phone from her pocket. She pressed the power button, but again, nothing responded to her efforts.
"It's war, isn't it?"
RJ shrugged, distracted. He looked lost. Kylie had never seen RJ without an answer at the ready.
"The Muslims, the terrorists, they're getting back at us. It has to be. Who else would attack us?"
"Don't jump to conclusions." He flipped the switch for the exhaust fan over the stove, then went over to the set of light switches for the dining room. Nothing.
"What else could it be? We're being attacked."
"Not necessarily. It could have been an accidental explosion, like, I don't know, a military jet carrying some top-secret cargo. Or, I guess, it could be a natural phenomenon, like a massive solar storm or an asteroid exploding at just the right altitude in the upper atmosphere."
"Doesn't really matter, does it? We're screwed." She stared at the dead cell phone clenched in her fist, her fingers cramping and fish-belly white.
"Kylie, don't freak out. At least not until the evidence points to that consensus."
"You're treating this like a science experiment, aren't you?" She looked at him and something in her eyes made him look away. She pressed on nonetheless. "Coming up with theories to prove or disprove. Like this is all just a game."
"No, not like a game, Kylie. Just using rationality to help keep a steady head. Would you rather I go off all crazy and ranting like your mom…?" he said before stopping himself. "I didn't mean…"
"No, just forget it. You're probably right. Rational people don't lose their heads too often, do they?"
"I'd like to think not."
Kylie pressed the power button to her cell phone, hoping it would eventually force it to reboot or at least show some spark of life. Nothing happened after a good twenty seconds. She almost tossed it aside, but couldn't imagine not having it within easy reach. Instead, she placed it back in the front pocket of her jeans, hoping it wasn't permanently damaged. She felt guilty about not returning Gabby's text right away; she hoped her friend was okay.
"So, what do we do now?"
She felt suddenly uncomfortable. She was alone with RJ during the middle of the day. That by itself wasn't the focus of her discomfort and wasn't even uncommon. But in this instance of aloneness there was no power, which meant they had no distractions—no cell phones, no TV, no tablets or music. Plus, he knew that she liked him. That news was real, unavoidable, and as the minutes passed, unbearable. "Um… we could probably…" she started, but had no idea what she was going to suggest. Talk? Have sex? She blushed at the thought, and luckily, the front door swung open and a chorus of swearing complaints filled the air.
"Ah, that must be the fam." RJ looked as relieved as Kylie felt. "Dawn, that you?" he called out and headed down a long hallway decorated with framed pictures of major league baseball parks. Kylie followed close behind him. The square footage of the spacious hallway would rival that of her entire home. She felt a chill even though the air conditioner no longer churned.
"Yeah, Junior, we made it," Dawn said.
"Finally," Monique Thompson added.
At the center of the grand two-story foyer, his sister and step-mother collectively unburdened their arms of nearly a dozen shopping bags from stores and boutiques Kylie would never even dream of entering. Monique was tall and slender. She wore chunky-heeled sandals and white shorts that made her glossy, caramel-colored legs appear supernaturally long. Her normally perfect hair was a clumpy, sweaty mess. Her makeup had streaked, too. Dawn looked like a fashion doll thrown into a river for a quick dip by a petulant child. Six inches shorter than Monique, she was her step-mom's mini-me—similar upscale fashion, similar hair and expensive manicure. They were often mistaken for sisters, which satisfied Monique to no end.
"Did you two loot your way out of St. Louis?" RJ chuckled.
"No, we just hiked a mile because the
"It's war, isn't it?"
RJ shrugged, distracted. He looked lost. Kylie had never seen RJ without an answer at the ready.
"The Muslims, the terrorists, they're getting back at us. It has to be. Who else would attack us?"
"Don't jump to conclusions." He flipped the switch for the exhaust fan over the stove, then went over to the set of light switches for the dining room. Nothing.
"What else could it be? We're being attacked."
"Not necessarily. It could have been an accidental explosion, like, I don't know, a military jet carrying some top-secret cargo. Or, I guess, it could be a natural phenomenon, like a massive solar storm or an asteroid exploding at just the right altitude in the upper atmosphere."
"Doesn't really matter, does it? We're screwed." She stared at the dead cell phone clenched in her fist, her fingers cramping and fish-belly white.
"Kylie, don't freak out. At least not until the evidence points to that consensus."
"You're treating this like a science experiment, aren't you?" She looked at him and something in her eyes made him look away. She pressed on nonetheless. "Coming up with theories to prove or disprove. Like this is all just a game."
"No, not like a game, Kylie. Just using rationality to help keep a steady head. Would you rather I go off all crazy and ranting like your mom…?" he said before stopping himself. "I didn't mean…"
"No, just forget it. You're probably right. Rational people don't lose their heads too often, do they?"
"I'd like to think not."
Kylie pressed the power button to her cell phone, hoping it would eventually force it to reboot or at least show some spark of life. Nothing happened after a good twenty seconds. She almost tossed it aside, but couldn't imagine not having it within easy reach. Instead, she placed it back in the front pocket of her jeans, hoping it wasn't permanently damaged. She felt guilty about not returning Gabby's text right away; she hoped her friend was okay.
"So, what do we do now?"
She felt suddenly uncomfortable. She was alone with RJ during the middle of the day. That by itself wasn't the focus of her discomfort and wasn't even uncommon. But in this instance of aloneness there was no power, which meant they had no distractions—no cell phones, no TV, no tablets or music. Plus, he knew that she liked him. That news was real, unavoidable, and as the minutes passed, unbearable. "Um… we could probably…" she started, but had no idea what she was going to suggest. Talk? Have sex? She blushed at the thought, and luckily, the front door swung open and a chorus of swearing complaints filled the air.
"Ah, that must be the fam." RJ looked as relieved as Kylie felt. "Dawn, that you?" he called out and headed down a long hallway decorated with framed pictures of major league baseball parks. Kylie followed close behind him. The square footage of the spacious hallway would rival that of her entire home. She felt a chill even though the air conditioner no longer churned.
"Yeah, Junior, we made it," Dawn said.
"Finally," Monique Thompson added.
At the center of the grand two-story foyer, his sister and step-mother collectively unburdened their arms of nearly a dozen shopping bags from stores and boutiques Kylie would never even dream of entering. Monique was tall and slender. She wore chunky-heeled sandals and white shorts that made her glossy, caramel-colored legs appear supernaturally long. Her normally perfect hair was a clumpy, sweaty mess. Her makeup had streaked, too. Dawn looked like a fashion doll thrown into a river for a quick dip by a petulant child. Six inches shorter than Monique, she was her step-mom's mini-me—similar upscale fashion, similar hair and expensive manicure. They were often mistaken for sisters, which satisfied Monique to no end.
"Did you two loot your way out of St. Louis?" RJ chuckled.
"No, we just hiked a mile because the
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