Page 43 of We’re All Going to Die Tonight!

I toss the kettle aside. Clearly, a miss. But when I look up, Caulder’s grabbed it. He goes to the sink, rinses it, pops the top off, and begins filling it with water. Once it’s full, he sets it on the stove and starts the fire under the kettle.

“Are you actually making tea?” I ask. “Like, at this precise moment?”

Caulder shrugs again. “I like tea,” he says. “And if someone comes in, we can always throw the water at them.”

Well. I admit I hadn’t thought of that. He grins when I don’t respond and starts rifling through the cabinet, finally pulling out a tea caddy. He flips through the options, considering each one.

“Surprised you forgot,” he says. “I remember you getting really excited whenever Pop brought home a new tea for us to try.”

I still. This is semi-dangerous ground for us, acknowledging the past. I’ve shoved my memories of Caulder’s dads far back in my mind so that it doesn’t hurt when I see them at competitions. But of course I remember them. Especially Lionel, his dad who loves tea and would bring us some after he visited his family in the UK. I always felt so special, drinking British tea.

If Lionel knew what was happening right now, he’d be flying up through the rain to save us. Both of Caulder’s dads would. After all, they’ve never missed a local debate competition. Whereas my parents…

“Maybe they have some chamomile,” Caulder says, and I realize I haven’t uttered a word. “It can help, you know. Calm you down.”

“Of course it will,” I say with a hollow laugh. “Not sure this is the kind of situation that can be calmed down. I think we might need a sedative for that.”

Caulder smiles. We both know I’m sidestepping the bait to talk about our past. I wonder if Caulder will press it, but thankfully, I’m saved by the whistle of the kettle.

“You were great with Marlene,” Caulder says. “I had no idea what to do.”

A question’s there, and I could dodge it the same way I dodged talking about our childhood. But I can answer this, especially since he’s probably already figured it out.

“I think it was a panic attack, or at least an anxiety attack,” I say. “I get them. I have ever since my parents got divorced.”

Caulder nods, placing the tea bags in mugs before pouring the water over each. He brings the two mugs over to the table and sets them both down; then we sit and wait for the tea to cool. I grip my mug so the warmth seeps into my hands as the rain batters the house.

“Do you think they’re okay out there?” I ask, wishing I didn’t sound so pathetic. I know Caulder can’t tell me anything I don’t already know—we each have the same information—I just need some reassurance.

His hazel eyes lift to mine. There’s steam curling up from his mug, and I watch it because that’s easier to look at than to make direct eye contact.

“I don’t know, to be honest,” he says. “I kind of hate that I stayed.”

Of course he regrets staying with me. I could’ve told him he would. I start to say as much, but he’s speaking again.

“It feels like I have a responsibility for everyone,” he says. “I don’t like that I sent them out there without anyone to watch over them. But at the same time, there’s no way I could’ve left you alone.”

I laugh. “I wouldn’t have been alone. Emerson’s here.”

“That’s worse.”

“So I’m weak?”

He sighs. “No, Avery. You’re not weak.”

“You’ve clearly been spared seeing me in gym class,” I say, half joking. “They have Kaitlyn and Javi. You only have me.”

I say it as a way to pull a tiny bit of tension out of our situation, but it just makes Caulder frown.

“Emerson’s wrong about Mr. Jay,” Caulder says. “He keeps trying to trap you into talking about it. But I know…I know you’d never do something like that.”

A cold laugh slips out of me, surprising me almost as much as what I say next.

“Do you really, Caulder?” I ask, meeting his eyes. “Because Emerson wasn’t wrong. I hated Mr. Jay. I wanted him dead. I was even imagining it on the drive here.”

Caulder stares at me, eyes flaring wide with shock. I realize as soon as the words are out that I shouldn’t be saying this to anyone. Caulder doesn’t know me—not anymore. He might believe Emerson over me, if I give him the right ammo.

But…He also used to know me better than anyone. Our secrets were kids’ secrets, like where we hid our toys, but he knew them. He knew me. And right now, I need to talk about Mr. Jay’s lifeless body out there or I’ll come undone.