The day after the world ends looks like any other day, except it feels all wrong. After the long conversation with Martin last night, I had a lot of trouble falling asleep, so this morning, my eyes are refusing to open. My head feels fuzzy and out of place. I wish I could just stay in bed and sleep for another month, but then I hear some shuffling and footsteps in the hallway outside our room.

"KEEP IT QUIET, YOU FUCKERS!" Enough shuffling to wake Martin, apparently.

That's when I remember Mom is leaving for Maple Heights this morning. Stupid Maple Heights. I wish I could go back in time and drop a bomb there so none of this would be happening. I let out a deep sigh and slump out of my bunk.

"Come on, dude," I tell Martin. "May as well get up. We have to go to school anyway."

"I SAID SHUT! UP!"

"You never said that, and you know it."

Martin hides his face in his pillow and lets out an angry grunt. "I don't care," he says, his voice muffled by the pillow. "I'm skipping classes today."

"Ah, is that so?" But I'm not in the mood for his childish antics; I've got my own crap going on. "Whatever, then. Enjoy yourself."

I walk out of the room and straight to the bathroom, scratching my head and willing my eyes to open all the way. Only Mom is in there, doing her makeup.

"Oh, Johnny. I'll just be a second," she says, applying her eyeliner. When she's done, she stands back from the mirror a little and then turns to me. "How do I look?"

"Mom? The world is going to end if I don't pee right now, and then your makeup will be worth nothing." I notice how grumpy I sound but I honestly don't care. And come to think of it, the world ended yesterday anyway.

"Ouch. Moody teenager John first thing in the morning?" she mocks me, vacating the room. I can't believe she actually seems happy about visiting old Grandma Enedith. Demented old Grandma Enedith, no less. I almost want to shake my mother and see if that brings her back into reality, but I really need to take a leak, so, instead, I jump inside, shut the door, and get lost for a few minutes.

When I leave the bathroom, breakfast is almost ready, and Mom is having a cheerful chat with Aunt Sugar. For some reason, that makes me even grumpier.

"Good morning, Sugar." My aunt sets a steamy cup of milk in my spot and, as usual, kisses my forehead.

"Beware, Alejandra," Mom says. "Moody morning guy, right there."

"Oh yeah?" I snap. "Well, making fun of me ain't helping much."

"I guess not. What's wrong, Johnny?" I lift up my eyes to meet hers and find she's smiling. I want to hurl the table at her now. Why doesn't she get it? Instead, I use sharp-edged words, since they're usually better at hurting than real physical blows.

"You're way too happy this morning, considering you're going to be trapped with your mother for a couple weeks, and I'm having a very hard time understanding why." I'd look at her, but now I'm too busy buttering my toast. "It's like you really want to leave Celadon Bay and jail yourself in Maple Heights, but who could blame you? Maple Heights is such a beautiful place to live, surrounded by all those mountains. Yeah... mountains of nothing."

"Okay, young man. That's enough."

"Geez. I thought you wanted to know what was wrong with me." I bite on my toast, still not making eye contact with her.

"I'll go wake up Martin." Aunt Sugar says, walking away.

I sip on my milk as Mom takes a seat in front of me.

"We talked about this yesterday, didn't we?"

"We did."

"And you agreed with us on this, right?"

"Sure, when you ambush me like that and give me some serious talk about moving, what else was I supposed to do? I didn't even have time to wrap the idea around my brain," I say, and I finally meet her eyes. There's a mix of worry and sadness there, and I'm glad for that. "But when I really started to think about what you said, I realized that you're talking about possibly going away to Maple Fucking Heights, a place that's one-thousand-five-hundred miles away, which means leaving absolutely everything I have here."

Alex starts to walk in, but when he notices us he backs away and stands on the other side of the door.

"What else do you expect me to do, John?"

"I don't know, maybe bring Grandma here? Lock her in a nursery home? Or a mental institution? Kill the old fart?"

Mom's hand is a flash across my face. It takes a while for the pain to register, and I feel the tears forming in my eyes—not sad or pained tears, as much as angry ones.

"Don't you ever talk to me like that," she says through gritted teeth. "You might not like her, sure. I'm fine with that, but that "old fart" is my mother, John."

At this point I know it's mission accomplished. I stand up slowly and retrieve my backpack from the back of the chair.

"There, see?" I hiss. "Now you know how angry I am." Then I leave the house.

I was sure that this would make me feel a little better, but it doesn't. If anything, it's made everything worse. I feel hollow. Guilty.

And another piece of me just crumbled away. I can feel it, deep in my chest, just like before.