by P. J. Hoover
Solstice
P. J. Hoover
Piper's world is dying.
Each day brings hotter temperatures and heat bubbles that threaten to destroy the earth. Amid this global heating crisis, Piper lives under the oppressive rule of her mother, who suffocates her even more than the weather does. Everything changes on her eighteenth birthday, when her mother is called away on a mysterious errand and Piper seizes her first opportunity for freedom.
Piper discovers a universe she never knew existed—a sphere of gods and monsters—and realizes that her world is not the only one in crisis. While gods battle for control of the Underworld, Piper’s life spirals out of control as she struggles to find the answer to the secret that has been kept from her since birth.
Solstice
by
P.J. Hoover
For Mom and Dad, who raised me to believe I could do anything.
Chapter 1
Disaster
Mom says, “Watch the heat today.”
I nod and hug her and go to school like normal. Her concern’s nothing out of the ordinary. And neither is the heat.
At school after lunch, I walk through the breezeway, keeping my head down so the mist doesn’t get in my eyes. The vapor sprays out from above, causing a layer of green gel to settle on my skin and hair. I reach up and run my hands through my hair to try to smooth it, but the cooling gel only makes the curls get wilder; it’s no use. My clothes stick to me, and under my backpack, I’m coated in sweat. Out on the old parking lot, heat waves ripple over what remains of the black tar, only disturbed by a random cactus here and there. Still, I take my time before Social Sciences, soaking in the heat. Every other kid at school complains about it, but to me, the heat finds a way to sink into my soul and give me strength.
For the school to be spraying gel, the heat has to be extreme. Just before I walk back inside, I glance up at the bright red numbers of the thermometer. It blinks one hundred and twenty-one degrees Fahrenheit, which definitely falls into the extreme category. The temperature hasn’t climbed this high since we moved to Austin four years ago. It rarely goes above one hundred and sixteen. I pull out my FON to double check it, and it registers the same. One degree more and…
The sirens start blaring in an earsplitting pattern of high and low, up and down. One degree becomes a reality. I step inside, and for a second, all the kids just look around at one another, like the sound hasn’t yet registered. Like they’re all waiting for someone else to move.
“It’s another drill,” one guy to my left says.
“Didn’t we just have a drill?” someone else asks.
I shake my head because I know this isn’t a drill; I’d seen the thermometer. But I don’t want to cause a panic. The principal comes on the intercom system and does the job for me.
“Report to your designated cooling areas immediately. This is not a drill.”
Realization sinks in, and the hall erupts in chaos. The crowd effect’s going on, so movement just stops. But I’m on the Disaster Student Council. I need to help out. I push my way through person after person until I escape into the science hallway; the emptiness makes the sirens seem even louder as the sound bounces from one wall to the next, then off the floor and ceiling and straight into my ears. I rush toward the end, checking in each classroom to make sure it’s empty, and from there, I circle around until I’m close to the gym—the designated cooling area for our high school. I take up my position at the door on the far left and start directing kids inside.
We have drills every month, but one degree makes everyone go crazy. Drills consist of kids walking, talking, and making stupid jokes about the Global Heating Crisis. But there aren’t any jokes now. Just a whole lot of pushing and screaming and everything they tell us not to do during a real disaster.
My job is to make sure everyone who comes through this door is accounted for. I stand to the side of the door and try to scan each person with my FON as they walk through. But the crowd’s too thick; I’ll have to wait until they’re inside.
Of the ten doors leading into the gym, only me and three other student council members are already in position. Chloe’s supposed to be next to me, but she must be trapped behind everyone. I don’t want to think about her getting stuck outside in the heat. The last time she got too hot, she passed out.
“where r u?” I text her.
She responds in under five seconds, “b there in a sec,” and when I look out across the crowd, I catch her waving.
My FON is almost back in my pocket when it vibrates again. I don’t have to look to know who it is.
“Hey, Mom.” I cover one ear with my free hand and yell into the FON over the sound of the sirens.
“Piper. Why haven’t you answered? I’ve called you five times today.”
She’s actually called me seven times, and I’ve ignored each one. “I’m at school, Mom.”
“You have to come home right now.” My mom is always oversensitive that the earth is going to swallow me whole or something ridiculous like that, but this time her voice has an extra layer of worry on top.
“I can’t,” I yell back. Two kids in front of me start pushing to get to the door faster, but one of the teachers breaks it up. I motion them inside with my free hand.
“You have to. Please.” Her pleading comes through even amid the disaster. But she has to hear the sirens in the background. Does she think I’m going to just cut out in the middle of the crisis?
“I’ll be home when this is over.”
“Now, Piper.” Instead of worry, she uses her authority voice. But it only makes me want to do the exact opposite of what she’s asking.
“I’m not leaving now,” I say.
“It’s a heat bubble. The whole city is covered in it.”
I don’t speak as her words sink in. A real heat bubble means we could be stuck with deadly temperatures for weeks. The last time one of the pockets of hot air formed, the city was evacuated, and even then, almost a thousand people died. An evacuation is going to be nothing short of a disaster.
“Piper?”
“I’m here,” I say, but a sick feeling forms in the pit of my stomach. Heat bubbles are the newest, worst threat of the Global Heating Crisis. Cities all around the world are testing different ways to get rid of them, but it seems like the more done to combat them, the more frequent the bubbles become. Three months ago, one formed over Central America, and a third of the population died. They’d suffocated from the heat. Scientists called it the most horrible natural disaster since the tsunami fourteen years prior that had wiped out most of Indonesia.
“The city’s going to disperse the bubble. And activate the domes,” she says.
Disperser missiles have never been tested on a real bubble. There’s no telling what’s going to happen. “But—” I start.
“Take cover. And get home before they seal the domes. Please,” she says, and then she ends the call.
I’m still holding my FON when Chloe shows up next to me. My mind is spinning over what my mom said, because there’s no telling what a missile will do to the heat bubble. They’ve only been tested in the deserted regions of western Texas.
I give Chloe a quick smile to reassure her—or maybe myself—but we don’t get a chance to talk because at least thirty freshmen are trying to get my attention. I give up entirely on scanning them and just motion them all inside. If the city really is going to try to disperse the heat bubble, we need to get everyone behind the sealed doors.
It takes another few minutes before the hallway finally clears. Anyone stuck outside now is going to have to find some other shelter. The thought of being stuck outside during the disaster sends a wave of dread through me, but I try to suppress it since I’m supposed to set an example.
I mouth to Chloe
, “Let’s talk later,” and she nods. And then we both go into the gym and pull our doors closed behind us. One of the teachers swipes his FON in front of a scanner, and thick walls of plastic start lowering to the ground, forming a shield to protect us from the outside. My entire body relaxes when the shields touch the floor. We’re going to be safe.
The freshmen are supposed to be in a single file line, but most of them are sitting next to their friends, crying and consoling each other. I’m not going to stop them; most people do think the Global Heating Crisis will end the world. If the heat doesn’t stop sooner or later, everything on Earth will die except maybe the cockroaches. Already most of the smaller vegetation is gone.
Overhead, the giant industrial air conditioners kick in. The city has mandated they can only be turned on in times of disaster, and only then, set to cool to eighty-nine degrees. Otherwise, most of humanity has to settle for eco-friendly A/C, which cools to a toasty ninety-three degrees.
I take out my FON and scan each kid’s identifier until it beeps. One by one, I make my way down the line, but I stop when I notice a girl sitting against the gym wall with her knees pulled up against herself and tears running down her face. Her arms are covered in red blisters, and standing over her is some empathy-challenged freshman girl and her boyfriend who even in the midst of disaster tries to act like he’s above it all, the heat be damned. There’s just something about the whole situation that gets under my skin. I detest bullies. I detest when people are flat-out mean and get away with it. And I detest when people take advantage of bad situations.
I walk over, and when they see me coming, the girl and guy scoot away to Chloe’s line. Chloe catches my eye and winks. I know my best friend will set them straight. I turn back to the girl on the ground, but she doesn’t look up. Instead, she scratches her blisters and stares straight ahead.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay,” I say and squat down beside her.
She bites her lip, but her tears are still coming.
I reach out and run my hand over her blisters. “You’re allergic?”
She nods and then pulls her arms away and tries to move them to the inside of her legs.
She shouldn’t be embarrassed. One out of every ten people is allergic to the cooling gel they use, but this was deemed acceptable by the city council since it helps more people than it hurts. My mom was furious about the decision, but her vote was in the minority.
“I’m Piper,” I say.
The girl’s eyes finally meet mine. “Everyone knows who you are,” she says.
I give a weak smile to help relax her. “Only ’cause my mom’s on the city council.”
“Yeah, maybe,” she says. And she smiles back.
“You know my mom swears fennel tea will help reduce the allergic effects of the gel.”
Hope fills the girl’s eyes. “Fennel tea?”
I nod. “It’s supposed to counteract the chemicals they use. We grow all sorts of it at home.”
“At the Botanical Haven?” she says.
“Yeah. The Botanical Haven.” Apparently everyone knows where I live, too. I guess that’s the price of living in the largest private greenhouse in town. Chloe had told me once that people refer to it as the Flower Fortress behind my back. “I’ll bring you some on Monday if you want to try it.”
“Really?” Her face lights up like I’ve told her I’ll be her best friend.
“Yeah, really,” I say. I give her a final smile and stand up and am about to start scanning more kids when, over the wail of the sirens, there’s a boom so loud I feel it deep in my bones. It sounds like a bomb has dropped just outside the school walls. The ground rumbles, and the A/C overhead gives a final clunk and turns off. Any sense of order that might have been taking over the gym vanishes.
Someone shouts, “we’re all gonna die,” and people start screaming and crying. The sirens are still blaring, and the thermometer on the wall reads ninety-two. As I watch, it creeps up to ninety-three. Ninety-four. Everyone’s eyes are fixed on it, like it’s some electronic symbol of their fate. I hold my breath and wait for something to change. The sound from outside could only be the disperser missile. If it doesn’t work, maybe everyone else will be right. Maybe this will be the end of the world. Ninety-five. The temperature keeps rising. Ninety-six. And now, having twelve hundred kids and ninety faculty members stuck in a sealed-off gymnasium doesn’t seem like such a good idea. Maybe they should have been testing the air conditioning more regularly.
I’m just about to let despair consume me. The thermometer clicks to ninety-seven, and I think this is it. This is going to be the end.
But the temperature holds.
And the sirens go silent.
And the thick plastic walls lift.
And then there’s the sound of the doors to the gym unsealing, and twelve hundred kids start cheering, myself included. Whatever the missile was supposed to do to disperse the heat bubble, it must’ve worked. And I think maybe we will be able to survive this global warming disaster after all.
The principal comes back on the intercom and tells everyone school is canceled for the rest of the day. He instructs everyone to return home “in an orderly fashion” and await further instructions. Since I already talked to my mom, I know that the domes are about to be sealed. I hurry over to tell Chloe, but she’s caught in the crowd and being pushed out the door. I’ll text her once I get outside.
One step outside, with no cooling gel, and it’s like an inferno. Even if the bubble’s dispersed, it could take hours for the hot air to drift away. I don’t wait for a shuttle because everyone is trying to take one; the wait will be eternity. So I start the walk home.
Overhead, the steel struts of the dome structure extend into the sky. Thirty domes are being built over Austin, but only eight are supposed to be operational so far. Our Botanical Haven isn’t inside one, and I don’t want to be caught on the wrong side. My mom would freak.
I have to admit the thought of being away from my mom for a weekend is appealing. I could stay with Chloe. We could stay up late and watch ridiculous videos on the tube and eat popcorn and talk about which guys are hot and which ones she’d never date even if they were the last guys left on earth. But I keep walking.
I’m hardly past the last strut when the glass starts to grow between the beams of steel. I can’t pull my eyes away. Inch by inch, the glass forms like the shell of some sea creature. The Global Heating Crisis will continue to destroy the atmosphere, and cities around the world will create their own new atmospheres, and maybe life will go on; at this point, nothing is a guarantee. I watch until the glass seals fully into place, and then I walk home.
Chapter 2
Social Sciences
From what my mom and I watch on the news Friday and Saturday, the domes work just like promised. The eight functioning ones sealed shut and blocked the worst of the heat and UV radiation, which was great. What wasn’t so great was the fact that, in the areas which weren’t domed, the crime rate skyrocketed. Reporters estimate a record high of thirty rapes, fifteen murders, and an uncountable number of burglaries throughout the city. Hotter days always bring more violence to the city, but this is the worst it’s been yet.
The steel struts retract the glass of the domes late Sunday, reabsorbing the sand and lime for use the next time the domes are needed, and now everyone’s allowed out again. My mom tells me the GHC council has an emergency meeting after school Monday—that she might not be here when I get home. I try to keep the smile off my face; I’ll have a little time to myself. My mom is smothering in large doses, and this weekend of her doting on my every movement hasn’t helped matters. I only saw one other person the entire weekend when my mom went out to collect some seeds. One of our customers, Melina, came by to talk and drop off a birthday present. On a normal Sunday, I look forward to Melina’s visits, but this time, the whole vibe felt wrong. I figured it was the heat.
The next day at school, all anyone talks about is the Global Heating Crisis. Everyo
ne’s trying to outdo one another with stories about how crazy or scary or awesome their weekend was. I mull over the fact that I spent the entire weekend inside the Botanical Haven with my mom while my eighteenth birthday came and went. To her credit, she tried to make it special, making me a vanilla cream cake and molding tiny flowers out of fondant for the icing. But even the cake couldn’t erase the fact that I didn’t get to see Chloe.
After lunch, my mom calls me, making sure I remember she has the council meeting to go to. I assure her I remember and try to get her off the FON, but she keeps talking like she just wants to hear my voice. She starts telling me about the latest crop reports from the Midwest, how this year farmers estimate yields of corn will be at an all-time low. I normally latch on to this kind of information, but I’m already late; I have no choice but to hang up on her and head to class.
When I walk into Social Sciences, there’s a new guy sitting right where I normally sit near the windows. His face turns to me, and his eyes are the first thing to catch my interest. They’re dark like chocolate and filled with shadows. His lips move into a flicker of a smile, and a piece of his dark hair falls across his forehead. He makes me think of mysteries and secrets. In short, he sums up every single thing my mom tells me to avoid. So I sit down in the empty seat next to him.
“You’re late, Piper.” Mr. Kaiser’s already started class.
I pretend not to look at the new guy and drop my backpack onto the ground. “My mom called.”
I wait for the idiotic crack from Randy Conner which I know will come. He doesn’t disappoint. “Making sure you got between classes okay?”
The class snickers, and I shoot Randy my best glare. But my peripheral vision catches the new guy, and my heart tightens into something resembling a Gordian knot; he’s staring right at me.
