Page 30 of Dating After the End of the World
We enter a long field that serves as the firing range. Paper targets are tacked up on trees at the far end. An assortment of wooden dummies and archery targets lines the sides of the clearing, and two makeshift tables constructed from fallen trees mark the start of the range. My aunt and uncle are already at one of them, taking turns firing shots.
“All right, let’s see what ya got,” my dad says as we reach the other table. He sets his guns down and dusts his hands off.
I nod and walk to a line spray-painted white in the grass and pull a throwing star from my pouch. Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes and picture back to when I’d run up and down this dirt track, hurling stars at the wooden dummies and archery targets. I’d pretend I was a ninja, plucking the stars out of one target before I would turn and, with the flick of a wrist, send the blades into another. It was the most fun I had growing up, and that’s why I practiced as much as I did. Plus, I was good at it, and it’s fun to do things we excel at.
I open my eyes again and exhale, picturing Blake’s face on the paper target straight ahead. In one fluid motion, I move my arm back slightly before throwing it forward and flicking my wrist at the very last second. The star whistles through the air, striking the center of the target with a hard thud.
“That’s my girl,” my father whispers to himself.
Energized by my accuracy, I pull out another star, repeating the process. First, picture Blake. Draw back. Throw forward. Flick my wrist. Boom. It hits right next to the previous one.
“If you could carry a thousand of those, you could take down a whole army.” He laughs, patting me on the back.
“It’s easy when I just picture Blake’s face.”
My dad’s laughter fades as his mouth forms a hard line.
I glance over at him and squint. “How did he go from hired hand to best friend?”
“I wouldn’t say we’re best friends,” Dad says, folding his arms over his brawny chest. “But we are friends. Blake’s a good, hardworking man. I know he wasn’t good to you in the past, but why not give him a chance to show you that he’s changed? I assure you he has, because no one stays the same forever.”
I twist my lips, moving them side to side, thinking back to all the horrible moments Blake caused, all the tears he made me cry, all the nights I spent in bed, feeling more alone than any young girl should. I could forgive those, if only the moments had stayed bad. It’s the good ones I can’t forgive.
The bell ringing signaled the end of school, but I was already out in the parking lot making my way to my truck. I tossed my backpack in the passenger seat and hopped in, ready to get home and get started on my homework and whatever prepper project Dad had in store for me. The twist of my key in the ignition created only a grinding sound, like metal wailing out in pain.
“Not again.” I groaned and popped the hood, so I could see what new ailment had fallen upon the old hunk of junk. Lifting the latch, I proppedthe hood up with the metal support bar and scanned the assortment of objects that I could barely name, let alone fix.
“Having car trouble?” a voice called from behind me.
I turned to see Blake approaching, armed with a smile, which felt more like a disguise. For some reason, he’d been nice to me since the school year started a few weeks prior, and bynice, I mean he hadn’t picked on me or pulled any cruel pranks. I had to assume he was playing the long game that year, waiting until I let my guard down so he could hit me with some massive evil plan he had been brewing.
“No,” I lied, refocusing my attention on the engine or whatever it was I was looking at.
“It looks like you are, and I can help,” Blake said, joining me at my side.
I stared at him, squinting in suspicion before scanning my surroundings to make sure none of his cronies were hiding in wait, ready to slam the hood on me or whatever else they might have pulled. I noticed his smile hadn’t faded and there was a kindness in his eyes—despite my hesitancy coupled with silence. He had seemed nice as of late, saying hi to me in class and nodding when we passed each other in the hall. Blake had even lent me a pencil when mine broke midway through a quiz. Maybe he had changed. Maybe, like my external glow-up, he had had an internal glow-up over the summer and decided to be kind and mature instead of ... well ... an asshole.
“Fine. Go ahead and help,” I said with a shrug. There was hesitation in my voice, as I was still uneasy accepting his about-face.
Blake leaned over the truck’s exposed interior, inspecting the different components, fiddling with some wires, checking the oil and various fluid levels.
“You know a lot about cars?” I watched him work, the muscles in his arms flexing.
“Yeah, it’s kind of a hobby of mine.” Blake pulled something out of place, cleaned it off, and replaced it. “Try it again,” he said with a grin.
I got back in the driver seat and turned the key. Nothing.
“Hold on,” he yelled from behind the propped-up sheet of metal.
I could see him moving under the crack of the hood, his large hands shifting quickly, like a magician performing the shell game. I’m not sure why his behavior had changed, but there was something about him helping me while I was in need that created a small tingle in my stomach, and when his voice called out for me to try again, my ears no longer wanted to close up in disgust. Instead, I found it rather comforting.
With another twist of the key, the roar of the engine woke the rest of the vehicle from its temporary slumber. Grateful for his efforts, I felt a smile spread across my face, and I tried to tamp it as I got out of the truck. Blake closed the hood and wiped his hands off on his jeans, leaving light smears of grease behind.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” He nodded. “It just had a loose wire.” His eyes skimmed over me, from my head to my toes. “But everything else looks good,” Blake added, and I wasn’t so sure he was still talking about my truck.
“I really appreciate it,” I said, my voice coming out in a soft yet eager tone, one I didn’t know I was capable of producing. Blake must have felt the same way, or at least that’s what I noticed in his eyes. There was a sense of curiosity that made his green irises look less vomity and more like the first budding leaves of a tree in spring.
