“Well, congratulations,” I say, and my voice even sounds mostly steady. “I’m really happy for you.”
“I deferred,” she says.
I blink.
“What?”
She smiles, a slow, sly thing that creeps onto her lips bit by bit. “Under the Academy’s charter, students can defer enrollment after preliminary acceptance for up to one year without penalty. I deferred my decision. So,” she says with a little kick under the table, “if you’ll have me, I’d like to stick with you all for a while. Train up a new copilot, at least. Gotta make sure you don’t fly yourselves into a sun or something, right?”
“God, yes!” I say with a disbelieving laugh. “Yes, please, I’d love for you to prevent our inevitable fiery deaths.”
Rion reaches his unoccupied hand across the table to bump knuckles with Case, and Zee plucks the permanent marker from Asra’s hands. She writes for a moment, then passes it to Case, then to Rion. They each sign their full name below Asra’s signature:
Asra Haque
Zinaida Ivanova Rozhkova
Casandra “Case” Hwang-Torres
Rion William Kwesi Turner
It’s perfect. The crew of the Swift Kick. My crew.
My friends.
Rion presses the marker into my hand, tangling our fingers together and bringing them to his lips. “Last but never least, Captain. Finish it off.”
I take the marker and lean over the table, adding my own messy scrawl to the end of the list.
Nasir Alexander Hall, Captain
Then, with a wicked smirk, I sketch our new ball-kicking logo at the bottom.
Yeah, I know. I’m a bit of a disaster. But hey, aren’t we all?
Doesn’t mean we can’t fly.
Acknowledgments
This book was secretly built from the affectionate frustration, patience, and hard work of an entire space station’s worth of people who I dragged on this wild space adventure with me. Y’all are the best.
First thanks always go to my parents: my mom, who took me to the library, indulged me at Waldenbooks in the mall, and kept my feet on the ground; and my dad, who taught me all about space and rockets and Isaac Asimov, took me to work with him at United Space Alliance, and made me dream of stars. Thanks to you both for teaching me courage, passion, and work ethic, and for letting me be myself—a giant weirdo.
To my amazing/scary/fabulous agent, Barbara Poelle, who wooed me with Sherlock gifs, endured my anxiety, and made everything possible. I have the world’s fiercest warrior agent on my side! Thanks for making dreams come true and all that mushy crap.
To Abby Ranger, who first acquired this book; Abby’s smart assistant, Rose (who I know only by her clever comments on this manuscript); Emilia Rhodes, who brought wisdom and polish to the final drafts; and Stephanie Stein, who saw The Disasters through to the end: thanks for believing in my book, for sharing your vision for these space nerds with me, and for bringing me into the HarperCollins fold. Everyone involved in this process, from copyeditors to designers to typesetters to publicists and many more: thanks for making this book shiny. I appreciate you all and look forward to our next project together.
In my librarian life: thanks first to Maureen Frank, who told me I was a good writer once and had no idea it was exactly what I needed to hear at exactly the right time. To all my lovely coworkers, especially Hayley, who put up with my utter spaciness and fluctuating stress levels—thanks/sorry! And, of course, to my teens in both AC and Virginia: you are all over these pages in small ways because you inspire me every day. You’re amazing people, I adore you all, and I can’t wait to see who you become.
Fandom friends, both new and old: Rachel, Dara, LeighAnne, Leslie, Darcy, Heather, Lesley, Cait, Christine, Catherine, Anya, Dante, Misty, and the whole trash crew, too many wonderful people to name. You give me life, you beta read my fic, you answer my weird questions (because we have every specialty covered in our group chat), and you listen to me scream about literally everything. Thanks.
I had an army of readers who worked hard to keep me from embarrassing myself. All remaining mistakes are on me! Lemon and Kerri, agent sisters extraordinaire, who gave this book its first true ass-kicking way back in 2015. Please, miss, I’d like some more. Clara, who read my first terrible book and made me think that maybe I could do this thing. The incomparable Sheba Karim for her guidance, including catching plot holes you could fly a spaceship through. Rania B. and Mey Valdivia Rude, for giving me important things to think about and being enthusiastic cheerleaders. You were all essential to this process and you have my gratitude.
The whole Pitch Wars organization played a huge role in bringing this book to print. Thank you to Brenda Drake and her tireless crew for the immense amount of work it takes to make Pitch Wars happen. Sarah, thanks for being my guide to the publishing process and introducing me to the group that would become my writing family. The Pitch Wars class of 2015 is an incredible group of talented and kind souls. You’re all so important to me. A few in particular:
Mike, who is far wiser than me and always managed to be there right when I needed to be pulled off a ledge. Cindy, my HarperCollins sister: your generosity and strength astound me. Retreat friends Monica and Steph: may we always be there to save each other from spiders. Everyone who’s ever responded to one of my frantic pleas to read a chapter (which I swear is half the group at this point, but definitely Jenny, Kate, Anissa, Isabel, Maria, and probably a dozen others): you rock, I appreciate you, and I owe you one! Leigh the character genius, who endures my lengthy rambles while I talk out book ideas: thanks for always being there for a good G-chat scream or writing date. And my dearest Jamie: What would I do without you? My reader, my friend, my partner-in-potato—you are incredible, you are strong, and you deserve all the wonderful things. I’m gonna go mail you some toilet paper now.
(. . . and I actually did. You’re welcome.)
To the Electric Eighteens: thanks for being my support system and sharing your wisdom through this wild ride of a debut year. Special shout-out to my SFF buddies!
Lisen: How do I even thank you? You literally sat across from me and shared my wasabi peas as I wrote this book in 2014, and I had no idea that would become one of the most important moments—and friendships—in my life. Thanks for reading this book a thousand times, and for being my lovely writing wife and fellow overambitious take-charger. Spacegoats forever!
Miscellaneous thanks: to my English teachers over the years, especially Ms. Todd and Ms. Davidson. Even though I didn’t actually get the confidence to write until many years later, I never forgot that you told me I should. To Dave, my favorite DM, who feeds my need for gaming: many book and character ideas were born at your table. Thanks for being a constant source of inspiration and taking me to Disney so I can chill tf out. To New Jersey Sarah, who let me talk their ear off about queer things, library stuff, and Sherlock: many thanks. You got this.
And last but never least, my partner, Nathan, whose contributions to this book are too numerous to be contained here. Endurer of my brainstorm ranting, listener of my crappy first drafts, cleaner of my messes, preparer of my sustenance, and guardian of the endless scraps of random receipts and envelopes that actually contain critical plot information and character arcs and I will die if you throw them away. I would never have made it this far without you.
I’ve surely forgotten many people. To everyone who has supported me along the way: please accept my gratitude for your help in getting me here.
And to everyone who has read this far: thanks to you, too. Be kind to one another.
About the Author
Photo credit Nathan Kunkle
M. K. ENGLAND is an author and YA librarian living in the mountainy parts of Virginia. When she’s not writing or librarianing, M. K. can be found drowning in fandom, going to conventions, rolling dice at the gaming table, climbing on things in the woods, or feeding her video game addiction. She loves Star Wars with a desperate, heedless passion. It’s best i
f you never speak of Sherlock Holmes in her presence. You’ll regret it. The Disasters is her debut novel.
Visit her at www.mkengland.com.
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Copyright
THE DISASTERS. Copyright © 2018 by Megan England. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.
www.epicreads.com
Cover art © 2018 by Filip Hodas
Cover design by Jenna Stempel-Lobell
* * *
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: England, M. K., author.
Title: The disasters / M. K. England.
Description: First edition. | New York, NY : Harper, An Imprint of HarperCollins Publishers, [2018] | Summary: Nax and a handful of other space Academy washouts are the only surviving pilots after the school is hijacked by terrorists, but in order to spread the truth about the attack, Nax and his fellow failures must execute a dangerous heist.
Identifiers: LCCN 2017057327 | ISBN 9780062657671 (hardcover)
Subjects: | CYAC: Science fiction.
Classification: LCC PZ7.1.E536 Di 2018 | DDC [Fic]—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017057327
* * *
Digital Edition DECEMBER 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-265769-5
Print ISBN: 978-0-06-265767-1
1819202122PC/LSCH10987654321
FIRST EDITION
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The Disasters Page 26