L is a S c h ro e d e r

Point
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No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or

transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying,
recording, or otherwise, without written permission of the publisher.

Copyright 2015 by Lisa Schroeder

All rights reserved. Published by Point, an imprint of Scholastic Inc., Publishers
since 1920. scholastic, point, and associated logos are trademarks and/or
registered trademarks of Scholastic Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Schroeder, Lisa, author.

All we have is now / Lisa Schroeder.
pages cm
ISBN 978-0-545-80253-6
1. Conduct of lifeJuvenile fiction. 2. FriendshipJuvenile fiction.
3. FamiliesOregonPortlandJuvenile fiction. 4. Portland (Or.)Juvenile
fiction. [1. Conduct of lifeFiction. 2. FriendshipFiction. 3. Family life
OregonPortlandFiction. 4. Portland (Or.)Fiction.] I. Title.
PZ7.S3818Al 2015
[Fic]dc23
2014038372

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

Printed in the U.S.A.

15 16 17 18 19 20

23

First printing, August 2015

Book design by Yaffa Jaskoll

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The stuff movies are made of

No

one saw it coming.

Because this particular
cosmic death star
came from the direction
of the sun,
we were blind.
And then, by some miracle,
an astronomer spotted it.
A killer asteroid,
coming right for us
and due to hit Idaho
in a matter of weeks.
The devastation would
affect the United States
as well as parts of Canada
and Mexico.
Space, the final frontier.
The place most people
dont think about much because,
after all, its out there and we are here,
and for millions of years

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the earth has occupied its own little part

of the universe with very few
dramatic incidents.
Until now.
For a couple of weeks,
it was pure pandemonium.
Impossible to describe.
Innocent people killed
because of the chaos
in airports and
on the roads
as many tried
to make their escape.
Get the hell out of Dodge.
For soon, the land of the free
and the home of the brave
would be the land
that was struck with an explosion
a hundred times greater than the biggest
nuclear bomb ever detonated.
Fasten your seat belts.
Its going to be a bumpy ride.
Like the Titanic, some got away.
Some were safe.
Some would live.
Others would not.
2

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September 9, 5:05 p.m.

Portland, Oregon
Approximately 28 hours, 25 minutes left

I don t think I can stand the waiting any longer, Emerson

tells Vince. I mean, whats the point? Its basically over.
She sits across from him, on an empty bed, as he throws a
small bouncy ball at the wall.
Bounce. Catch.
Bounce. Catch.
Bounce. Catch.
The guy couldnt sit still if his life depended on it. When
they panhandled, he had this crazy thing he did with his feet,
shuffling back and forth and side to side as he held the sign
theyd made that said, were homeless and hungry. any
little bit helps. thank you and god bless. Vince just likes
to be moving, somehow, someway.
Theyve been in this youth shelter for two weeks. Its nice.
For the most part, Emerson loves it. Shes had a bed with a
pillow and a shower every morning. The hardest part has been
figuring out what to do with all the extra time. A silly problem that is only temporary, she realizes.
Before, they slept in parks, in alleyways, in backyard sheds.
They scrounged for food in restaurant dumpsters, or begged
for money on the street. Every day, it was about survival. It
was a dirty, ugly life, but they became pros at living that way.
3

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When the news hit and things got crazy, Vince found this
place, and fortunately, there was room. A lot of the kids had
left, hoping to return to their families or catch rides to the
northeastern states. Hard to know if it would be far enough,
but most people didnt want to sit around and do nothing.
Emerson jumps up and catches the ball. She sits down
next to Vince. Her best friend. Her confidant. Her brother on
the streets.
He reaches over and takes the ball from her hand. He has
big hands. Big feet, too. The kind you see on professional
basketball players. Shes often wondered if he ever had any
desire to play. But shes never asked. If hed said yes, all it
would have done is made them both feel bad. She tries to
avoid that happening as much as possible.
Yeah, Ive been thinking about it, Vince says. Maybe
its best if we go out on our terms. Decide how and when,
you know?
Emerson looks for fear or sadness in his eyes, but there is
none. Not that she can see anyway. If its true, if he isnt afraid,
hes in a much different place than she is. Although, its not
just this day that she feels afraid, its every day, really. Afraid of
getting discovered and sent home, but also afraid of living on
the streets forever. Afraid of getting hurt again the way her
family hurt her, but also afraid shell never love anyone ever
again. The fear is always there, buzzing around in her head
like an annoying fly that keeps bumping up against the window, trying to find a way out. Mostly, she tries her best to
ignore it.
The question is, Vince continues, whether you want
quiet or dramatic.

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She raises an eyebrow. Quiet? Like, what, we find ourselves some Nerf guns?
He sits up and gives her knee a little shove. You know
what I mean.
Well, what do you want to do?
His eyes stay locked onto hers, but she looks away. Not
because shes embarrassed or self-conscious. God, not with
Vince. Hes seen her at her worst, more times than shed like
to admit. Theyve gone days without washing themselves.
Weeks, a few times. What a sight she must have been. Stringy,
greasy hair. Zits on her face. Dirt caked underneath her fingernails. She studies her hands now, small but strong, and
most of all, clean, thankfully. Its a relief to look in the mirror
now and not be ashamed of the image she sees, with full,
shiny hair and her blue eyes bright and well rested.
No, its just that sometimes, Vince looks at her like he
wants to spill the contents of his heart at her feet. Hes like the
old jukebox at her dads place that sits there quietly until
someone puts a quarter into it. So she looks away because she
doesnt want him to think she has a quarter to give when
she doesnt. Shes broke. In more ways than one.
As she avoids his gaze, Vince seems to wrestle with the
best way to answer her question. Finally, he says, I just want
it to be...easy.
Emerson nods. Hes nailed it. Because sitting around,
waiting, for the next twenty-eight hours does not sound easy.
I was thinking the bridge, she says softly. You and me. On
the count of three.
He tilts his head slightly. Studies her as he considers this
idea. Like little kids, jumping in the pool.

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Right. Except theres no water under Suicide Bridge. Only

cold, hard pavement. City officials erected a barrier a few years
back, to try to prevent people from jumping, but it didnt
work as well as theyd hoped. People who are determined just
climb around the barrier.
Emerson tries to imagine grabbing Vinces hand, and
jumping with him. Happy-go-lucky Vince, in his Charlie
Brown shirt. Shed found it last week underneath a bed.
Someone left it behind. Its yellow, with a big black squiggle
at the belly. It makes Emerson smile when she remembers how
thrilled he was when she gave it to him.
The yellow looks good against your dark skin, she
told him.
Charlie Brown should have been a black kid, he said.
That Peanuts gang needs a little diversity.
Theres a black kid, Emerson argued. But he didnt get
much airtime. I cant even remember his name.
See? So typical. Put him in the background, out of the
way, because thats where someone like him, like me, belongs,
right?
Though Emerson isnt black, shed related to his comment, because she often felt like a background character in
her own life. Hell, in her own home. Well, what used to be her
home, anyway.
It hadnt been so bad when she was younger. When her
dad still lived with them, and they were a normal family. In
fact, she and her dad both adored Charlie Brown. And Lucy
and Schroeder, too. Every year, theyd watched the Charlie
Brown Christmas special together.
She quickly pushes the thoughts away. The last thing she
needs right now is to take a sentimental trip down memory
6

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lane. It wont help anything. In fact, shes pretty sure it will

only make things worse.
Okay, Vince says, interrupting the silence. Whatever
you want is fine with me.
When? Emerson asks, nervously picking at a loose
thread on her jean shorts. When should we do it?
I dont know.
She looks up and stares at him. Tries not to think about
what its going to be like. Whether there will be any pain
before the peace.
Soon, I think, she says, tucking her straight brown hair
behind her ears. Soon would be better. For me, anyway.
Okay.
She takes a deep breath. Okay. So do we just...go?
Leave our stuff here?
Yeah. Its not like we have much anyway, right? Anything
you want to do first?
She looks out the window. Late summer in Portland is the
best. If they hurry, they can make it before it gets dark.
Death at sunset sounds nice.
No, she says. If you havent noticed by now, theres
nothing here for me. She pauses. Except you, of course.

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