Read Online The Survivors by Will Weaver - Free Book Online

stranger, all right?”
    Sarah nods, then hurries off to the side, where she hunkers down in the corner, draws up her knees, and watches the bright balls dart back and forth.
    That night she goes home with Mackenzie. The Phelpses’ house, with a brick front and three-car garage, is big for Bemidji but would be a loser house back in her suburb. They go in through the garage door; inside, filling up two of the empty stalls, are several dozen five-gallon red plastic gas jugs. They’re arranged in tidy rows, like a secret garden.
    â€œMy dad,” Mackenzie says with a shrug. “He knows this gas guy.”
    â€œBut you have a Blue Star,” Sarah says. It just pops out.
    â€œYeah, but we still have to look out for ourselves, he says.”
    Inside the house, Mackenzie drops down to hug a yapping little white dog. “Hi, Mitzy!”
    â€œHow was practice today?” her father asks immediately. He’s a thick, balding guy who still has on his tie from work.
    â€œSo-so,” Mackenzie says with a shrug. She drops her duffel bag— plop! —on the floor.
    â€œDid you ask the coach about playing some of the high school girls to make sure you’re being challenged?” he inquires. He ignores Sarah.
    â€œShe said ‘Maybe,’” Mackenzie replies.
    Sarah stands behind Mackenzie like a knob on the side door. Mitzy is sniffing and sniffing her shoes—and starts to growl.
    â€œStop that, Mitzy!” Mackenzie says. “Whatever is the matter with you?”
    â€œClearly you’re not being assertive enough,” her father responds. “I’ll call your coach this week.”
    â€œSo,” Mackenzie’s mother interrupts. “Mackenzie tells me she’s met a new friend.”
    Sarah smiles shyly.
    â€œHi there, Sarah,” she says. “I’m Jane. This is Mackenzie’s dad, Bill. Please, come in.”
    â€œHi, Mr. and Mrs. Phelps,” Sarah says as she shakes hands with each of them.
    â€œJust Bill and Jane,” Sarah’s mom says with a smile. Bill Phelps has thick fingers with hair on the backs of them. Jane is tidy and fit, a woman who has time to work out and get her short blond hair done. It’s shiny and looks stiff.
    â€œAnd where are you from?” Bill asks. He doesn’t smile as easily as Mackenzie’s mother.
    Sarah goes through her open enrollment, school transfer thing. She’s getting better and better at lying.
    â€œDo you do sports?” he asks.
    â€œNot really,” Sarah answers.
    â€œYou’d be good at tennis,” Mackenzie says. “You should try it.”
    Bill Phelps gives his daughter a what-a-dumb-thing-to-say look. Mackenzie quickly looks down. Then he laughs as if Mackenzie was joking. “It’s not like you can just pick up a racket and play,” he says to Sarah. “All my kids grew up hitting tennis balls. It’s why they’re so good—right, honey?”
    Mackenzie doesn’t answer.
    â€œAnd you live outside of town?” Jane asks Sarah—as if to change the subject.
    â€œThat’s right.”
    â€œOn a lake?” Jane asks.
    â€œYes.” It’s sort of true.
    â€œThat must be nice,” she says with a glance toward her husband. “There are some beautiful lake homes around here.”
    â€œDo you have a big house?” Mackenzie asks.
    â€œNot really,” Sarah says, pretending mock embarrassment. “It’s more of a summer place.”
    As dinner proceeds, there is less focus on Sarah. Sitting at an actual dinner table with soft chairs gradually makes Sarah weepy. To get a grip she says, “The hot dish is excellent.” Actually it’s long on cheese and short on meat, but she feels as if she needs to say something polite.
    Mackenzie’s mom is pleased. “Thank you, dear.” She passes the bowl back to Sarah. “Mackenzie just never eats enough. It’s so nice to have a