Gasoline | Ben Parish

44

TEACUP'S home is a two-story that has been ransacked for food by other people trying to survive. The doorknob was broken on the front door. I kept an eye on her when we first went in to make sure that she didn't go Dorothy, but she held it together pretty well.

"We can get food in the morning," Ringer says.

"Where?" Dumbo asks. "It's not like we can go to a store."

"We'll find some," Ringer promises. Then she turns to Teacup. "What's the room situation?"

"You can take my parent's room," Teacup says, pointing the room out. "You're tall. You can probably fit in my Mom's clothes. Dumbo and Poundcake can take my brother's old room. They can fit in his clothes." She points out the boys room.

I shift my weight impatiently. "What about me? Am I on the couch?"

"Or maybe the dog house?" Dumbo mutters. I send him a glare.

Teacup shakes her head. "My sister and I shared a room. You can take the bottom bunk."

Just like at Camp Haven.

"So it's settled," Ringer decides. "Everyone get some sleep. We leave early tomorrow morning." With that, she disappears into the bedroom beside the stairs.

"Goodnight, I guess," Dumbo says. "C'mon, Cake." He stomps up the stairs. Poundcake follows him. They shut the door behind them.

Teacup starts up the stairs. I follow her sluggishly. I didn't realize until now how tired I actually am, especially after all the chaos from today and I didn't get good sleep last night because of how late Zombie and I stayed up.

She opens her bedroom door. Out of habit, she flips the light switch. The fan doesn't turn on. She grimaces, pushes the switch back down, and walks further into the dark room.

The walls are pink with butterfly and flower decals. The bunkbed is green, made to look like it was fashioned from vines in some fairy forest. A dull lava lamp sits on the white dresser. Teacup stares at it longingly before sitting on the edge of the bottom bunk.

I shut the door and start to strip. "Where's the spare clothes?"

She jerks her chin towards the right drawer. I squat down and pull it out. "Shit." I shake my head and turn to glare at her. "How old was your sister? And where's all the warm clothes?"

"She was 14," Teacup says quietly. "When everything happened, it was hot outside. Our winter clothing is in storage. We'll have to get it out tomorrow morning."

"Jesus Christ," I grumble. Still, I slip into the heart-patterned shirt and shorts. "These barely cover my ass." I tug at the hem.

"That's how they're supposed to fit. They're pajamas."

"I know, but..."

Teacup snorts. Then, she cruelly rants, "Too bad Zombie isn't here, huh? You would be in a better mood. You could wear those shorts and you two could take the downstairs couch or something. He'd keep you warm."

"What the fuck? You're fucking seven years old! Why the fuck do you always talk like that?" I demand.

She shrugs. "My sister and I used to talk about the boys she liked at school. That's how she talked."

Well, that certainly pops my pissed-off bubble.

I come to sit beside her, bare legs touching her rough uniform. "Look," I say slowly. I have to force myself to keep a pleasant tone of voice. "I know older siblings are people you look up to and stuff. It's okay to want to be like them. But you also need to be your own person."

"I am," she says defiantly.

"No, you're not. You're trying to be her by saying stuff that she would say, and that's not right, Teacup. It's not appropriate-"

"Who are you to tell me what's appropriate and what's not?" She commands.

I roll my eyes. "I'm just saying-"

"I am my own person. I'm still alive. My sister's not because she made a stupid mistake." Teacup throws her eyepiece to the ground. It shatters. She kicks the edge of the pink throw rug, causing it to fold over the broken glass. "I'm not trying to be her. I'm not trying to be dead. I'm just trying to act as old as her so people will take me seriously."

My teeth sink into my lower lip. "People do take you seriously."

"Like who?"

"Everyone in this squad."

"Bullshit."

"Fine. Don't believe it." I shove her off the edge of the bed and rip back the covers. "I'm going to sleep. If you're going to cry into your pillow about your dead sister, try to keep it down. I'm tired."

Normally this would cause my opponent to cringe.

But not Teacup. She's too tough.

"Fine," she says evenly. "As long as you don't keep me up with your crying for Zombie."

Ouch.