Page 5 of Fragments of the Lost
His words echoed through the narrow halls. The floor was wooden, as was the staircase directly across from the front door. He dropped his bag at the entrance, led me through two small, partitioned rooms—a living room with an oversized couch across from the television; a dining room with a wooden table with red placemats and family pictures hanging on the walls—until we reached the kitchen.
He opened the pantry, then the fridge. “Okay, confession, really slim pickings here.” He squeezed his eyes shut, held out his hands. “I have food in my room, and I swear this isn’t a line.”
I laughed, and he opened his eyes, grinning sheepishly.
“After you, then.”
I followed him up one narrow flight of steps, and then the second, until I stepped across the threshold, looked at the built-in shelves along both side walls, which did hold bottles of sports drinks and assorted snacks.
“Welcome to the bunker,” he said, gesturing his arms around the room.
“May I?” I asked, grabbing a bag of M&M’s, which had been leaning against a stack of books on the bottom shelf.
“By all means,” he said, smiling. I ripped into the bag, surprised by how bright the room was with the sunlight pouring in through the single window behind his bed. “It’s not very bunkerish,” I said, “if I’m being totally honest.”
He put his hand on his heart, feigning shock. “Exhibit A, the shelves.”
I looked again. “The bookcases?”
“No, notbookcases.Pretty sure the people who lived here before us were end-of-the-world believers.”
The candy was slightly melted from the direct sunlight, and it stained my fingers red and green and brown. “You don’t believe in an eventual end of the world?” I asked.
“Oh, I do. I mean, eventually the sun will explode, or some supervirus will wipe us all out, but nothing that an attic full of food would save us from. I’m notthattype of believer.”
“Or it was just a library,” I said.
“Oh,” he said, and he narrowed his eyes at the space. “I mean, I guess that’s possible. Except I found a box of cereal left behind the day we moved in. Just a single box of unopened cereal in the middle of the shelf. Like it wasn’t worth packing up.”
I looked again, tried to see this room filled with food, but it didn’t take. “I’m trying here, Caleb. But all I see is a library.”
“It doesn’t sound as cool to call it the library. Don’t go messing with my street cred, Jessa Whitworth.”
And then he took a step closer, like I knew he would, and he put a hand on my waist, like I knew he would. “Okay, I lied,” he said, “it was kind of a line.”
“Iknow,” I said, which made him laugh. And then his expression turned serious, his hand moved to the side of my face, and he stepped even closer, so his body brushed up against mine. I could feel his breath, the tremble of his hand, smell the salt and sunscreen and summer air as he leaned in to kiss me.
I kissed him back, my hands sliding around his waist, thinking that everything about him reminded me of the ocean, and that was perfect. His skin was still hot from the sun, and the salt water had dried in his hair, and I lost myself in the feeling of floating, of drifting. Then I heard a pitter-patter of steps echo from below, like an animal was loose.
Caleb pulled back, stepped away. “My mom is home,” he said. The four words every girl is dying to hear.
He launched himself down the steps, in that Caleb fashion I would come to know so well, but at the moment, I was just trying to orient myself, think up an excuse—Oh, hi, I was hungry and the M&M’s were upstairs;oh God, really?Really?I was practically tripping over myself to keep up.
“Hi, Mom,” he said, standing at the base of the stairs.
His mom was carrying a paper bag of groceries, lettuce peeking out the top. She had long, dark hair, the color of ink, and green eyes lined expertly with makeup, her lips a pale rose. Her eyes shifted from Caleb to me, currently standing behind him and trying not to die of embarrassment. A little girl darted in and out of view, a carbon copy of her mother, not paying any of us much attention.
“This is Jessa,” he said. And he left it at that. So many things he could’ve said, to clarify. For all of us.
This is Jessa, the girl I just kissed.
My friend, Jessa.
Julian’s sister, Jessa.
“Jessamyn Whitworth,” I said, stepping out from behind Caleb and sticking out my hand, as if I were here to sell her something.
I felt Caleb cut his eyes to me and grin, shaking his head.
