“Are you going to tell us the plan,” Quinn asked.

I was reluctant to face her too-knowing grey eyes. She had a bruise developing near her temple, red and angry against her ivory skin, but I couldn’t tell if there was another. Quinn started doing that hair-rustling thing when she got impatient, so I quickly flicked my eyes behind me. The rest of the Westwood kids, nor our remaining chaperone, had traveled over here yet, too enraptured by the man’s tirade.

“Thanks for listening to Inès,” I finally answered, coming closer. Quinn silently walked with me as I approached the group. I took a deep breath. “I need you guys to let me say everything I’m thinking and then ask questions after I finish.” Seeing their nods, I started my spiel.

“Inès is sorting out the supplies and making inventory so that we can figure out what to allot everyone. Of course, there will be a lot of pushback, but what we need right now is something to focus on as a whole group before the real problem comes in. Alliances. After redistributing, that will probably happen within the next two days. I want us to make a separate camp, not too far away, but enough where we can have privacy and distance from them.” I saw understanding and agreement in everyone. Well, almost everyone. 

“Micah,” I said, turning to him. “I know you’re friends with the other Westwood kids that came here, and it’s fine if you don’t want to join. The offer will always be on the table.”

He briefly rubbed his head, mulling over it, but I knew his answer.

“Yeah, I would stay with y’all, but I gotta look out for Daisy and 'em, and they're really private. I think we'll need a few days to sort ourselves out before we can really plan ahead like that. But, if you're cool with it, maybe we could join up later.”

“That's no problem, hun.” Out of the corner of my eye, I caught said girl crying in Georgia’s arms. “Always an open door for you and yours. Go check up on her.”

He gave me a tight side hug as he left, waving goodbye to the girls and Anthony.

“Anthony, you stayin’?”

I glanced at the boy. His olive skin seems to get redder with every passing moment. When I focused on his face, I couldn't help but notice his weak jaw and spare lips, not to forget his bug eyes that always rubbed me the wrong way. I don't particularly like him; his attitude stinks and he is self-centered, but we could use a guy.

“I like you much better than Liam.” Not the affirmative response I hoped for, but he’s not exactly one of our close friends.

“I’d hope so. Everybody good?”

“Yes.”

“Yup.”

“Duh.”

“Mmhmm.”

“I guess,” Quinn says from beside me.

“Nice. Inès, what do we have?”

We had enough blankets between the airplane and personal ones for my friends and me to have individual ones. Then, each group, which now seems to be three, would have four, in addition to the blankets they may have packed. Every group would be given cotton fabrics to sift with. Most of us had water bottles in our backpacks—some even filled with water from the airport—which we kept for ourselves and opted to take only a singular stack of cups; the rest could go to the other survivors. I made notes as we went, brainstorming and sketching a plan for shelter.

As for the food, we had snacks in our own bags, but we hit the jackpot when we found our former chaperone, Ms. Wither’s lunchbox. It's the ultimate insulated plane snack bag, packed to the zipper with pretzel sticks, fruit snacks, nuts and raisins, rice crisps, beef jerky, and granola bars.

I had to think before I spoke on this. Ant and Quinn were already arguing over the ethics of withholding food from the others: Anthony was for keeping it for ourselves because Octavia and I were the ones to find it, which I agreed with. Quinn was for sharing them to ensure we didn’t create more trouble, which I understood and couldn’t ignore.

“How about this,” I said, interrupting them. “We can fairly divide everything but keep more jerky and granola bars as compensation for us risking our lives.”

“Just the jerky and bars,” Anthony whined.

“High protein in both. The rest, except the fruit snacks and pretzels, will be nutritious and keep us fuller for longer periods. If we push for anything more, there's gonna be a fight,” Quinn answered.

“I can’t do math, but just make it as proportional looking as possible.”

I’m adding this to my notes when Octavia's eyes widen. “Shit, they’re on their way over here.”

Refusing to turn around, I keep writing. “Reyya, get in front of Inès so she can zip the bag before they get closer,” I say as low as possible. “Girls, don’t try to hide the food and let me do the talking. Continue to organize what we have. The rest of y’all need to loosen up, but watch their reactions.” I angled my body towards Quinn as I heard sand rustling behind me.

“Yeah, I don’t know. I feel like we won’t know where we are until night. If one of us remembers the constellations, we can figure out something. Still, I don't know if that’s dumb,” I start, not too loud, but loud enough that the majority stomping up to us could catch it. “Oh my God, Caleb! You’re in Boy Scouts, right? Didn’t you get your Astronomy merit a couple of years ago,” I say to the tall boy. I already know the answer. His faint eyebrows recede into his light blond hair, eyes showing stark surprise at my question. I wasn’t one to socialize with him or his ilk, but I did eavesdrop.

“Yeah,” he responds, confused.

“You, Georgia, and Annabeth were also in the Astronomy elective this past year, yes?”

“Yeah, why?”

“I was thinking, like, we were obviously crossing the Atlantic ocean. Do you think you could find any major stars to guess where we might be when it's nightfall?”

“Definitely,” he says. I watched his chest puff out slightly now that he’s been given a task. Boys. I don't even think my request makes sense.

“Bet. Anyways, as you guys see, we tried to get stuff off the plane just in case. I tried to get as much as I saw, I’m really sorry if I didn’t grab your stuff. If you guys see your book bag or suitcase, grab it.” As a couple walked over, I continued on before anyone could challenge me on the suitcases we went through. “Based on our current headcount, we’ve only opened suitcases and bags with name tags of people who are no longer here. It sucks, but we gotta do what we gotta do. So far, Inès and Zahra are organizing the supplies, and we’re,” I said, motioning to my friends, “planning to make a separate camp. I figured you guys will decide amongst yourselves if you want to stick together as a big group.Knowingy'all, it probably won’t last long.”

I hear a few snorts around me. Yeah, we know we’re dysfunctional.

“And the adults will do their own thing. I think they’re almost finished with the list. There are blankets, cups, snacks, and other shit for everyone. I know this is a bit much, and I can already see that some of you hate that we’re making all these arrangements. To be honest, I don’t really care. I suggest you send two people or something to work with Zahra and Inès. If you don’t trust us to keep things transparent, hopefully, that’ll make you feel better. Just send as few people as possible so they won’t complicate whatever system they've got going on.”

“Who died and made you queen,” I hear Kendall say behind somebody.  Of course she did.

“Well, a bunch of people died, so that was real insensitive of you. If you would shut the fuck up, maybe I could explain where my head’s at.” I directed it toward Kendall. “Sunset is going to happen in the next two hours or so, and we need to haul ass on distributing supplies because I don’t know how cold it’s going to get. Feel free to sit around and be a pain in the ass."

Facing the rest of my peers again, I donned my best politician aura. "I’ll be upfront, I and Octavia will be calling dibs on the extras of the beef jerky and protein bars, because we risked our asses, and that’s that. Like I said to Baldy, we’ll give you cotton clothing for sifting water, blankets, cups, snacks, and minimal first aid items. Yes, alcohol will be among the first aid items. I implore those of you who are well on their way to being a part of the future AA groups of America,” I said, looking at Matt and Dawson, “to refrain from drinking it for now.” 

“Damn,” Dawson tsked, his ginger caterpillar-stache curling, while Matt held his hands up with a shocked expression only a light-skin man like himself could pull off.

“Hey, I’m not that bad.”

Everyone, and I mean everyone, faces him with raised brows. Just the week before, he nearly had alcohol poisoning while attending Trent’s birthday party. I mean, the boys got him to throw up before it was absorbed. However, it was still bad enough that he couldn’t even attend church that Sunday. Hell, it might be a good thing he’s with us, because lord knows his daddy has been trying to get him clean for months. If we make it out, I dare say his liver will be thankful for the break, although not the rest of his body. Or mind. Or anything. 

Oh well.

The boy had the audacity to scoff. “Oh, fuck y’all.”

“Fate already did that. I’m kinda done talking. Send a few people if you want to get said supplies. Krys and I are going to go look for kindling. I suggest you do the same while waiting for your rations.”

I didn’t dare look at Krys, praying they’d take up whatever discord between us in private. We had some...issues to work out. The trip was supposed to be a way to, I don’t know, talk again? But as I heard their footsteps and brave myself enough to flick my eyes, my stomach dropped as I watched their eyes become glassier by the second.

I gotta get Krys outta here now.

“Alright, well, that’s it for now. See ya later.”

I snapped my book closed, tucking it into the waistband of my leggings like the admin would. While Krys made their way over, I reached into my backpack, pulling out my keychain and an opened cake of yarn.  As Krys and I set off, I nodded at Quinn, letting her know she was in charge.

As Krys came closer, their blank expression caused a sharp ache in my chest. Is this what people usually feel like when dealing with their ex?

Lord help.