The Hill: A Short Story (Voices of the Apocalypse Book 3) by Simone Pond Page B

at the pool in his mother’s light blue minivan. He offered to take all of us girls for a joyride. While we were cruising around Kensington, I kept glancing at the rearview mirror and catching his pretty blue eyes looking at me. But I didn’t think he’d like a fourteen-year-old, so I didn’t pursue it. That was two years ago and I hadn’t let it go.
    None of that mattered anymore because Matt––along with every boy in our country over the age of seventeen––would be gone as of Monday morning. But because I couldn’t let him go away without telling him how I felt, I had done something completely covert; something I was keeping from the girls.  
    The previous weekend, I wrote a long letter to Matt, telling him everything. I gathered up every ounce of courage and walked to his house to hand deliver it. On the way down, I must’ve turned around five times, and the envelope started to feel like a brick in my back pocket. When I finally reached the front walkway, I stopped and waited by the curb, praying the pukey feelings would go away. Then I got all paranoid that he might see me standing out there like a stalker creep, so I forced myself to walk up to the front door. It took another few minutes before I could pull up the nerve to knock.
    Matt’s mom opened the door; her eyes were all red and puffy from crying. She stared at me for a few seconds, trying to place my face.
    “Toni,” she finally said.
    “Is Matt home?” My voice trembled.
    She shook her head and blew her nose into a handful of tissues. I was so relieved he wasn’t home that I fell against the door jamb and let out a long breath. Mrs. Wesson started sobbing.
    “Are you okay, Mrs. Wesson?” I knew she wasn’t, but I didn’t know what else to say.
    “Oh, Toni. This damn Repatterning is taking away all of my boys,” she cried, covering her face.  
    I stood motionless, unable to speak. She looked like most mothers in our neighborhood: distraught and hysterical. Their boys were being shipped away for no good reason. And the ones who refused to go were skipping town to avoid the draft. Nobody agreed with the law, but the protests ended when the Planners starting shooting people down in the streets during rallies.
    I thought maybe Matt had decided to skip town. Selfishly, I was worried he wouldn’t get my letter and my crush would be unrequited. “Did he leave town?”  
    “No, he’s out with his friends. As far as I know, he’s still planning to ship out on Monday.”
    “I’m really sorry you’re going through this. I wish . . . I just wish things weren’t so wrong,” I muttered, feeling helpless.
    “You’re a sweet girl.” She hugged me into her large bosom and cried into my mass of curly hair. That horrific moment is what spawned the trip to the barbershop––my silent protest to the diabolical law.  
    After a few moments, I stepped away and removed the envelope from my back pocket. It shook in my hand. “When Matt gets home, can you give him this?”
    “Of course, sweetie.” She smiled as though my letter had restored some semblance of hope. “They can’t take away love. Can they?”
      “Um, I gotta go.” I gave her a quick hug goodbye and ran all the way home. Matt had the whole weekend to get back to me, but I never heard from him.  
    “Hellllo?” Andi waved her hand in my face, bringing me back to the hill.  
    “What?” I asked.
    “Dang, girl. You’re in deeeeep,” Lynn said.
    “I was just thinking about how unfair this shit is. On Monday morning, every single guy we know will be shipped out. And we can’t do anything about it.”
    Lynn folded her skinny arms across her chest. “If we do anything, we die,” she spat.  
    “What if . . . we could do something?” Kristen’s eyes widened as she looked at each of us. She really loved the “what if” game.  
    I didn’t say it out loud, but if I could do something, I’d kiss Matt goodbye.  
    “What if we could get a bunch of people to march