Brett takes his bike from the hallway and heads out.
The eerie quietness of the empty house slithers around me. I check the gold clock above the refrigerator. It’s 11 a.m. Crap. Hilltop Park is about four miles from here, which means I can jog there in about twenty-five minutes if I hurry.
I quickly wash my dish, throw on my workout gear, and slather on sunscreen.
Before I leave, I pick up the home phone and call Katie.
“Sup, dude?” Katie says.
“Leaving now. Sending all my calls to you,” I respond.
“Got it. See you soon.”
I hang up on Katie and then input her number for call forwarding.
I sneak through the back gate and run around the block so I don’t pass Mrs. Nunez’ little spy zone.
About thirty minutes and one steep climb later, I reach the fence encircling the soccer field. The balding lawn smells musty from the morning sprinklers, which have caused the surrounding wooden benches to crack and silver over the years. An empty bag blows past my feet, skipping like tumbleweed.
You can see most of Reno from up here: a brown desert below, with patchwork of brown suburban neighborhoods, brown shopping centers, and brown casinos. Beyond all that, about fifty miles to the west, the massive Sierra Nevada Mountains are covered in green pine tree forests. If it wasn’t for those mountains, I would’ve suffocated on all the brown a long time ago.
“Cute shirt,” Katie says as I jog to my three friends standing in the middle of the field. She’s the only one to notice my approach, as my other two friends, Maria and Jane, seem to be preoccupied arguing with each other.
“Another thrift store find?” Katie’s lip curls on her long, yet symmetrical face.
I glance down. My t-shirt says “speed limit” with the letter “C” under it.
“Well you know, the thrift store is the only brand I can afford.” I wink.
“What the hell is ‘C’?” Katie asks.
I laugh. “The speed of light.”
“You’re hopeless, Harper.” Katie shakes her head. “And why are you so sweaty?”
“Ran here.”
“You’re crazy, dude.” She chuckles.
“Onto business then.” I hold out my hand.
She gives me her phone. “It’s yours for the next hour. Unless someone named ‘California Boy 2000’ sends me a DM on Insta.”
“Got it,” I say.
“I don’t know how the hell you don’t have a phone. Even homeless people have phones these days.”
I shrug and put her phone into my shorts pocket. “Tell that to my mom.”
“Don’t lose it! Or sweat on it either!” She says shrilly.
“—That’s not true!” Jane shouts at Maria beside us. Jane’s frustrated hand gestures make her black studded bracelets glint in the sun.
Katie rolls her eyes at them. “They’re arguing about the Sleeping Syndrome,” she says with a sigh, bouncing her soccer ball from knee to knee.
I groan. “Not you guys too. Can we talk about anything else? My mom’s being her usual self about it.” I say it louder than is necessary, trying to distract them from their disagreement, but they continue.
Katie manages to impressively bounce her soccer ball from knee to foot. “Your mom would be. She flips over anything.” Katie kicks the ball into the air and catches it.
“That’s crazy!” Maria shouts. “Why would the government want to kill everyone who’s got it?” Her eyes wander over to me from behind her thick horn-rimmed glasses. “Hey Harper,” she says, finally acknowledging my existence. She motions me into the debate, which I don’t want to be a part of.
“Think about where it first popped up,” Jane says, also looking at me now. “They tested it in that small, isolated Maasai Mara game reserve in Kenya so they could perfect it there. Then it disappeared completely for six months. The only reason we knew about it was because some guy posted photos of the bodies on Reddit.”
“Okay, so why would the government want it here all of a sudden?” Maria asks.
“Can’t you see? The government used it to wipe out an entire homeless shelter in New York yesterday. Fewer mouths to feed. Duh.”
“You honestly believe the government wants to kill homeless people?” Maria’s mouth falls open.
“Ugh. You have to read We Know —”
“Come on. Not that site again —”
“Guys, seriously,” I say, holding up my hands. “I have to tell you what happened last night.” If you let her, Jane could argue her conspiracy theories for hours.
“Fine. But I have one more thing to add,” Jane says, and a collective sigh comes from our group. Katie stops juggling her ball.
“Just do me a favor and get your survival supplies ready in case you have to make a quick escape. You can find a list of supplies on —”
“We Know!” I say.
Everyone but Jane laughs.
“We’ll be fine,” Katie says, waving her hand. “Look, I’ve got all the supplies I need.” She pulls a vape from her bag and offers it to Jane, who makes a sour expression and bats it away. Katie giggles to herself and blows a small cloud from her vape at Maria.
“Katie, that nasty habit of yours is going to kill us before the government gets a chance.” Maria says, shaking her head. “Now what did you want to tell us, Harper?” she asks, glancing at my t-shirt with an approving smile.
They all stare, and at that moment a funny suspicion comes prickling in. I sense more than just their eyes upon me: as if from beyond the fringes of the park, something else is watching us.
“Harper?” Maria asks.
Sweat trickles down my face. “Um … I — my mom grounded me because she’s worried about that Syndrome thing.” I pull my gaze from the bush line of the surrounding desert.
“Jane, have you been talking to Harper’s mom?” Katie jokes.
“Very funny,” Jane says.
“Sometimes it does seem that your mom looks for any excuse to keep you locked in the house,” Maria adds.
“Duh,” Katie says. “Her mom’s crazy. She probably doesn’t even know you’re here, does she?”
I shrug.
Katie laughs. “Here. I can help! I think I have a flask tucked away in here somewhere. We can make practice a little more interesting.” She digs through her leopard print bag with one hand, holding her vape in the other, looking like a movie star in soccer gear.
“Katie …” Maria warns.
“What?! Come on, Maria! Harper’s got to have a little fun once in a while. When we’re all old and wrinkled, she’s not going to have any good stories to tell!”
“Maybe another time,” I say. “I need to leave in about an hour so I can beat Brett home from work.”
“Ooh. Sexy, tan, tall, muscular Brett,” Katie says, fanning herself.
“So gross,” I say. “Besides, he’s an asshole.”
“That’s my favorite type! You know I’ve got a thing for the bad boys.”
“He’s too old for you, Katie,” Maria says, pushing up her glasses.
“And … and it would be gross,” I remind her.