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Authors: Yvonne Ventresca
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sick, but that didn’t mean she had the flu, or that it lurked inside my body, waiting to assault me.
I glanced at the time. I’d be about ten minutes late for her date. Maybe the mystery guy would already be gone. I texted Ethan, letting him know I was running behind. He sent back a frowny face.
Inside the coffee shop, I checked out the other customers while I waited my turn to order. At least everyone looked healthy. Two moms chatted with toddlers on their laps. A heavy-set guy about our age talked on his cell phone at a table by the window. Hmm. Could he be Megs’s friend?
Then I spotted who I’d imagined her talking to: an old man who needed a bath, hunched in the corner in his torn raincoat. I didn’t see a book on his table, only a newspaper. “Illness Invades Suburban New Jersey” the headline screamed. The large, bold type scared me, and so did the guy reading it.
She’s been chatting with a creeper. I knew it.
Shivering, I ordered a decaf caramel latte with skim milk to go. While a long-haired guy made my drink, I glanced at the rest of the customers. There was a group of girls, maybe college-aged. No other boys.
That was it. I had done my good deed. After getting my coffee, I turned to hurry out and crashed right into Jay, knocking his book to the floor.
“I’m such a klutz.” I picked up the paperback and handed it to him. Miraculously, the plastic lid contained my drink.
“I’m sorry I’m late.” His cheeks reddened.
“What?” I held the door handle, ready to go.
He stared at the paperback a moment before slowly handing it to me.
I took it, confused. “ The Anti-Optimist’s Guide to the Universe ?”
“I kept hoping it was you,” Jay said.
C HAPTER 8
One troubling aspect of the flu in 1918 was the number of healthy young adults who died. There is concern that the Blue Flu may follow the same unusual and deadly pattern of fatalities.
—Blue Flu interview, emerging infectious disease specialist
C lutching the book, I could almost hear the click, click, click of my brain slowing as I stood in the coffee shop facing Jay.
“All those times online,” he said. “Did you know it was me? It took me awhile to figure out it was you.”
Perplexed, I stalled for time. “What made you think it was me?”
“When we walked home from the grocery store that day, you mentioned the end-of-the-world movie and being an only child, like we talked about online.”
“Oh,” was all I could manage before sinking into the nearest chair. Megs had been chatting with Jay, and he thought he was chatting with me. Wow.
“Wait here. I’ll get my coffee and be right back,” he said.
I nodded, then rested my chin between my palms. I glanced at the book. He’d told Megs she would know it was him based on the title. The Anti- Optimist’s Guide to the Universe . I thought back to her inventing a flaw, saying that she was a pessimist. How was I ever going to explain this to him? Or to her?
Jay sat across from me. He smiled, a shyer smile than I was used to seeing at the smoker’s corner. “You’re more reserved in person. But when we were typing, I felt connected, you know? And when you suggested meeting, I thought you figured out who I was.”
“Well . . . you see . . .” I took a deep breath, decided to plunge in, like starting with question number one on a test I hadn’t studied for. No skipping around. “This is going to be confusing, but you weren’t chatting with me. It was Megs Salerno.”
“But you mentioned the movie and—”
“That one time it was me. But the others—”
My phone rang. “It’s Megs,” I told him.
She spoke so low I could barely hear her. “I’m on my way to the hospital.”
“It’s good to see a doctor, to be safe. Which hospital? Morristown General?”
“Yeah.”
Hospitals meant more sick people. But I’d worry about that later. Our friendship had to trump my fear. “I’ll meet you there.” I tried to think of people I could ask to drive
I glanced at the time. I’d be about ten minutes late for her date. Maybe the mystery guy would already be gone. I texted Ethan, letting him know I was running behind. He sent back a frowny face.
Inside the coffee shop, I checked out the other customers while I waited my turn to order. At least everyone looked healthy. Two moms chatted with toddlers on their laps. A heavy-set guy about our age talked on his cell phone at a table by the window. Hmm. Could he be Megs’s friend?
Then I spotted who I’d imagined her talking to: an old man who needed a bath, hunched in the corner in his torn raincoat. I didn’t see a book on his table, only a newspaper. “Illness Invades Suburban New Jersey” the headline screamed. The large, bold type scared me, and so did the guy reading it.
She’s been chatting with a creeper. I knew it.
Shivering, I ordered a decaf caramel latte with skim milk to go. While a long-haired guy made my drink, I glanced at the rest of the customers. There was a group of girls, maybe college-aged. No other boys.
That was it. I had done my good deed. After getting my coffee, I turned to hurry out and crashed right into Jay, knocking his book to the floor.
“I’m such a klutz.” I picked up the paperback and handed it to him. Miraculously, the plastic lid contained my drink.
“I’m sorry I’m late.” His cheeks reddened.
“What?” I held the door handle, ready to go.
He stared at the paperback a moment before slowly handing it to me.
I took it, confused. “ The Anti-Optimist’s Guide to the Universe ?”
“I kept hoping it was you,” Jay said.
C HAPTER 8
One troubling aspect of the flu in 1918 was the number of healthy young adults who died. There is concern that the Blue Flu may follow the same unusual and deadly pattern of fatalities.
—Blue Flu interview, emerging infectious disease specialist
C lutching the book, I could almost hear the click, click, click of my brain slowing as I stood in the coffee shop facing Jay.
“All those times online,” he said. “Did you know it was me? It took me awhile to figure out it was you.”
Perplexed, I stalled for time. “What made you think it was me?”
“When we walked home from the grocery store that day, you mentioned the end-of-the-world movie and being an only child, like we talked about online.”
“Oh,” was all I could manage before sinking into the nearest chair. Megs had been chatting with Jay, and he thought he was chatting with me. Wow.
“Wait here. I’ll get my coffee and be right back,” he said.
I nodded, then rested my chin between my palms. I glanced at the book. He’d told Megs she would know it was him based on the title. The Anti- Optimist’s Guide to the Universe . I thought back to her inventing a flaw, saying that she was a pessimist. How was I ever going to explain this to him? Or to her?
Jay sat across from me. He smiled, a shyer smile than I was used to seeing at the smoker’s corner. “You’re more reserved in person. But when we were typing, I felt connected, you know? And when you suggested meeting, I thought you figured out who I was.”
“Well . . . you see . . .” I took a deep breath, decided to plunge in, like starting with question number one on a test I hadn’t studied for. No skipping around. “This is going to be confusing, but you weren’t chatting with me. It was Megs Salerno.”
“But you mentioned the movie and—”
“That one time it was me. But the others—”
My phone rang. “It’s Megs,” I told him.
She spoke so low I could barely hear her. “I’m on my way to the hospital.”
“It’s good to see a doctor, to be safe. Which hospital? Morristown General?”
“Yeah.”
Hospitals meant more sick people. But I’d worry about that later. Our friendship had to trump my fear. “I’ll meet you there.” I tried to think of people I could ask to drive
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