Parallel

is important to you, get a battery-operated alarm clock (this was his response after a tornado wiped out a local power grid two years ago, delivered to the entire student body, sans irony, with a completely straight face).
    At 8:54, I pull into the school parking lot. From the looks of it, the cars clogging the roads hadn’t belonged to my classmates. There’s not a single empty space. “A preview,” I mutter, crossing into the annex lot across the street. “Might as well get used to it.” I park in one of the few open spots and sprint toward the building. The second-period bell is ringing, loud and shrill, as I pull open the front door. I don’t see any seniors in the crowded hallway, which I take as a good sign: The lottery must not be over yet.
    As I approach the auditorium, I’m met with the muffled sound of the Cheese’s voice. I slip through the doors and take a seat in the back row. Our auditorium has stadium seating, so I have a bird’s-eye view of the stage. Behind the podium, there is a giant diagram of the parking lot propped up on an easel. Although I can’t read them from this distance, every space is filled with a name. Damn it.
    “This is your year,” Mr. Cheese is saying. “Make it count.” He pumps his fist for emphasis. From the sea of slumped bodies, it’s obvious he’s being wholeheartedly ignored.
    I scan the crowd for Caitlin and Tyler. Ty is easy to spot. He’s the only black head in a row of white ones (our golf team). I eventually spot Caitlin on the far left, one empty seat between her and the aisle, no doubt saved for me. My eyes are fixed on the top of her blond head, willing her to look at me, but she’s focused on something in her lap.
    Two seconds later, my phone buzzes with a text.
    Caitlin: WHERE R U???
    I quickly write back. BEHIND U. FAR BACK . Right after I hit send, she turns around. I wave and she smiles, looking relieved to see me, then turns back to her phone.
U OK?
YEAH. ALARM DIDNT GO OFF.
YIKES. SORRY.
TELL ME ABOUT IT. WHAT # DID U GET?
#27
    Lucky her! Second row from the building.
NICE! ME?
    Caitlin raises her eyes and gives me a sympathetic look. My phone vibrates in my hand.
A7 :(
    A as in Annex. Lovely. “Sorry,” Caitlin mouths. I shrug. At this point, it’s not like I’m surprised.
    I’m not sure I want to know, but I ask anyway:
WHEN DID THEY CALL MY NAME?
    Another sympathetic look.
#19
    The very first row. Naturally.
    “We expect each and every one of you to take ownership of your future,” the Cheese drones on. “Our guidance counselors are a wonderful resource—use them—but the decisions are ultimately yours to make. Where you go from here is up to you. Don’t get on a Road to Nowhere.” There is a collective eye roll. His captives are reaching their Cheese threshold. Thankfully, he’s wrapping it up. “It’s nine-oh-five,” he announces, pointing at the wall clock. “We expect everyone to be in their second-period classrooms, in their seats by nine fifteen. You are dismissed.”
    I make my way to the left aisle to meet Caitlin. In skinny jeans, peep-toe heels, and a cropped silk blazer, she looks like she should be on the cover of Teen Vogue , not cruising the halls of a suburban high school.
    “Hey,” Caitlin says as she saunters up the aisle. “Forgot to replace the batteries in your alarm clock?”
    “How’d you know?” I fall into step beside her. “Did I miss anything important?”
    She shakes her head. “Just pearls of Cheese wisdom. I know you’re devastated to have missed those.” Her phone buzzes with a text.
    “Tyler?”
    She shakes her head. “My dad. He’s down at the USGS field office. I made him promise to send hourly updates.”
    “USGS?”
    “U.S. Geological Survey. They’re worried about structural damage from the tremor.”
    “Have they figured out what caused it yet?” I ask. “Since when do earthquakes shake the whole planet?”
    “Earthquakes don’t.”
    Before I can ask Caitlin what she means, someone taps me on my shoulder. “Abby?” It’s Ms. DeWitt, one of our guidance counselors. I’ve been to her office so few times I’m surprised she even knows who I am. “Do you have a minute?”
    “Uh, sure.” I glance at Caitlin. “See you later?” Caitlin nods, then heads toward the lobby doors. I turn back to Ms. DeWitt, who motions for me to follow her.
    “I sent a note to Mrs. Gorin this morning, asking that you stop by before the lottery,” she says as we set off down the