The World Ends in April

by Stacy McAnulty

  So on Saturday, when he invites me over to play video games, I make him promise not to bring it up.

  “I swear on your life,” he says in a fake British accent.

  We play in his family room. Mack’s vision is something like 20/300 with his glasses, which is blind but not 100 percent sightless. If he stands super close to the screen or uses a CCTV, he can see enough to beat me every time. Except when I cheat.

  “Dude, you should practice more,” Mack says as he kicks my butt. “It’s not fun to win all the time.”

  I have to stand close to the TV too because he blocks most of the screen if I sit on the couch.

  “Maybe you should practice less. Seriously, I’m going to talk to your mom. She needs to limit your screen time.” I’m joking, but it’s the truth.

  He laughs. “She’s the one who plays with me when you’re not here. And she’s the only one who can actually beat me.”

  “Mrs. Jefferson. Mrs. Jefferson.” I pretend to call her into the room. “Haven’t you heard? Video games rot your brain. Mack’s brain is ninety percent moldy oatmeal at this point.” I pull hard on the controller, willing my car to take the lead. It doesn’t work.

  “Video games may rot your brain, but they won’t give you a massive head injury.”

  I touch the bridge of my nose. The black-and-blue is mostly gone.

  “They should have kicked her out of school,” I say, and not for the first time.

  “You should learn how to catch. Think of the blind population. I would do anything to play catch with my dad even once without using the beep ball.” He fake cries.

  When our game ends, I refuse to go again.

  “Whatever. That girl has problems. She knocked over a cart of Chromebooks last year.” I’m not exactly scared of Londyn—except on the basketball court—but I’d be happy if our paths never crossed again.

  “That wasn’t Londyn Diggs. It was Lauren Duggins. And she didn’t knock over a cart. She dropped one Chromebook, and they made her parents replace it. This is how rumors start.”

  “Is it?” I retreat to the couch.

  Mack keeps playing.

  “You gotta admit,” I continue, “Londyn’s trouble. She’s a bully, and people are afraid of her.”

  “She’s never bothered me.”

  “You’d feel differently if she threw a ball at your head with the force of an asteroid.”

  “Probably,” he says, still focused on the video game. “We’ll discuss when it happens.”

  “Speaking of asteroids, let me see your iPad.”

  He pauses his game. “Why?”

  “I read something about an asteroid hitting Earth. It was kind of weird and vague. I want to see if there are any updates.”

  “Really?” He rifles through his backpack, finds the iPad, and gives it to me. He does most of his schoolwork on it. If he magnifies the screen and holds it a few inches from his face, he can see it. His para-assistant has a Braille machine in her office. He knows how to use that too. An iPad is much smaller and faster, has games on it, and makes our classmates jealous, since we’re not allowed phones or tablets in class.

  “Yeah, the scientist guy—a doctor—says it’s going to happen soon, like in the spring.”

  “That’s not soon. It’s October.” Mack sits on the other side of the couch. At home he doesn’t need Candy to get around.

  “It’s not soon if you’re talking about a due date for a book report, but we’re talking about the end of Earth.” I type in Mack’s passcode.

  “Is this a prepper thing? Your grandfather promised me my own bug-out bag. Then we need to go on another drill. I want to be ready!” After our little exercise, Mack might have become brainwashed.

  “I don’t think Dr. Cologne is a survivalist. He’s not like one of those YouTube preppers, anyway.” I find the website. It’s changed since I logged on last week. There are pictures, several new posts, a guestbook, and a visitor count. Over three thousand people have clicked on this site.

  “Read it to me,” Mack insists.

  I share the first article, the one I’d already read. Then I go to the newer posts.

  “ ‘No one wants to listen to me,’ ” I read. “ ‘The government, banks, and big business are concerned my prediction will cause mass panic. It should cause mass panic. Here’s a satellite image of the asteroid.’ ”

  The picture is black and white and looks like a cluster of stars. Dr. Cologne has circled one and labeled it 2010PL7. I give the iPad to Mack. He holds it an inch from his face and moves the screen left to right to take it all in.

  “I hope he has more evidence than this.” Mack hands back the device.

  I continue reading. “ ‘Those who do know are preparing. You should prepare too. Before it’s too late.’ ”

  Mack clicks his tongue. “The dude used the word prepare twice. He’s definitely a prepper.”

  “I guess. Sort of. Not really. Have you ever watched a real prepper or survivalist video? They don’t tell you when the world is ending exactly. It’s about being ready to the max.”

  “Nope. Never seen any, but now I’m gonna check them out.” Mack leans back on the couch. “Keep reading.”

  “ ‘You still have time. I calculate that 2010PL7 will enter Earth’s orbit in April or May. The location of impact is unknown, and we won’t know until days before. We must all be ready. Think of your families and friends. If you love them, you will take heed.’ ”

  “This is awesome,” Mack says.

  “Awesome?”

  Mack gets excited about anything and everything. Three things Mack has gotten excited about today: a new Marvel movie trailer, a pack of Mentos he found in his backpack, and “the smell of fall.” (He literally said that.) It’s my job to remind him how awful things can be.

  “The planet isn’t going to explode and disappear,” he says. “Some people will survive. The smart ones. Like us.”

  “We would totally survive.” I nod. “I’ve got a grandfather with a basement full of supplies.”

  “What do we need to survive the apocalypse?”

  “Not apocalypse. That sounds too much like a cheesy movie. This is TEOTWAWKI—the end of the world as we know it.”

  “That’s a thing?” he asks. “A real acronym?”

  “I’ve said too much already.” I fake a gasp as I slip his iPad back in his bag.

  “No, no, no. Elle, tell me about this secret society where people think the world is going to end. I want to know. I want to learn. Teach me.” He holds out his empty palms for my hand. He’s not being romantic, and it annoys me when people think that’s the reason. This is his way of knowing he’s got my attention and I’ve got his.

  “It wouldn’t be a secret society if I went around talking about it. Geez. I’m going to lose my membership card.”

  “Who should we warn? Who should we save? Who would we invite into the bunker?” Mack’s smile is enormous. I can see every tooth in his mouth.

  “Family. And maybe a doctor and a decent cook.”

  “Good call, Elle. And how should we spend our last few months on Earth?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “We’re playing pretend here,” he says. “Like we did when we used to build forts in your basement, and I was the Lord Ace of Dragonton and you were the evil sorcerer Flintina. Use a little imagination, Elle.”

  I sigh loud enough that his parents in the other room could probably hear me.

  “Um. Drop out of school and go to Paris.”

  “You want to go to Paris?” He laughs.

  “Not really. It’s the first city that came to mind that was far away and exotic. What would you do with your last months on Earth, Lord Ace?”

  “Glad you asked.” He clears his throat and sits up straighter. “I’d climb a mountain
. A tall one. I’d swim with dolphins. I’d ride a camel or an elephant or a zebra. I’d jump out of a plane.”

  “With a parachute, I hope.”

  He ignores me. “I’d sing the national anthem at a baseball game. I’d set some kind of world record. I’d kiss someone nice.”

  “Aren’t you the romantic?” I make smoochie noises.

  “Dude, I’m going to get married someday. And that person is going to be super lucky to have me as a husband.”

  “If you say so. But remember, we’re talking about stuff you can do before the asteroid. As your best friend, I can’t allow you to get married when you’re twelve.”

  “Right, right. I’d like to win a chess tournament. Be captain of the swim team. Meet a celebrity. Audition for Jeopardy! Maybe run a marathon. Try all the flavors at Dave’s Donuts.”

  “Gee, is that all? You should really aim higher.” I pat his shoulder.

  “For now. If the world was really ending in the spring, I’d just want to spend as much time with you and my family as I can. Before it’s too late.”

  “You’re such a dork.” I make a gagging noise. Even though I totally agree with him.

  My three favorite days of the week are Saturday, Sunday, and Friday after 2 p.m. My least favorite is Monday (unless it’s a three-day weekend, obviously).

  Today is Monday, and I’m prepared for a new level of awful.

  Recently, a lot of girls and a few of the boys started dyeing their hair bright colors. Some did streaks, and some had color just on the ends. I’ve never worn makeup or owned cool clothes. But this was different. I liked it, and the internet made it sound so easy to do. An article I read recommended using a powdered-drink mix. So I combined a packet of purple passion punch with a little water and brushed the liquid onto the ends of my blond hair. Disaster. The dye was uneven. And it came out old-lady gray-blue. I didn’t end up with streaks. I had uneven clumps. I tried to fix it by mixing a dark-blue concoction made from berry-berry drink mix and some food dye I found in the pantry. I soaked all of my hair and put plastic wrap over it. An hour later, my hair was the color of the shared water cup in art class that everyone dips their brushes in. Then I tried to cut it myself, just a few inches.

  No one in the history of the world has ever given herself a good haircut.

  My brothers laughed, and Dad tried not to. I begged him to take me to get it fixed. We went to the walk-in salon next to the frozen yogurt place. A girl with a nose ring used a special rinse to get rid of most of the muddy color, and then she started cutting. And cutting and cutting! I should have stopped her. It’s like I was paralyzed. In shock maybe. When she finished, I had a blond (slightly bluish) bowl that barely covered my ears. Dad didn’t laugh when he saw me. He gave me the saddest smile and said, “You’re still beautiful to me.” Which means, to everyone else I resemble a troll.

  In homeroom, Jeremy Donahue, who has sat in front of me since the first day of school almost two months ago, turns around and flashes me his crooked grin. I’ve heard some of the girls say he’s the cutest guy in all of seventh grade. I’m not disagreeing.

  “Hey, new boy,” he says. “You can’t sit there. That’s Ellerie’s seat.” He looks over at his friend. They high-five and laugh.

  I immediately lean over, pretend to pick up something off the floor, and stay down there long enough that I could complete a one-hundred-piece puzzle. It’s the closest I can get to disappearing under the desk. I don’t know what’s worse, that he’s making fun of my hair—which is awful—or that he doesn’t know my name? (We were partners in art class last year. We drew each other’s portrait!)

  All morning, kids make jokes about my hair. Then I fall in the hall on the way to gym. I slip on nothing. Nothing! Like the universe stuck out its foot and tripped me. No, not tripped. The universe kicked me in the back. I also get a seventy on a math test, and sixty on a social studies project. Dad will have to sign both of them.

  Even science class—the only class I usually like—is terrible. I forgot to do the assignment, but it’s not my fault. We rarely have science homework, and I was distracted by my hair-tastrophe.

  Mrs. Walsh corners me at the end of class. She’s a white lady who wears a lab coat and a messy bun every day. She takes her job of educating seventh graders very seriously.

  “Eleanor, no homework? Want to tell me what’s going on?” She drums her fingers on the pile of papers that does not contain my assignment.

  I shrug.

  “Eleanor, it wasn’t that challenging. You only had to come up with three science questions that interest you.”

  “Sorry. I’ll do better next time.” This is my go-to statement to get out of a lecture from my dad, a teacher, or any other adult.

  “Let’s brainstorm together. So, what do you want to know the answer to?”

  How can you get hair to grow back overnight? Why do school days last twice as long as weekend days? Am I going to be late to Spanish?

  “I don’t know.” I cross my arms. What I want is to go home.

  She falls back dramatically in her chair and throws her arm over her forehead. “Well, I guess my experiment failed. I was trying to discover what interests my students.”

  “Sorry. You shouldn’t expect too much from your students. That’s my advice. Rookie mistake, Mrs. Walsh.”

  She smiles and shakes her head. “Ha ha. I’m not a rookie. It’s my second year. And I’m not ready to give up yet. There’s got to be some question that has intrigued you in your twelve years. Something you want to know more about.”

  The asteroid and Dr. Cologne pop into my head. I’ve checked his site a few times since Saturday, but he hasn’t posted anything new.

  “Um…I guess there’s one thing I want to know.” I try to think of a way to bring it up.

  “Yes?” She leans forward again.

  “How’s the world going to end?”

  “Wow!” She holds up her hands like she’s about to catch a giant ball. “That’s a big question.”

  “I don’t mean the planet blowing up, but how’s it going to end for humans?” I ask. “What’s going to make us go extinct? Like your dinosaur friends.” She used to be a real-life paleontologist. The first week of school she showed us pictures of her working at a fossil site.

  “I can certainly tell you how the dinosaurs went extinct,” she says. “An asteroid struck Earth in what’s now Mexico. The localized destruction was massive, and it set off a series of events that altered the planet for years.”

  “An asteroid? Really? Are you sure?”

  “An asteroid or maybe a comet, but yes, I’m sure!” She pumps her fist and then points to my face. “There! There! I saw it. A spark in your eye. Oh, thank you, Eleanor. You’ve restored my faith in seventh graders.”

  I shake my head and try not to laugh. “Okay. I guess asteroids and extinctions are a little interesting.”

  “Just a little?” She leans back and locks her fingers behind her head. “Dinosaurs were around for more than one hundred and fifty million years. Modern humans have been walking around for less than three hundred thousand years.”

  “Do you think it could happen again? Could an asteroid wipe out a whole species?”

  “Anything is possible. Earth has experienced five major extinction events.”

  “Were they all because of asteroids crashing into Earth?” My nerves tingle. I should tell her about Dr. Cologne and the website. I wonder if Dr. Cologne knows this has happened before. He must.

  “No.” She swivels in her chair to face the bookshelf behind her desk. She runs a finger across the spines and finally pulls out a book that looks more like a novel than a textbook. The History of Earth’s 4.5 Billion Years.

  “Here. You might enjoy this.” She holds it out for me, and when I don’t take it, she lays it on the corner of her desk.

  �
��No thanks.” I know she’s trying to trap me into doing extra work. Or worse, she’s going to suggest I do a science fair project.

  “Take the book and we’ll forget about the missing homework assignment and watershed map I know you didn’t finish in class.” She taps the cover. “Maybe you’ll find it useful. Maybe you’ll want to do a science fair project.”

  I knew it! All science teachers—even the cool ones—are obsessed with the science fair. They must get bonuses or something.

  “Gee, thanks.” I sigh heavily before grabbing the book.

  “Oh, you wait and see, Eleanor Dross. Science can change your life.” She clasps her hands in excitement.

  The book from Mrs. Walsh might be the most interesting thing a teacher has ever given me. I sit in the family room with Bubbles on my lap and reread the chapter on the K-T extinction (which stands for Cretaceous-Tertiary and should be C-T, in my opinion).

  Sixty-five million years ago, an asteroid at least six miles wide crashed into the Yucatán Peninsula in Mexico. It was traveling at 67,000 miles per hour, and the crater it created was over a hundred miles wide. Any animal within six hundred miles was obliterated immediately. It was like millions of nuclear bombs going off at once. The impact caused tsunamis with walls of water over two thousand feet high and earthquakes that would have made the ground in western North America act like a trampoline. (The book says T. rexes flew several feet into the air.) Bits of asteroid and rock and dirt were thrown into the atmosphere. When this debris fell back to Earth, it was on fire. It rained fire! Volcanoes across the globe went into overdrive. The biggest animals—like dinosaurs—died off quickly. The animals that survived were the smallest, and most lived underground.

  My heart pounds in my chest like I just watched a horror movie, and I hate horror movies.

  “Eleanor!”

  I jump. And so does Bubbles.

  Dad stands in the doorway. “What’s this?” He’s holding the math test and social studies project that require his signature. I’d left them and a pen on the counter. Teachers don’t trust us to hang our poor grades on the refrigerator for all to admire.