Story: Thick and Thin

The only thing suckier than public school is summer school—and the only thing that sucks more than that is getting stuck at school during the end of the world.

I still can’t decide which is worse: cafeteria food for the rest of my life, or being trapped in here with Fisher Vaughn.

“Hey,” he calls now, dribbling a basketball erratically down the hallway to catch up with me. “Tate. Wait up.”

I didn’t really plan to, but the middle schoolers with me stop for him, so I pause too. Washed out under the fluorescent lights, his sandy hair already overgrown even though we’ve only been barricaded in the school for three weeks now, he looks younger. Like a middle schooler himself, almost, except taller.

I can’t tell if that makes me want to be nicer to him or haul back and punch him in the gut, so I start walking again.

“We’re trying to get into Coach Parker’s room,” I say. “We thought office would have keys, but we couldn’t find any.”

“Coach Parker?” he asks, falling into step beside me. “Is he—”

“Not yet,” I say quickly, glancing at the seventh graders behind us. Coach Parker is Tally’s dad—which is the only reason she and her friend were in the high school in the first place, while he stopped by work—and nobody’s seen him since he left the school a couple weeks ago to look for other survivors.

Fisher frowns. “Then why...?”

“We think his cell phone charger might be in his classroom,” Tally says slowly.

Tally’s friend, Rebecca, nods. “If we could charge our phones, we could try to call our families.”

At that one, Fisher and I both hesitate. Somehow, no news on the family front has felt like good news, but I don’t know how to explain that.

After a second, Fisher shrugs. “The janitor would’ve had a ring of keys, right?”

They consider that, then take off for the janitor’s break room. It’s on the other side of the school, but if there’s one thing we’ve got, it’s time.

“They’ll get each other through all this,” he says after a minute. “Thick and thin, right?”

But it’s been a long time since those words have meant anything, so I just shrug.

***

The thing is, a long time ago, Fisher and I used to be best friends.

It started in elementary school, when we both got held in Ms. Kendrick’s class during recess. We lived down the street from each other, and we’d watch TV after school and play basketball at the concrete courts and build forts in the creek behind our street.

In fourth grade, we cut our palms and mixed blood to become blood-oath siblings. Our moms freaked out, but we didn’t care, because we’d read about it in a book and it seemed like the coolest thing ever.

But then we hit middle school, and it wasn’t cool for him to be friends with a girl anymore. In eighth grade, sure, but not sixth grade.

So hanging out turned into talking sometimes between classes, which turned into waving at each other in passing, which turned into the occasional nod, which eventually evolved into desperately avoiding eye contact in the hallways.

As far as I can tell, that system was pretty much thrown for a loop when the Fever swept through the country like a plague a few weeks ago, and our high school became our fortress.

Still, for Tally and Rebecca’s sake, I hope their definition of “through thick and thin” is a little bit different than Fisher’s.

***

A few days later, once the seniors are in on the phone-charger plan, Fisher and I are trying to help them take the doorknob off Coach Parker’s room when we hear it.

A girl screaming, from somewhere down the hall.

One of the seniors swears, but they’re busy setting their tools down, and Fisher and I are already sprinting towards the scream.

Rebecca’s knelt by Tally in the gym, reaching out like she wants to help her, but also like she’s afraid to touch her.

It’s not hard to see why.

Tally’s stretched out on the gym floor, writhing like she’s being electrocuted, face ashen and sweat-slicked.

Blood’s smeared down her face, pouring from her eyes. The way she’s clawing at her lower eyelids probably isn’t helping matters.

Part of me refuses to even approach someone with the Fever, but the rest of me realizes that at this point, it doesn’t matter.

If the Fever’s found a way into the sealed-off school, we’re all screwed anyways.

I drop down beside Tally and grab one of her arms, trying to pin her down. Fisher does the same. It’s barely a minute before some seniors scramble in and haul her away, probably to put her down like a dog.

But it feels like forever.

***

When I leave the gym, Fisher’s sitting in the hallway, staring up at the senior portrait panels lining the walls. His hands are still covered in blood.

“It’ll be okay,” he tells me, even though he looks like the one who needs to hear it.

I don’t leave, but I don’t sit, either. “Doubtful.”

For a minute, he’s quiet. Then, carefully, he says, “If I had to be stuck in here with anybody, I’m glad it’s you.”

But at this point, all that means is one of us eventually holding the other down as they writhe and bleed and burn, so I can’t exactly agree with him.

“Thick and thin?” he says.

I sigh. It’s been a long time since those words have meant anything—but sitting here under the senior portraits of people who are gone now, a dead girl’s blood all over my shirt, I don’t really care anymore.

“Thick and thin,” I say, slumping down against the wall beside him.

When he holds out his hand, I take it.

In this light, Tally’s blood fresh on our palms, our blood-oath scars look brand new.




Author's Note: This week, my story was inspired by "Iagoo, the Story-Teller." In that story, kids are gathered around their elder, a great storyteller. One of the girls hears the North Wind howling outside and worries that it will get inside and hurt them, but Iagoo assures her it won't, then tells them a story about the North Wind to reassure them. I liked the idea of a group of people bracing themselves against something outside coming to get them, and that's what I stuck with for my retelling.



Bibliography: American Indian Fairy Tales by W.T. Larned. Source: Mythology and Folklore UN-Textbook.

Image Credit: "Eckstein Middle School Hallway 02" by Joe Mabel. Source: Wikimedia Commons.


SaveSave
SaveSave