Read Instructions for the End of the World for Free Online Page A

in the forest and the light. But staying warm when it’s cold will be a challenge. Hard to imagine being cold when it’s this hot outside. Maybe this will only be a spring, summer, and fall house. It’s too early to plan for the winter of my discontent.
    I am just about to call it a day when a voice shocks me out of my skin.
    â€œWhat are you doing?” I hear from below.
    I spin around and look down to find the new girl, Nicole, standing next to my scrap woodpile, staring up at me.
    â€œPutting a roof on,” I say.
    She takes in the strange tree house, its oddly placed windows and mishmash of colors. “What is this place?”
    She is the first person to see it—the first person besides me to know of its existence. Now it can never be truly secret again.
    I should feel intruded upon, maybe even angry, but I don’t. I’m actually a little thrilled that she’s here.

 
    Four
    NICOLE
    When I find the strangest guy I’ve ever met sitting on top of the strangest tree house I’ve ever seen, I get the unsettling sense that I’ve entered a dream. Does this guy ever hang out on solid ground?
    I look around at the woods, confirming the fact that I am indeed awake. These are the woods I’ve been walking through, and I am still just as sweaty and thirsty as I was five minutes ago, looking for the creek my dad aimed me toward a half hour ago.
    I watch as Wolf climbs down a ladder and comes closer. He looks a little wary, not quite like he was the first time I saw him. I get the sense that he doesn’t want me here, though I couldn’t say what gives me that feeling.
    â€œHi,” he says. “Where’s your gun?”
    â€œI’m not hunting.”
    â€œSo you don’t carry it whenever you come into the woods, just to be safe? You might run into a cute animal you want to kill.”
    â€œI have a knife,” I say, pulling it out of my back pocket to show him. “You know, in case I see Bambi.”
    He can’t tell if I’m being serious, and I don’t smile to give him any clues.
    â€œWhat brought you out here?”
    â€œI heard your hammering.”
    â€œYou were just wandering around the woods alone?”
    â€œActually, I was looking for the creek my dad said was out this way.”
    He points in the direction I was already heading.
    â€œIt’s just down the hill, maybe ten minutes, but it’s nearly dry.”
    I will have to see for myself.
    â€œOkay, well, thanks,” I say, turning to go, ignoring the strange urge I have to linger.
    â€œWait,” he says. “If you want, I can show you where the creek has a deeper pool. It’s a little further, but if you want to go for a swim—”
    â€œNo thanks,” I say. “I can find it.”
    I don’t correct his assumption that I’m off for a swim, because there’s no point in explaining my father’s insistence that I know, like the back of my hand, where all local water sources are.
    He says nothing in response, but as I look at him I can’t seem to walk away. Our gazes linger a little too long on each other, until I look away, pretending to survey the forest.
    â€œWould you like a tour of the tree house?” he finally asks. “It has a great view.”
    â€œWhy are you building it all the way out here?”
    â€œI guess you could say it’s a temple of solitude.”
    I have no idea what to say to that. I don’t know if he’s serious or joking, so I say nothing. Maybe temples of solitude are a part of his weird religion.
    He starts back up the ladder and motions for me to follow. I can’t resist.
    The interior is all unmatched old windows, unfinished plank floors and walls, a blank space—except for the feeling of forest all around, thanks to the many windows. It looks like someone got drunk and decided to build a tree house almost entirely out of salvaged windows still in their many-colored