Zombie Blondes by Brian James Page A

thinking about it earlier.
    But I won’t let him apologize.
    Not now.
    It’s too late for that and I turn my back and start to walk toward the door. He starts saying something. Wants me to come back, but I ignore his request for me to wait. “Forget it, just go,” I say.
    But he’d never leave things that way and I know it. He catches up to me. Grabs me with both hands and wraps his arms around me. Hugging me even though I refuse to hughim back. Refuse to even look at him.
    “Hey . . . I’m sorry,” and the worst part about it is that I know he’s telling the truth. And I know he’s right about us needing the job and the money. Doesn’t mean I’m not mad at him, though. Mad that he gets to run away from his troubles but I always have to stay and face mine.
    “It’s okay, I’ll be fine,” I tell him, speaking into his coat.
    He hugs me tighter before finally letting me go. Telling me he’s left some money on the counter for food. Promises to call whenever he has the chance. I nod and watch as he climbs into the car. I sit down on the front steps as the engine roars to life. He waves as he backs up. I put my head down as the car drives off in a cloud of exhaust fumes, wishing I didn’t have to spend almost two weeks alone in this place.
    I sit there long enough for the sky to change. The pink glow of sunset taken over by the purple clouds of evening twilight. Long enough for the shadows of the trees to stretch from our side of the street to the other side where they fall on abandoned lawns of dead houses.
    I can feel the cold in the soft center of my bones like a lullaby. I bring my knees up to my chest and lie down with my backpack tucked under my head. The books beneath the thin fabric like a pillow made of brick. Uncomfortable but still it feels nice as my body starts to freeze. The aches and pains from this afternoon slowly fade. I’m almost able to forget about the series of embarrassing events and leave them for dreams when the footsteps of someone approaching from the sidewalk and trampling through the fallen leaves on our lawn interrupt and spoil my frostbitten sleep.
    “Hey,” he says like it’s a question because he’s not sureI’m going to say anything back or just get up without a word, leaving him standing there with his hands in his pockets.
    It seems like too much effort to stay angry and so I give in.
    “Hi, Lukas,” I say, the way I’ve seen mothers forgiving their kids after they’ve done something wrong. I don’t bother to sit up, but I pull my feet closer to me as a way of inviting him to sit down.
    He doesn’t sit, though. Shoves his hands deeper into his pockets and does his best to look everywhere but at me. “Look, I’m sorry . . . about what happened at lunch and everything,” he says.
    “That’s okay,” I say. “I am, too.”
    The wind picks up in the distance. I can almost see it as it rolls over the hills and enters the valley. Blows against my skin and scatters our apology like it scatters the brown leaves over the ground, and we both put it behind us just like that.
    Lukas puts his hands up to his mouth to warm them as he nestles into the little corner of the porch steps that I vacated for him. His skin looks paler in the shadows. Almost ghost white against the heavy black sweatshirt that he always wears like a second skin. A warmer one. One that hides him in a constant shade.
    “How’d it go?” not daring to look at me as he asks. He stares at the empty driveway instead. The fresh oil spot making gasoline rainbows in the air where my dad’s car was only a few minutes ago and I’m glad Lukas came by. Glad I didn’t send him away because he’s actually the only one who cares. Cares enough to ask even though he hates the idea that I went through with it.
    I roll over on my back and stare up at the underside of the awning that covers our front door. “About as well as you said it would,” I say, sounding disinterested as I study the flaking remains of a