Trapped by Michael Northrop Page A

right?”
    “Yeah, and right near the lake. They should call it Snowtown. It’s like basically Canada.”
    “You see any moose?” I said, and she laughed. I was amazed because no one seemed to get my dumb jokes.
    “They’re called meese,” she said. “One moose, two meese.”
    I let out a little snort of laughter. That was something I’d say too. And I was feeling pretty good right then. Like I’d forgotten about my zit, and I was feeling a lot more comfortable around her and not nearly as nervous. The only problem I really had was the ache in my shoulders from lugging the food.
    And then we heard voices as we approached the bend in the hall, and it all came back. I remembered we were stuck in our high school and divided into these groups, and there were certain things you couldn’t say to certain people, and just the whole general tidal wave of crap. So much for the meese.
    The light was murky when we turned the corner, but I already knew who it was. There was a weird echo in the hallway, but I could still make out the voice. It was Les, and my chest tightened a little. I was sort of getting more comfortable with him, but not down here in the dark. He was talking to Julie, and Pete was a few feet away. They were outside the nurse’s office.
    I was just in the nurse’s office two weeks before. I didn’t remember there being a radio in there, but it turns out they already had the radio. It came into view a few steps later, dangling from Pete’s left hand. I guess they’d taken the one from the main office. I remembered it now. The secretary was always listening to it in the afternoons.
    I was wondering what they were looking for in the nurse’s office. Then it hit me: blankets. So they were good scavengers, but things weren’t going well between the three of them.
    “Hey, girl, wanna hold my tool?” said Les, holding out his door-opening gear. It was one of those comments that could befunny or not, depending on who said it and how the girl took it. Or how her would-be boyfriend took it.
    “Shut up, man,” Pete said, taking a step toward Les. Or, let me rephrase that: Taking a step toward the much larger guy who still had a hammer and a steel bolt in his hands and Lord knows what else in his pockets.
    Uh-oh, I thought. Or maybe I actually said it, because just then all three of them looked over toward Krista and me. I guess it could’ve been the sound of our sneakers that gave us away.
    Les looked over, sized us up, and then turned back toward Pete. He sort of cocked his head and looked at him, like dogs do when you make a noise they don’t understand. I guess it was disbelief, like: Did I hear that right? Did you just tell me to shut up?
    Pete was standing his ground, but just barely. His feet were planted, but every other part of him was leaning back. He had this weird little look on his face, somewhere between the fear of what was about to happen and the acceptance that there was nothing much he could do about it.
    “Hey, guys,” said Krista, acting like she didn’t see what was going on. “Whatcha doin'?”
    I was waiting for Les to make a fist and use it, but he was pausing now to process the words. I was already picturing the effects of the punch and just hoping he kept the hammer out of it. Either way, I’d have to do something once it landed. I was having trouble thinking of anything that didn’t involve me dropping all this food, running in there, and getting myclock cleaned too. Maybe I could get in one good shot with the peach can?
    I was trying to come to terms with this kamikaze mission. Pete was my friend: I had to do it. But sometimes it’s like, Thank God there are girls around, you know? This was one of those times. Krista just kept at it. “Hey,” she said. “Hey!”
    Finally, Les looked back in her direction.
    “Hey, Les,” she said. “Hey, Jules.”
    She didn’t mention Pete, and I guess that snub was like a victory for Les or something? I don’t know. I don’t know