The World Ends in April

by Stacy McAnulty

  “Not doing it.”

  We take our regular seats. Seventh graders dominate the cafeteria. I look around to see where Londyn’s sitting. She’s not at the popular kids’ table. She’s not squished at ours or the next one over. Then I spot her alone in a booth, a place usually reserved for teachers or adults visiting the school.

  Londyn isn’t with an adult. She’s alone, pushed into the corner like the booth made for four is crowded with seven. I’ve always thought of Londyn as someone with dozens of friends, and another twenty kids wanting to be her friend. This doesn’t make sense. Maybe she’s been assigned that seat by a teacher for swearing in class. That I could believe.

  I take out my peanut butter and Fluff sandwich. While I tear it into little pieces, I watch Londyn. No one joins her. A girl named Hannah says something to Londyn as she walks past. By the way Londyn sinks deeper into her seat, I assume it wasn’t “hello.”

  “Why so quiet?” Mack asks.

  “Fine,” I say through clenched teeth. “I’ll go to the next meeting. But if Londyn is there and says anything nasty, I quit.”

  “Um, okay?”

  The chances are pretty good that I’ll be resigning from Nature Club. No way Londyn Diggs can be civil for sixty whole minutes.

  Thanksgiving is so uncomfortable with Dad and Grandpa Joe fighting that I almost look forward to going back to school.

  They argue when Grandpa Joe calls us soldiers as we set the table. “It sounds like you’re starting a cult or a militia,” Dad says.

  They argue when Grandpa Joe says he’s ordered us a rainwater collection barrel. “We get our water from the tap, thank you,” Dad says.

  And Dad accidentally breaks his wineglass when Grandpa Joe says grace. “Lord, thank you for this meal. Thank you for my fine family—my son, my grandsons, and my amazing granddaughter. Thank you for this great nation. Thank you for everything. We realize this may be our last true Thanksgiving. We pray to continue to provide. Now and when the world ends.”

  Grandpa Joe leaves before we have pie, and Dad spends the rest of the holiday watching football with his eyes closed. I sneak off to my room to get organized for the next Nature Club meeting. I create a vocabulary sheet and write up some of the most important information from Dr. Cologne.

  The site has gotten much bigger. Dr. Cologne posts almost every day. There are complicated math calculations and satellite images. They all kind of look the same, but what do I know? He’s also added a message board, where people post comments and questions. Sometimes, they’re not nice, but someone takes those down quickly. The messages come from all over the world. I read things from Iceland and Australia. Luckily, they’re all written in English. This information is going global. I don’t want to post on the boards; instead, I send another email.

  Dear Dr. Cologne,

  Happy Thanksgiving. I’m thankful for all the information you give on your website. You’re saving lives. I think you’re a hero.

  Sincerely,

  E.J.D.

  * * *

  • • •

  It’s the first Wednesday of December. Mack and I arrive at the Nature Club meeting before the others. (I followed him from his locker to make sure he didn’t skip out again.) Mrs. Walsh was absent today, and I worried that the substitute would cancel. But Mrs. Walsh left instructions that we are allowed to meet in her room after school. The sub doesn’t ask any questions except “What time is the meeting over?” Then she goes back to playing with her iPhone.

  Spencer, Ajay, and Dominic come in next. Spencer shows me a survivalist magazine he bought over the weekend. It’s curled and wrinkled like he’s read it cover to cover a bunch of times. And Ajay has brought a metal suitcase.

  “What’s in there?” I ask.

  “A Celestron NexStar Six-SE.” He pats the side of the case.

  I shrug.

  “It’s my portable telescope. I have a bigger one at home, but that’s mounted in our family room. I couldn’t bring that one to school.”

  “Do you think we could see the asteroid with that?” It doesn’t seem possible, but I get excited anyway.

  “Don’t be ridiculous. The asteroid is too far away, and it’s daytime.” He motions to the window in case I didn’t realize it’s the middle of the afternoon.

  “Then why did you bring it?”

  “Because it’s cool.” He opens the case and gazes lovingly at his toy.

  Another new kid joins us. “Is this the End of the World Club?” he asks.

  “This is Nature Club,” I say.

  “We’re here to learn about and celebrate nature,” Mack adds.

  We need to have a better motto. Next thing you know, we’ll be touring the botanical gardens.

  “I thought—” The new kid looks confused.

  “I give up,” I cut him off. “You’re right. It is the End of the World Club.”

  Jade and Izabell walk in, followed by Wyatt. Originally, I wanted the club to be me and Mack—and maybe the boys from lunch. But now I feel responsible for the others.

  “Hey, Eleanor,” Jade says. “I brought you this.” She gives me a packet of papers stapled together. It’s a printout from a science website. Across the top it reads What You Need to Know About Climate Change.

  “Thanks.”

  I sit next to Spencer and flip through his magazine. There are two useful articles and about a thousand pages of ads for weapons and equipment. I glance at the doorway every few seconds. I’m waiting for Londyn, hoping she’s somewhere else—torturing someone else.

  “What’s your name, new kid?” I ask.

  “Brent.” He pushes his long dirty-blond hair out of his face and flashes a ridiculously big smile, showing off his braces. He’s white, pimply, and thin.

  “Okay. I guess this is it for today.”

  “So what are we doing, Madame President?” Mack asks.

  “Water-filtration systems.” I hold up my personal one that Grandpa Joe got me. The same one he gave Mack. It costs over a hundred dollars. “You can only survive a day without water. Bottled water is good to have around, but when the situation is ongoing, you need long-term solutions.”

  I place the filter on the desk. “After SHTF—”

  “That means when the stuff hits the fan.” A voice from the doorway interrupts my lesson. It’s Londyn.

  The muscles in my shoulder tighten, and my head’s on fire. I think I’m allergic to her.

  She joins the group, taking a seat on the other side of Mack.

  “Hey, Londyn,” he says. No one else says hello or even looks at her.

  “Um…” I can’t remember what I was saying. Londyn drums her fingers on the desk like I’m wasting her time.

  “What’s wrong?” Mack asks.

  “Nothing.” I shake my head. “Um…water is important—”

  “We know that,” Londyn interrupts. “First graders know that.”

  I move my water filter from my left to my right hand and back. I can’t think with her glaring at me.

  “Are you going to demonstrate or what?” she asks.

  “I guess.” I know how to use my water filter. Grandpa Joe made sure of that. But I’m not supposed to use it for fun. Water filters don’t last forever. Each use before TEOTWAWKI is one less time I can use it when it matters.

  I stand up and motion for everyone to follow me to the lab sink in the back of the room.

  The sub watches us.

  “Talking about the water cycle and purification,” I explain. “I need to borrow a beaker.”

  She squishes her eyebrows but then nods once.

  I open the cabinet to find a four-hundred-milliliter beaker. Then I take the water purifier from the pouch and turn on the faucet. Before I can begin, Londyn reaches over and shuts off the water.

  “No.” She stares at me with b
lack-rimmed eyes. “This water is already clean. How do we know the water purification works if you’re using clean water?”

  “It’s a demonstration.”

  “It’s stupid and useless.”

  I wait for her to call me stupid and useless. She doesn’t.

  “What do you want me to do?” As soon as the question is out of my mouth, I know it’s a mistake.

  “We need dirty water,” she says. “We’re preparing for the end of the world, not snack time.”

  “Yeah.” Dominic nods.

  “She’s right,” Spencer says, and I feel like I’m being overthrown. “Let’s go outside and find water.”

  “There’s no water near the school. And even with this”—I hold up the purifier—“you can’t drink out of puddles. In a real situation, we’d be collecting rainwater—”

  “Isn’t that what a puddle is?” Londyn interrupts again.

  “Rainwater collected in food-grade barrels. Water from a stream or river—moving water—is the best. The rocks act as a natural filter. They reduce a lot of the bigger bad stuff. Then your purifier catches the microscopic crud.”

  A few of the kids nod.

  “So do you want me to demonstrate or not?” I ask.

  “What about toilet water?” Londyn asks before anyone can answer my question. “Can you drink toilet water through that thing?” She flicks my water filter with a single finger.

  Mack snorts. “Gross. But can you?”

  “The water in the tank on the back of the toilet is clean,” I explain. “It’s the same water as what comes out of the sink.”

  “What about the bowl?” Londyn asks.

  “I don’t know. Even if you flush three or four times, does everything go down?” I shrug.

  “Wouldn’t your fancy water filter catch whatever micro-crap is left? Don’t fish pee in the rivers you want us to drink from?”

  “Okay, listen. I’m not a urine or toilet expert, but I’m sure there’s a difference between toilets and rivers.” All I wanted to do was demonstrate how to operate a stupid water filter.

  “We could try it out.” She smiles.

  “No!” I shake my head.

  “Let’s do it,” Spencer says.

  Ajay nods in agreement.

  “This is wild,” Mack says. “Are you really going to filter toilet water?”

  “No way!” I say.

  “What kind of survivalist are you?” Londyn snatches the water filter out of my hands and heads to the door. “Someone grab the beaker.”

  “Where are you going?” the sub asks.

  “Bathroom break,” Mack says.

  Everyone follows Londyn. Dominic has the beaker. Mack’s cane moves across the floor as he tags along.

  What is happening?

  There’s no good way for this to end. If Londyn tries to use my water filter, she’ll probably break it. If I work it, I’ll have a beaker of purified toilet water. My decision doesn’t take long. I’m a second behind the group.

  “Be right back,” I tell the sub. She doesn’t try to stop me.

  Londyn leads everyone into the girls’ bathroom. Spencer and Ajay look around like they’re on a new planet.

  “Never been in here,” Mack says. “Smells nicer than the boys’ bathroom.”

  Londyn pushes open a stall door. The toilet seat is up, and the water is bluish with bubbles.

  “Lucky us, it looks like the janitor recently cleaned our drink.” She uses her foot to flush. The water swirls and is gone. Then she does it again. We’re left with a clear liquid that is still ultimately toilet water.

  Londyn shoves the filter into my chest. “Let the demonstration begin, Professor Doomsday.”

  I take a deep breath. “This is stupid. There’s not enough water in the bowl for one person for one day. No one would do this. You need to find a real water source.”

  “You do it or I will.” Londyn takes a step forward. We’re the same height. I might even be a half inch taller, but somehow she creates a shadow over me.

  “Okay.” I hold the water-filtration system. “There are two steps to clean water. Filtration and purification. This gadget does both.”

  Hopefully.

  “This is the intake.” I point to a piece sticking out of the side near the bottom. “You attach the hose to this.” I slip it on and make sure it’s tight. Then I drop the other end into the toilet bowl.

  “Ewww,” Jade says.

  “What’s going on?” Mack asks.

  “She put it in the toilet,” Spencer explains.

  “This nozzle is the output.” I attach the second clear hose. “As the water runs from the bottom to the top, it’s going through a filter that takes out ninety-nine point ninety-nine percent of bacteria and parasites. There’s also a charcoal filter that removes chemicals.”

  “Does it remove cholera and E. coli?” Ajay asks. He nervously twists the bottom of his T-shirt.

  “I think so.”

  “Does it remove urine?” Dominic asks.

  “Yes.” What other answer can I give?

  Here goes nothing.

  “You need to prime the pump,” I explain. “You don’t want to drink the first few ounces that come out.”

  I get Spencer to hold the hose over the toilet because I need one hand on the filter and one to pump. As the water drains into the bowl, it sounds like someone peeing.

  After five pumps, I tell him to move the output tube to the beaker.

  Dominic pulls out his cell phone and takes a picture.

  “No pictures.” I put my head down. But with my short hair, I can’t hide my face.

  “What are you doing?” Londyn snaps. I assume she was talking to me, but I look up to see her pull the phone out of Dominic’s hands.

  “You can’t take pictures at a secret club,” she says.

  When the beaker is half full, I stop.

  “There.” I point. “Is this enough?”

  “I don’t know, you tell me. Could you survive for five minutes on that?” Londyn crosses her arms.

  “This is a demonstration!” I clench my jaw.

  “Right. Now demonstrate by drinking it.”

  “You drink it.” I grab the beaker from Dominic and offer it to Londyn.

  “You first,” Londyn says. “I’ll go second.”

  “No way, I don’t trust you. If I drink it, you’ll go around and tell everyone that Eleanor Dross drinks toilet water.”

  “And I don’t trust you. You’re the expert. If you’re not willing to drink it, then I know your dumb water filter doesn’t work.”

  “It works. It’s the best one out there. It was designed for the military.” I can’t believe I’m bragging about this.

  “Then drink it.” She leans forward in my face.

  “No. Does anyone else want to try?” I offer the toilet water to everyone. No one accepts.

  “I’ll drink it if you do. I promise.” Londyn’s voice is fake sweet.

  “Me too,” Mack says.

  He can’t see, but my eyes are bugging out of my head.

  “This is like our initiation,” Mack continues. “If you want to be in Nature Club—aka End of the World Club—you gotta do it.”

  “But you first,” Londyn adds. “It’s only fair.”

  I glance at everyone else. As a group, they look horrified, but they all nod.

  My heart races. What do I do? I don’t want to be known as the girl who drinks toilet water. But if we all do it, it’s like a bond. Everyone will want to keep it secret, like a team of bank robbers. No one can talk.

  “Well…” Londyn huffs. “We don’t have all day. Our rides will be here in literally ten minutes.”

  Without comment, I put the beaker to my lips and take the smallest drink. Maybe a teaspo
on. I swallow without tasting. At least I try. Maybe I imagine the iron and dirt flavor.

  “Your turn.” I lock my jaw and hand the beaker to Londyn.

  “Did she do it?” Mack asks.

  “Yep,” the new kid says.

  Londyn laughs. I knew she wouldn’t do it. I ball my fist. But before I can take the beaker back and dump it over her head, she takes a sip. Then she shrugs like no big deal.

  The beaker gets passed to Dominic because he’s closest.

  “They both drank it,” Spencer tells Mack.

  Dominic holds his nose while he takes his portion. Everyone tries the toilet water, even Izabell. She fakes taking a sip at first, but Jade calls her out.

  “Come on. Do it.” Jade elbows her.

  Mack is the last to get the beaker. He holds it up and says cheers before finishing it. He definitely drank the most.

  “Do you drink toilet water at every meeting?” the new kid asks Spencer.

  “Nope. This was special.”

  “Okay. If anyone gets violently ill tonight, we know the water filter didn’t work,” I say. “Any vomiting or diarrhea, maybe ask your parents to take you to the hospital. Especially if you see any blood.”

  “Perhaps you should have mentioned that before we drank it,” Wyatt says.

  Ajay looks green. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

  “Not from the water. It wouldn’t be that fast. Give it an hour.”

  After I rinse off the filter, we head back to the classroom. The substitute eyes us suspiciously as we walk in. I’m glad Mrs. Walsh is out. She didn’t want us eating dandelions or strange berries. She’d be disappointed to know we drank toilet water.

  “Five minutes,” the sub warns us. “Start wrapping it up.”

  As I stuff the water filter back in its pouch, I see the printouts. I almost forgot.

  “Here.” I hand everyone a sheet. “This is a summary of what’s going on, what’s new, and the vocab. I wanted to make sure everyone was keeping up. It’ll also help the new kid.”