not the scars.

After all, for Caulder, that’s clearly the case. He glares right back at me, hazel eyes sharpening. “No. But you could’ve just taken my word for it.”

“No thanks,” I say. “Where’re the teachers?”

My question’s directed to either Caulder or Marlene, but he answers.

“Dorman and McCullough said they were going to bed,” he says. “Told me to tell everyone to get showered and go to sleep. They said we’re leaving as early as Triple A will get here.”

“Which won’t be early,” Emerson cuts in, sauntering into the living room from where he must’ve been lurking in the kitchen. “They’re delusional if they think anyone’s getting out here before nine. And even more delusional if they think anyone’s going to bed right now.”