We Are the Ants(38)

Scientists even theorize that if you could take the position, speed, trajectory, and mass of every object in the universe and feed it into a supercomputer, you could predict the future of everything.

Predicting my routine over the days after the attack was far easier. I lost myself in the minutiae of life. Charlie drove me to school each morning, and I watched him grow more comfortable in his shirt and tie, and more confident in his role as a father-to-be, though he still found time to torture me—his new favorite game was to stick his finger in my mouth every time I yawned. Diego and I continued to eat lunch together. Sometimes we skipped the cafeteria, but most days we found the quiet end of a table and pretended the other seats were empty. I still haven’t figured out why he’s wasting his time on me when he could easily fit in with any clique he wanted. He’s a chameleon that way. He seems to change personalities the way he changes styles, and that makes it difficult to figure out who he is. The only times I catch a glimpse of the real Diego Vega are when he’s talking about books or art.

Sometimes I think about pushing him to talk about his family, about why he moved to Calypso from Colorado, but my goal is to simply survive until the world’s end, and that does not include antagonizing Diego.

Nana officially resigned from lunch-making duty, and on Tuesday, Mom packed leftover fried chicken, which I shared with Diego. I offered him the thigh and kept the leg for myself. He peeled off the skin and ate it first, savoring each bite. “This is killer.”

“My mom uses ground unicorn horn and the blood of virgins for the coating.” In truth, I don’t know what’s in her chicken, but I love it. Laughter drew my attention away from Diego, toward the lunch line where Audrey Dorn stood with her arms extended like she was frozen mid-pirouette. I didn’t understand what was happening at first because her scoop-neck shirt was brown, and I couldn’t see the spilled soda until the rivulets reached her white pants. All the kids at the nearby tables were cracking up, but Adrian Morse was doubled over. I hoped he pissed himself.

“Don’t you know that girl?” Diego asked.

“Audrey?”

“Looks like she’s having a rough day.”

Audrey shook the soda from her hands, not caring who she flung the drops on, and stormed out of the cafeteria, leaving her lunch tray on the floor. Adrian stood up and did a fairly accurate impression of her stance and walk. Possession of the mask hadn’t been sufficient proof for Principal DeShields to link Adrian to my attack, but harassing me with it had earned him a three-day suspension. He’d returned more vicious than before.

“I don’t want to sit through study hall,” I said, trying to change the subject.

“It’s better than PE.”

“True, but Mr. Weiss spends the entire period posting on Brony forums—”

“That should surprise me, but doesn’t.”

“And Chloe Speedman smacks her lips when she chews gum, which she does constantly. If I have to spend another hour there, I might consider self-immolation as a form of protest.”

Diego leaned over his tray, his arms resting on either side, and poked around his lunch for any crumbs he might have missed—he was the only person I knew who ate faster than Charlie—but there was nothing left. “Let’s ditch.”

“And do what?”

“Whatever.”

“I hear whatever’s fun this time of year.”

Diego rolled his eyes. “Come on, man. Don’t you want to get out of here?”

“Yeah, but—”

“How can you make an informed decision about whether to save the world if you never leave your tiny part of it?”

The bell rang, but we didn’t move. Diego was staring at me so hard, it was like he was trying to force his thoughts into my brain. I know it was only my imagination, but I felt like I could hear a chorus of Diegos encouraging me to say no to class and yes to anarchy. Diego was one variable no equation could predict. Being in survival mode for the next seventy-five days didn’t have to mean I couldn’t have fun.

“Fine, but we’re not going to the beach.”

? ? ?

Diego and I loitered on the side of the math building while we waited for the final bell to ring. Vice Principal Marten patrols the parking lot between classes, making sure only students with passes escape. He locks the gate the rest of the time, but it’s hardly a deterrent, since all you have to do is hop the curb and drive around it.

VP Marten cruised the lot for a couple of minutes after the last bell before heading back toward the administration building. Diego grabbed my arm and motioned for me to follow.

“Who gives their kid an eighty-thousand-dollar car?” Diego asked. He was eyeing Marcus’s Tesla, though he could have been talking about any of the cars. The parking lot was full of Lexuses, BMWs, and Mercedes.

“The McCoys.”

Diego raised an eyebrow and glanced again at Marcus’s sleek ride. Even though I hated him, I couldn’t deny it was a beautiful machine.

We reached Diego’s car, and he breathed a sigh. He stuck the key in the ignition and turned; nothing happened. Not even the car’s characteristic wheeze that I’d come to know well. “Come on. Please Start, please start, please start.” Diego cranked the ignition again, but Please Start refused to. “Maybe the battery’s dead.”