Free We All Looked Up by Tommy Wallach Page A

Misery were given a half-dozen ingredients and a simple recipe for vinaigrette, while Cartier and Stacy were taught how to close out tabs and run credit cards on the computer. Doors opened at six thirty, and as soon as the first few customers had put in their orders, the kitchen went nuts. Someone was always yelling at Peter to do something—usually just to get out of the way. The radio was turned down slightly, but the manic energy of mariachi music still permeated the room. Stacy cut her finger while peeling a potato and looked like she might pass out. After that, they put her on dish duty. There was a slight letup around eight o’clock (time enough for Stacy to take Peter into the alley behind the restaurant and ominously inform him of the “long talk” they were going to have later), and then everything started up again. Peter was crushing peppercorns with a mortar and pestle when the music gave way to a short news bulletin in Spanish. Felipe was closest to the radio, and he was the one who shouted for quiet.
    Beneath the sizzling and spattering, the announcer’s voice was barely audible. He spoke Spanish at that rapid clip that made Peter wonder how even a native could understand it. Only a couple of words stood out from the gibberish: presidente , Ardor, emergencia .
    â€œWhat’s he saying?” Stacy asked, and was immediately shushed.
    The segment wrapped up, and a commercial jingled to life in its place. Everyone looked dead serious.
    Felipe shut off the radio. “Back to work,” he said. “We’ve still got customers.”
    By the time the last guest called for the check, the four volunteers were sweat-swollen, smoke-soaked, and sore all over. They shook hands with Felipe (“Come back soon,” he said, in a tone of voice implying that he didn’t expect to see any of them ever again) and, after Cartier got shot down by Keira (“I have a boyfriend in grad school, player”), walked on throbbing feet back to Peter’s car.
    â€œTurn on the news,” Stacy said. Peter flicked through the stations until he heard the calm cadences of public radio.
    â€œâ€”numerous examples of the president speaking to the American people simply to allay the possibility of panic. This kind of thing has become something of an action-movie trope, so the very idea of something like Ardor is frightening to the average person. But any astronomer can tell you that there’s more chance you’ll be struck by lightning in the next thirty seconds than that an asteroid will collide with the Earth. The simple fact of a press conference is not a reason to worry.”
    â€œThank you, Mr. Fisher.”
    â€œMy pleasure.”
    â€œThat was Mr. Mark Fisher, one-time director of FEMA, now a professor at Georgetown University. Whether there’s any true cause for alarm will probably not be known until the president delivers his speech. Join us here at NPR for live coverage of the event tomorrow night.”
    â€œJesus,” Stacy said. “Do you think something’s going to happen?”
    â€œNah,” Cartier said. “That’s crazy. Space is so freaking big. It would be like throwing a penny up in the air and hitting an airplane.”
    â€œMaybe this is our punishment for trying to destroy the planet ourselves,” Misery said.
    Stacy scoffed. “Don’t you get tired of being so gloomy all the time?”
    â€œI don’t know. Do you get tired of being so dumb all the time?”
    â€œMiz!” Peter said.
    â€œWhat? She started it.”
    Peter and Stacy had been dating for more than three years, but the animosity between his girlfriend and his sister had never been worse. And while he didn’t exactly blame Misery, there was no getting around the fact that Stacy was basically the same person now that she’d been at the beginning of their relationship, whereas ­Misery had completely transformed. Ever since she fell in