August 13

Dad woke us up early in the morning.

May mumbled and turned on her bed. "Don't disturb me," she mumbled.

I blinked groggily, attempting to find my glasses while Mira yawned and stretched her arms. "Why are you waking us up so early?"

"We're going to the food drive," Dad said. "Right now. Hurry up. Your Mom thinks it's a good idea too to get out early."

"Shh," May said. "I'm trying to sleep."

Dad shook her. "You can sleep afterwards. Let's go."

May groaned and stood up, her hair a tangled mess.

"Stupid moon," she said under her breath. "I hate you."

We all got dressed in thick jackets, long pants, and gloves. May was feeling extra cold this morning, so Mom found a scarf for her in the closet. Grandma and Grandpa both were dressed in three layers of coats. The temperature must've been around thirty degrees this morning, cold enough for snow and ice to form.

It was still dark when we stepped out, but I could make out silhouettes of sycamore trunks and houses under the dark blues. Mom was going to pull out a flashlight to see, but Dad stopped her.

"It might make us a target," he said. "If they see that we have batteries."

"Having batteries doesn't mean anything," Mom said.

"It might," Dad said. "I'm just worried."

"Okay," Mom said and put the flashlight away, so we walked in the dark.

When we entered the plaza, there was an odd buzz in the air, one I hadn't felt in a while. There were about twenty people lined up, waiting for the bags of food before the crack of dawn, their soft murmurs drifting in the wind. May looked oddly happy for some reason, but Dad furrowed his eyebrows and walked more cautiously. You never know what people are going to be like during these times.

I looked around at the people lining up. None of them had any visible guns or weapons, so I thought we were going to be alright. But a weird sound broke my gazing, a rumble of some vehicle.

I think everyone collectively turned around. From the ashy haze emerged a postal truck, emblazoned with the characteristic blue eagle on the side, just driving down that street like everything was normal. All of a sudden someone clapped, and it spread like wildfire, and pretty soon, everyone was cheering and clapping. If the government could fund postal trucks, maybe everything would finally be going back to normal.

I looked at Mira. "If they've got postal trucks, that means that the roads are clear and they're getting gasoline from somewhere. Leon's going to be alright."

She looked at me. "I hope so."

"He will be alright," I said. "Maybe it's the world saying that it's time for everything to get better and return to normal."

"Maybe," she said, her words trailing off. There was a bit of hope and hurt in the way that she said it, like her heart hoping that it'll be true even though her mind is telling her that it won't happen.

There was an awkward silence between us. I was going to continue talking about this, but I stopped myself. Maybe I was hurting her, preventing her from moving on and making her latch onto something that might be just a one-time event and nothing more. And suddenly, the same feeling of guilt washed over me as before, like a cascade of ash, because I was still hurting her.

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Luckily for me, May broke the awkward silence between us.

"So, if the power is coming back, what's the first thing you guys are going to do?" she asked. "I'm going to turn on all the lights in the house because why not?"

"That seems like a waste of electricity," I said.

"Meh," she said. "Who cares? Life will finally be normal again."

"I'd go on the internet," I said. "And just browse over everything that I've missed."

"Like what?" she asked. "There's no news or anything new. The internet has been pretty much frozen in time since the whole apocalypse started. What a waste of your first electricity celebration."

"Better than turning on all the lights," I shot back.

"I'd charge the batteries," Mira said. "Maybe get some laundry and dishes done."

"Boring," May replied. "We're talking about a world when everything is back to normal, normal, you know."

"No," I said to May. "Doing the laundry is a great idea. I don't know if we're all doing it wrong, but all of our clothes smell a little funky and are a little ashy."

"What about for fun?" May asked Mira. "Like, just because you could."

"I haven't really thought about it."

"Well, you must have something," May said and turned to Mira. "Like anything you'd want to do that needs electricity."

"Well, I'd probably call up the white-water rafting center, and just book a trip because I'm going to reclaim a part of summer that the volcanoes stole from me."

"That's the spirit," May said to Mira, and Mira smiled a bit. They really were getting closer to each other.

"Hey, what about me?" I asked. "Don't I get a 'That's the spirit' too?"

'You're not invited," May said. "Only cool kid ideas are allowed here."

"Wow," I said. "That's so un-cool of you."

We talked a bit more after that. Everything felt normal, for some reason, like we were not worrying about starving or running out of supplies or whatever terrible thing that could happen while the world was ending. It was just us three, or the M&Ms, as we called ourselves when we were younger.

When we got our food, Dad and I both looked into our individual bags. Five cans sat on the bottom. I sighed a breath of relief, and I could see Dad doing the same. Sure, five cans aren't a lot, but at least the number isn't going down. That's the best we can hope for now. We were just about to exit when Mom went back to ask a question. "Do you know when school is starting again?" she asked.

The volunteer at the counter sighed. "I don't know. Maybe check the billboard."

"What billboard?" Mom asked.

"Near the fountain on the left side of the building," he said. "It's the only tall thing in the plaza."

"Thank you," Mom said and turned back.

We walked together to the billboard near the fountain. It truly was the only tall thing in the plaza, except for the centerpiece of the fountain, standing tall and dry, the only things flowing over it being ashes. We all scanned the billboard.

I saw a couple of church flyers plastered to the board along with some other tidbits like letters of encouragement, decorated in paper hearts and flowers, and goodbye notices. The most heartbreaking ones were the slips of paper posted on the wall, asking for help and food. I tore my eyes away from them because I just couldn't bear to look at those letters.

My eyes caught on a bright blue piece of paper in the center of the billboard.

School is not opening for in-person classes at this moment. Pick up your supplies from the school by August 27th. For more information, an information session will be held on August 17th in the library.

Mom just stared at the billboard for a couple of seconds.

"So what are we going to do about it?" I asked.

"Tomorrow, we're picking up your books," Mom said. "And I'm going to the meeting on Wednesday."

"Seriously?" May asked. "You're still thinking about school? After all of this."

"Don't say that," Mom said.

"Well, it's true," May grumbled.

"Watch your tone, May," Dad said. "We're just trying to do what's best for you guys."

I think May was going to say something back, but she held it to herself. Ashes began to fall from the sky, filling the fountain up with gray dust.

"Whatever," she said. "Let's just go. It's snowing now."

"Good," Mom said and looked at Dad approvingly.

They took the lead, walking across the ash-stained plaza with Mira in the middle and May and I in the back. I could hear May mumble something under her breath. "I'm trying to do what's best for you guys."

Mira heard it and looked at May strangely, but I understood what she meant, sacrificing a bit of her dignity to keep the axe a secret from Mom and Dad. May looked at me, and her eyes were literally saying, "You better come up with a good reason soon."

I do hope that I come up with a good reason. I've got the ideas of one, but nothing fully formed. It's weird that I'm planning out my lies now. Before, it used to be a spontaneous thing, just to deflect away from the truth, but now, it feels like I'm lying all the time. With Charles' situation and May's axe situation and all the white lies that I've told in between, I guess I'm feeling guilty about it, especially when I think about Mira and our promise not to lie to each other and all the hurt my lies have caused.

But I can't stop. I've got to keep lying because it's going to help other people. I just hope this isn't something I'm saying to myself to make me feel better.