Quarantine Read online

  To my mom, who first showed me what a magical place a library is, and to Mila, who continues to remind me

  Title Page

  Dedication

  1. Oliver

  2. Flora

  3. Oliver

  4. Flora

  5. Oliver

  6. Flora

  7. Oliver

  8. Flora

  9. Oliver

  10. Flora

  11. Oliver

  12. Flora

  13. Oliver

  14. Flora

  15. Oliver

  16. Flora

  17. Oliver

  18. Flora

  19. Oliver

  20. Flora

  21. Oliver

  22. Flora

  23. Oliver

  24. Flora

  25. Oliver

  26. Flora

  27. Oliver

  28. Flora

  29. Oliver

  30. Flora

  31. Oliver

  32. Flora

  33. Oliver

  34. Flora

  35. Oliver

  36. Flora

  37. Oliver

  38. Flora

  39. Oliver

  40. Flora

  41. Oliver

  42. Flora

  43. Oliver

  44. Flora

  45. Oliver

  46. Flora

  47. Oliver

  48. Flora

  49. Oliver

  50. Flora

  51. Oliver

  52. Flora

  53. Oliver

  54. Flora

  55. Oliver

  56. Flora

  57. Oliver

  58. Flora

  59. Oliver

  60. Flora

  61. Oliver

  62. Flora

  63. Oliver

  64. Flora

  65. Oliver

  66. Flora

  67. Oliver

  68. Flora

  69. Oliver

  70. Flora

  71. Oliver

  72. Flora

  73. Oliver

  74. Flora

  75. Oliver

  76. Flora

  77. Oliver

  78. Flora

  79. Oliver

  80. Flora

  81. Oliver

  82. Flora

  83. Oliver

  84. Flora

  85. Oliver

  86. Flora

  87. Oliver

  88. Flora

  89. Oliver

  90. Flora

  91. Oliver

  92. Flora

  93. Oliver

  94. Flora

  95. Oliver

  96. Flora

  97. Oliver

  98. Flora

  99. Oliver

  100. Flora

  101. Oliver

  102. Flora

  103. Oliver

  104. Flora

  105. Oliver

  106. Flora

  107. Oliver

  108. Flora

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright

  My eyes sting against the brightness in my room when I wake up. I didn’t sleep well. I usually don’t before I have to get on a plane. I try to concentrate on the sound of the waves crashing outside my room, but it just reminds me of how much open water my plane will be flying over. I haven’t had a panic attack the entire trip, and I don’t want one on my last morning in the Dominican Republic.

  I get out of bed, grab some clothes, and head to the bathroom. I’m so tired as I brush my teeth that I drop my toothpaste cap down the drain. Which means I have to throw out the rest of my toothpaste. The travel-size tube is almost empty anyway, so it’s dumb that losing the cap bugs me, but it does.

  Annoyed, I quickly put on my clothes and head to the hotel lobby, which has been set up as a dining space for us volunteers. Everyone has their phones out and is swapping numbers and emails and stuff, including Emily, who is talking to Devon. She puts her hand on his arm, and I almost go back to my room, but she sees me and waves. I’m not sure if the wave means I should go over there or not, but I decide I should, even though Devon is less than thrilled as I approach their table.

  Emily’s eyes look even bluer with her new tan. Her smile turns to an expectant look. “Do you want to sit down?” she finally asks.

  “Sure,” I say, sitting. But I quickly spring back up. “I should get my breakfast first,” I mumble.

  “We’ll save your seat,” Emily calls as I get in line at the buffet table. I start to pile my plate with scrambled eggs, but in my hunger and tiredness I drop a bunch onto the platter of pancakes. I stand with the ladle in my hand, trying to decide if I should scoop the eggs off or just leave them, feeling my ears burn.

  I decide to leave the eggs, but as I head back to the table, I hear someone behind me in line say, “Eww, someone dropped eggs in the pancakes. That’s disgusting.”

  My ears feel like they’re going to catch on fire as I sit down again.

  Emily and Devon are both scrolling on their phones, so I’m not even sure if they’ve noticed I’m back, but Emily looks up just as I’m shoveling food in my mouth.

  She asks, “Oliver, I heard you’re not on our flight anymore?”

  I’ve just taken a huge bite, so I nod. They both look at me, and I realize I’m supposed to say more. “Going back on the earlier flight,” I finally manage to choke out.

  Devon rolls his eyes. “What, big party in Brooklyn you need to get back to?”

  My ears start to burn again. That’s actually exactly why I’m going back early, but it’s clear I can’t tell Devon that.

  “It’s a sorta … family emergency,” I lie.

  Devon rolls his eyes again and grabs his breakfast tray. “Have a safe flight,” he says, sarcasm dripping from his voice. Then he smiles at Emily. “See you at the beach in ten?”

  Emily gives him a dirty look, but Devon leaves smiling. “He’s such a jerk sometimes.” She watches him walk away, then turns to me again. “So, really, why are you heading back by yourself? I think you’re the only volunteer who actually wants to leave the Dominican Republic.”

  I fidget in my seat. “It’s not that. Something came up last minute back home.” Which is only 50 percent a lie. Kelsey mentioned the party on the first day of my trip, but she only actually invited me yesterday morning.

  “Olive …” It’s the nickname she thinks she invented for me. I haven’t had the heart to tell her my aunt Jana has called me “Olive, because you’re too little to be a whole Oliver” since I was three and it’s never not annoyed me.

  I avoid her eyes and pull my phone out of my pocket and start fiddling with it.

  Emily quickly reaches across the table and grabs the phone from me. It’s open to my pictures—specifically the one of Kelsey that I saved off Facebook. “Does Kelsey have anything to do with your early departure?”

  Busted. Maybe I’ve talked about Kelsey too much with Emily. Maybe I’ve talked about Kelsey too much with everyone.

  She raises an eyebrow at me, but I just sort of shrug, and she goes to my contacts to add her number.

  “Trade you,” she says, sliding her own phone my way. It’s totally different from mine, so I fumble for a bit with her watching while I add my phone number. I include the r in Oliver without even really thinking about it, then worry she’ll read into that, but I’ve already slid her phone back to her a little too hard. She barely catches it before it slides off the table.

  I cringe, but Emily just laughs again. “Bye, Olive. Don’t go breaking any hearts, okay?” She clears her breakfast dishes and heads out to the beach.

  I watch her leave, and as I look at the back of her head, her hair reminds me of Kelsey’s. I swear Kelsey used to we
ar her hair in a braid like that all the time. Maybe.

  I sit at the table by myself and pick up my phone. I scroll through all my texts with Kelsey. I pulled her number off Facebook and saved her in my contacts months ago but never actually texted her. Then suddenly on the way to the airport she texted me 2 bad ur gone all spring break. I stared at the message for a while, telling myself she had probably meant to text someone else, even though I had just posted a picture of my suitcase. I composed and rewrote and deleted, and when my mom went over a bump, my finger tapped the guy-in-sunglasses emoji. I wanted to throw up at first. But then she sent the wink emoji back, and somehow we texted the whole spring break, even though we have hung out exactly once outside school, when a big group of us went ice-skating. That was four months ago, and since then I could count the number of conversations I’ve had with her on one hand.

  I head back to my room to pack. I spent my junior-year spring break helping build houses in the Dominican Republic, so most of my clothes are dirty. I throw my crumpled and sweaty laundry into my suitcase. I look out my window one last time, at the beach and palm trees. I see Emily and Devon walking together, and I grab my suitcase and head to the lobby.

  I’m the only volunteer on the little airport shuttle. We stop at a couple of resorts to pick up other travelers. One man has three huge suitcases, and the driver can’t fit them in the undercarriage of the small bus. There is some rearranging, some yelling, and finally the man, who is now drenched in sweat, brings one of his suitcases on board. He doesn’t make eye contact with any of us and fans himself with his boarding pass.

  We’re already running late, and some of the other passengers are grumbling, but it’s fine with me, really. The less time I have to spend at the airport, waiting to get on a plane, the better. I wish there was a train that went from the Dominican Republic to Brooklyn. Or even a boat. Something lower to the ground that doesn’t go tens of thousands of feet in the air. I take a deep breath, wipe my sweaty hands on my legs.

  When we get to the airport, the sunburned resort-goers pile off the bus in front of me. Because I was the first one on the bus, my suitcase is the last one the driver pulls out. He wipes the sweat off his face with his shirt. I wasn’t watching anyone else, so I’m not sure if a tip would be welcome or insulting. I opt for a handshake, which he looks confused about. I mumble “Gracias!” and walk into the airport. I should say more in Spanish—should know more Spanish, considering my dad was born in Mexico—but I don’t.

  The security line is long and moving slowly. My mom tries calling, but I feel weird talking on the phone with so many people around me. Then she texts—and she doesn’t stop texting. Hope you’re at airport. Did you get my last text? I can picture her pacing our pristine apartment, wiping down the counters for the third time this morning, the phone in her other hand.

  I send her a quick message: Sorry, was packing and saying bye. I’ll see you in a few hours.

  She writes back so quickly I wonder if she already had the message composed: You’re sure everything is okay? You’re really just coming back early for a party??

  I look up at the line, take a deep breath. Yes, Mom, just a party. At security.

  A millisecond later: Okay. Let me know when you’re on the plane.

  I close out of the text with my mom and send a quick group text to Kelsey and Lucy asking for the address tonight, even though I was at Lucy’s house a few months ago when we had to do a history project together. I’m getting close to the front of the line, so I shove my phone into my bag. I look up, and a woman is trying to walk through the metal detector while on a phone call. She looks confused when the security workers make her hang up. No one else seems bothered … except for a girl at the front of the line, who I swear is wearing a flannel shirt that Kelsey has. She’s looking around, and our eyes lock for a second. Without thinking about it, I roll my eyes and smile, and she smiles back at me.

  She has a really great smile.

  Airports suddenly seem a little less scary.

  Flying in general seems less scary when I get to the gate and see that the girl is on my flight.

  I’ve been awake and packed and ready for this flight since dawn. I know how I must look: a surly teenager in jeans and boots and a flannel button-down, totally at odds with the vacation vibe. Even in the airport, I see people in flip-flops and swim trunks as if they’ve been dragged here straight from the beach.

  Me? I can’t wait to get out of here.

  I grab a seat at the gate. I take out my phone and see that Goldy, my dad’s new wife, has posted the selfie she took of us when they dropped me off. There’s already a score of vapid comments:

  OMG, u and ur stepdaughter could be sisters!

  SO CUTE.

  #hotmomma

  The last comment is from my dad. I try not to gag as I untag myself from the photo. I fiddle with my settings so Goldy can’t tag me in anything ever again.

  It hasn’t been much of a vacation, and not just because it rained almost all week. Since my dad remarried and moved to the Dominican Republic, he seems to think he’s on some kind of permanent spring break. While they slept till noon, I spent my mornings cleaning up pizza boxes and salsa bowls and sticky blenders—only to have it all reappear the next day.

  I’m used to cleaning up other people’s messes. Which, you know, is fine. But it doesn’t make for a great vacation.

  I scroll through Instagram some more and look at the pictures Jenna put up last night of her and Becca hanging out in Becca’s apartment. No wonder neither one of them responded to my texts. Clearly they were too busy posing with Becca’s cat and burning brownies. I feel yet another jolt of anger at my dad for taking me away from my friends for an entire week. Jenna and Becca have never hung out without me before; they weren’t even friends until I introduced them.

  The gate agent starts boarding the plane, and since it’s a smaller plane, the process is quick and I’m at my seat in no time. I sit next to the window, and the aisle seat next to me remains empty. I stretch out and open my book. I’ve already read Gulliver’s Travels and started my notes for my paper, but I should probably do some more work. I’m tired, though. The bed at my dad’s condo was way too soft, and the feathers in the pillows gave me a runny nose. They called it “my” bed in “my” room, but hadn’t bothered to ask me about any of it. And the room really didn’t suit me at all. There was animal print everywhere. Who knew it was even possible to buy a leopard-print tissue cover?

  I look up and notice a guy about my age carrying a bag of McDonald’s getting on the plane. He has dark hair, and even from where I’m sitting I notice his light eyes. He pulls one of his hands out of the bag and waves. I certainly don’t know anyone in the DR besides my dad and Goldy, so I figure he must be waving at someone behind me. I don’t wave back, and he blushes.

  I feel a little bad, so I try to smile just in case he was waving at me, but he’s already looking away, his face bright red, and he climbs into the aisle seat in the row in front of me.

  The flight attendant is about to close the plane door when one last passenger hurries onto the plane. He blows his nose as he climbs over McDonald’s guy and sits down. I wrinkle my nose. A cold will be a great souvenir from my awesome junior-year spring break.

  McDonald’s guy is stuffing french fries in his mouth, but he looks over his shoulder as germ man blows his nose again. Their seats are close together, my seat is close to theirs, and I feel a little nauseous smelling the fries and thinking about the germs flying around. I sweat a little in my flannel, and I crank on the air-conditioning fan over my head.

  “Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen! I’m Maria, your flight attendant. Welcome aboard flight 4548, with nonstop service to Miami.” I can barely hear the rest, because now germ man has a coughing fit.

  The other guy pushes away his half-empty container of fries.

  It figures that I change flights and end up sitting next to a guy with a cold. And I’m such a doofus to wave at the girl from the s
ecurity line. Now I’m stuck in front of her for the next ninety minutes. My palms are wet again, but I’m not sure if it’s from the anxiety that is slowly sliding into my brain or from the greasy fries I just inhaled to try to keep my nerves at bay. The man sneezes, and I move over in my seat.

  I glance around the plane, wondering if maybe I should get off, if I should just go back on the later flight after all with the rest of the volunteers. But that’s not for another six hours, and what would I say to everyone, that I had another change of plans? I can just imagine Devon’s face … Plus my mom really would freak out. Which reminds me to text her: About to take off. Will text from Miami. See you soon.

  I’ll be tracking your flight. But let me know when you land just in case.

  I stick my phone back in my pocket, but it buzzes again a second later. I wipe my hands on my jeans, dig out my phone again, and it’s Lucy. She’s sent her address and said c u 2nite? Which could mean she’s just wondering if I’m going. Or it could also mean she’s confused about why I’m going to the party at all. I wish Kelsey had been the one to text.

  I take deep breaths, but then the man next to me starts coughing, and all I can think about is how I’ve just inhaled all those germs. I unbuckle my seat belt. I can’t sit here anymore.

  But the flight attendant is walking by, and places her hand on my shoulder sternly. “Sir, we are just about to take off. I need you to buckle your seat belt and put your phone on airplane mode.” I slide low into my seat, wanting to disappear. I glance around again, look through the space between the seats, to the row behind me, where the girl from the security line is sitting. I feel my face turning red again thinking about that dumb wave, but luckily she has her head down, reading, and she doesn’t see me get in trouble with the flight attendant. I look enviously at the empty seat next to her.

  We push back from the gate, and we’re taxiing. This isn’t Newark with all its plane traffic. I look out the window, then quickly look away. I don’t want to see all the water we’re going to fly over.

  The man next to me makes a little chorus of sneezes and coughs and sniffles. I adjust the air-conditioning knob above my seat and realize it’s already on full blast. Aside from him, the flight seems eerily quiet, and the rest of the passengers’ relaxation unsettles me. Doesn’t everyone realize we’re about to hurtle through the air in a tin can, thirty thousand feet above the ground, over a whole bunch of open water that is probably infested with sharks? I wipe my wet hands on my pants again. The woman ahead of me yawns loudly and stretches. With that, the plane races forward, and I sink back into my seat and dig my nails into the armrests as I feel the wheels lift from the ground.