Page 92 of The Outsider
Her eyes flew open, wide as saucers, and I avoided her gaze.
“Why didn’t you tell me?!” she exclaimed. “Here I am, commiserating about how we don’t know what the hell’s next as far as school goes, and you’ve been a teacher all this time? You can literally solve all my problems.”
She said the last part with such certainty that I couldn’t suppress a giggle. Nevertheless, I said, “I’m an outsider who was barely allowed to stay. I don’t think anyone would really want me teaching their kids.”
“That’s just not true,” she replied, patting down dirt a little more aggressively than was needed. “You’re more qualified than anyone we could possibly find. And I’d help you—I know all the kids and their parents. I know what’s going on, lesson-wise. I can fill you in.”
I hesitated. “I don’t know. I don’t want to make waves.”
Jenna clucked her tongue. “That’s the only way you’ll make a difference, though. And you’re smart and resourceful and lovely; you’ll change their minds.”
“You just met me,” I said, bemused.
She fixed me with a serious stare, but her eyes twinkled. “Yes, and I’m an excellent judge of character.”
Her complete confidence made me laugh—it reminded me of Kimmy—but I was still unsure as we walked back toward the farmhouse, our duties done for the day.
“Please, Claire,” Jenna begged. “I need a mentor. Together, we could get the education here back on track. Please at least say you’ll think about it.”
I bit my lip. “Alright. I’ll give it some thought.”
“And come to music practice with me and Liam,” she said with a grin. “We meet twice a week to play together.”
The thought of playing music again made excitement rise inside me, and despite our age difference, I was eager to hang out with Jenna again. It just felt so good to have shared interests with someone again.
“I will,” I said happily. “Thanks for helping me today. It made everything much less overwhelming.”
Jenna scoffed as she followed me into the house.
“What are friends for?
Chapter 25
Claire
The last few weeks of January passed by in a blur of activity.
Summerhurst’s revival began to take shape. John and Kimmy successfully repaired the irrigation system and the truck. We finished planting in the greenhouse, and we got the distillery up and running again so that it’d be ready for spring. John started hunting and trapping again to supplement our food supply, and Kimmy and I got up early every morning to feed and care for the animals together. John busied himself working on the tractor, which needed major repairs to be ready for the spring.
Restoring the truck meant that I had my first car ride in over a year—and the only car ride in which a person was driving. The compound only had self-driving vehicles, which were a public utility that anyone could use.
“I promise not to leave us in a ditch,” John said with a playful grin as he palmed the steering wheel to make a U-turn.
I was nervous at first, but the truck was clearly built for offroad driving, and he quickly put me at ease. He navigated Summerhursteffortlessly, the way he did most things, and just like when I first saw him ride Ghost, watching him drive was strangely sexy. His strong hands on the wheel made me picture all the times they’d been on my naked body, and I had to distract myself by gazing out the window.
Spending mornings one-on-one with Kimmy made the work go by quickly. Her easy sense of humour and friendly nature reminded me of why she’d become one of my best friends. We laughed together and chatted easily as we worked, and I looked forward to it every day. Unfortunately, however, one of our most frequent topics of conversation was Kimmy’s frustrations with Asha, who remained, if anything, more distant than ever. After she’d left on her first scav mission, she hadn’t looked back and was gone for days at a time.
“I hate that she goes off on her own,” Kimmy complained one morning as we were collecting eggs from the chicken coop. “It’s against the rules. We scav in pairs for a reason.”
I sighed. “Why do they let her, then?”
Kimmy hesitated. “Because she’s an outsider, and they don’t want to go with her. They don’t trust her.”
“But they’re still willing to take anything she brings back,” I noted, unable to keep a note of bitterness out of my tone.
“Yeah, it’s fucked; I know. Worse, she’s good at it, even on her own. All the more reason she shouldn’t do it, but apparently being here with us—with me—is so fucking unbearable that she just has to escape.”
“I don’t think it’s that, Kim,” I replied, touching her arm. “She cares for you. She just doesn’t know how to do that the right way anymore. I’d bet anything that she’s realizing that now, and her response is to run away. It’s easier than admitting that she cares about staying here and fitting in.”
