Free Pandemic by Yvonne Ventresca

wouldn’t have let it drop.
    “Fine,” Jay said softly. “I’ll see you around.”
    Once inside the house, I found myself stomping around, even though Jay had been perfectly gracious. When did everything get so complicated?
    Sinking into the couch, I checked my phone. Ethan had sent eleven texts, wondering why I didn’t show.
    He answered on the first ring. “Where have you been?”
    “I’m sorry. The whole night got messed up and I lost track of time. Megs is sick.”
    “You’re at her house?”
    “No, her mom made me leave in case she’s contagious. They went to the hospital.”
    “Oh. It’s still not too late to come over. I have everything planned. Waiting home alone isn’t going to do you any good—”
    “I . . . I don’t think I should.” I realized the truth I’d shared with Jay applied to Ethan, too. I didn’t want to be his girlfriend again. It wasn’t going to work any better now than it had the last time.
    “I’m not asking for a commitment—”
    “I know. But I’m exhausted, and confused, and this probably isn’t the best time to see each other.”
    “Fine,” he said before hanging up on me. At least he would stop texting for a while.
    I changed into comfy pjs and spent most of the evening waiting for word about Megs. I checked online multiple times, expecting to find new information about the flu. Finally, an updated article was posted. More than two hundred cases had been reported in Portico, with twelve fatalities.
    I read through the dozen names, catching my breath at the one I recognized.
    Angela.
    I sank back into the chair. The Portico Press had a whole article about her, but I couldn’t bear to read the details. I made a mental list of the differences between Dad’s assistant and Megs. Angela was pregnant; Angela was older; Angela might not have used antibacterial soap.
    After an eternity, Mrs. Salerno called.
    “We’re still at the hospital,” she said. “Megs is in serious shape.”
    No, no, no.
    “Can I come see her?”
    “She can’t have visitors, Lily. I’m sorry.”
    Her voice sounded strained, as if she’d been crying. Mrs. Salerno never cried.
    Fear made my hands tremble. I clutched the phone harder. “She’s going to be OK, right?”
    “Her lungs have been affected. The doctors . . . they don’t know. I’ll call you if there’s any news. You should let your parents know if . . . if you start to feel ill.”
    I sat there dazed for a long time after we said good-bye. How could this happen so fast? It was in her lungs. Megs had perfectly healthy lungs. She didn’t even smoke.
    Finally moving, I took the cigarettes from my backpack and flushed them down the toilet. Megs would be proud. Then I tried to reach Mom and Dad, leaving the same message for both of them: Come home.

C HAPTER 9
    Quarantines will not reduce the spread of influenza unless they create total isolation. In most cases, absolute segregation is nearly impossible.
    —Blue Flu interview, contagious diseases expert
    I n my dream, Megs and I sat on the swings at the park. The rain had just stopped, and the air had that fresh, spring smell to it that we both loved. We swung back and forth in unison, chatting about nothing, about everything.
    “You’re going to find love when you least expect it,” she said.
    “What are you? A fortune cookie?”
    She laughed, a cheerful, bubbly sound. “Let’s go higher,” she said.
    We pumped faster, until it looked like we could kick the sun.
    “We don’t have much time,” she told me. “I’m going to jump. Love ya!”
    “Megs, wait!”
    It was too late. The swing next to me creaked back and forth, empty.

    I woke up with a yelp to the sound of the phone on Sunday morning, feeling around until I found it.
    “Hello?” My voice was raspy and tired.
    “Lily, it’s Dad. Are you all right?”
    “Yeah, I just woke up. Where are you?”
    “I’m in Delaware packing up. I’ll be home as soon as I can, by dinner at the latest.”
    “You got my