The World Ends in April

by Stacy McAnulty

  “It’s your homework,” I joke. “But don’t worry, it’s an easy assignment. Just sign.”

  “Eleanor, you can do better than this.”

  “I’m not an A-student. Phillip is your brainiac. You should be happy that you were blessed with one smart kid. The results aren’t in for Edward yet, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up. I’ve seen him stick Legos up his nose.”

  “Eleanor,” Dad sighs. “You don’t have to be an A-student. I want your best, and this is not your best. Look. You didn’t even finish.” He points to the report. I hadn’t bothered to add a bibliography. That was worth five points, but probably would have taken me hours, maybe days.

  “I’ll make it up.”

  “Yes, you will, and no going anywhere, including Mack’s house, until it’s done.” He hands me the papers. “And if you need help with math, I’m your guy.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Dad’s a mechanical engineer and an all-around numbers geek. He actually likes doing math stuff, including checking his kids’ homework. But he doesn’t just check if our answers are right. He makes up additional problems to make sure we “get it.”

  You learn math by doing, he’s told us a billion times.

  Bubbles and I go to my room. I consider doing my homework. The bibliography will probably only take twenty minutes—not hours—if I actually get started. But I can’t stop thinking about asteroids—both the dinosaur one and the new one. Scientists say the K-T extinction asteroid was about six miles across. I can’t remember the estimated size of Dr. Cologne’s. I get online.

  The asteroid 2010PL7 is a bit smaller. It’s about three and a half miles wide and potato-shaped, not round. None of this information makes me feel any better.

  I click around the website hoping to find a “ha ha, just kidding” GIF. I don’t want to be crushed by an asteroid or caught in a fiery rainstorm. Instead, I find a video.

  On the screen, Dr. Cologne is sitting in a messy office. He clears his throat.

  “I’m Dr. Martin Cologne. Professor of astronomy and physics. I’m recording this in my office at Harvard University. Today is my last day and not of my own choosing. While I’m a tenured professor with multiple publications and awards and the director of the Origins of Planets Initiative, I’m being forced out for telling the truth and attempting to save lives.”

  He runs a hand through his wild gray hair and scratches his white beard. He looks left at something off the screen. He seems worried, but not crazy.

  “I could fight this,” he says, looking back at the camera. “Legally fight this out in court. But some things are more important than career and prestige.”

  A loud knock in the video causes Dr. Cologne to pause. Then he leans closer to the camera.

  “Please spread the word. I am not wrong. I haven’t been wrong in my entire twenty-year career. Read my research. I promise I’m right, and I’m sorry that I’m right!” He’s screaming now. Spit flies from his mouth. Okay, he does seem a bit crazy.

  He lets out a loud breath. “Your life depends on this information.”

  There’s mumbling out of view. Dr. Cologne pushes back his chair. It crashes into a stack of books. The screen turns sideways and then goes black.

  That’s the only new post. I go back and reread what I already know. The world is ending in the spring when 2010PL7 crashes into our planet.

  Links have been added to his picture. It’s like his résumé. I click a few and see the papers he’s written on subjects like black hole evolution, space-time theories, and the Kevlar mission. I don’t even understand the abstracts written at the tops. But anyone who can use that many ten-letter words in one paragraph must be übersmart. He doesn’t make any spelling or grammar mistakes in his official work—that I can tell. Unlike the website, which has lots of errors.

  Still, he’s someone who deserves to be listened to. He’s earned it. Who am I to question him? Not that I ever really doubted the Harvard astrophysicist. I just thought maybe he was exaggerating. From experience, I know most adults exaggerate at least once in a while.

  I text Mack.

  ME: check out Cologne’s website NOW

  He uses VoiceOver to read his messages, and he does speech-to-text to send. Using punctuation and words in all caps is a waste. I do it anyway. And I always have to consider that he might listen to my messages in front of his parents.

  ME: Let me know what you think

  Mack texts back ten minutes later, which feels more like ten years when you’re waiting for important advice.

  MACK: OMG we’re all going to die

  I assume he’s being sarcastic, and this isn’t the time. I call him.

  He answers the phone, laughing.

  “You’re not being serious!” I accuse him.

  “No, no, no. I am. Sorry.” He clears his throat and uses his deepest voice. “We should all be concerned and heed this warning.”

  “Honestly, he seems smart,” I say. “But in the video, he was getting upset. Like freaking out.”

  “He is talking about the end of the world. TEO…what is it called again?”

  “TEOTWAWKI.” I flop back on my bed, and Bubbles is forced to find a new spot. “What should we do?”

  “I don’t know. I mean, Grandpa Joe is already prepared for this,” he says. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “I haven’t told him yet,” I admit.

  “Seriously? This is Grandpa Joe’s jam. Why haven’t you told him?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Okay,” Mack says. “I would tell him and your dad. This dude seems pretty sure.”

  “Are you going to tell your parents?”

  “Definitely. Soon as I have time.” He answers like I’ve asked if he’s going to watch a new YouTube video I’ve recommended.

  “Mack, I’m totally serious here. I think this is real. Don’t you?” I hold my breath as I wait for his reply.

  “Yeah, I do.” His voice softens, and I can tell he’s not just saying what I want to hear.

  We hang up, and I immediately call my grandfather, the only prepper I know.

  “This is Joe. Leave a message, unless you’re a telemarketer; then go eat a sock.” He laughs at the end, which makes it much less threatening.

  “Hey, it’s Eleanor. Can you call me, please? When you have the time. Nothing important. Everything is okay. I love you. But call me.” Then I disconnect. I’m sure I didn’t sound like everything was okay.

  Dad, Phillip, and Edward are playing a game downstairs. My interruption won’t be appreciated. Plus, they’ll invite me to play, and I’m not a fan of Risk. Or worse, Dad will ask if I’ve finished my work. My standard answer is always “I’ve got it under control.” This is neither a lie nor the truth. I’m the only one who can do the work, so it is under my control.

  I decide to tell Dad later, after the boys are asleep.

  So many questions fill my head. Like, is Dr. Cologne for real? Everyone warns students that you can’t trust the internet. Our media specialist spent three classes on reliable sources. I’m pretty sure you could end up in a juvenile detention center if you ever use Wikipedia on any project. And Dad has warned us too. He’s put parental controls on the computer that the boys use. When I started middle school and got my own laptop, he told me he wouldn’t install monitoring software if I promised to be responsible. And if I had any questions about what was okay, I was supposed to ask him. I haven’t gotten in trouble yet.

  I scan the site again, and I notice there’s now an email button.

  Click.

  I type my message as fast as my two fingers can go.

  Dear Dr. Cologne,

  Are you sure about this asteroid? Like, 1,000 percent sure? I want to tell my family, but I’m afraid they’ll think I’m crazy. They might think you are crazy even though it’s obvious t
hat you are smart from all your awards. I don’t know what to do. Please help.

  Sincerely,

  E.J.D.

  I don’t put my full name because I’m not supposed to give my name on the internet. Maybe Dr. Cologne will even think I’m an adult, since I didn’t say my age.

  My hand shakes a little bit when I hit send. I really should do my makeup work and tonight’s homework. Instead, I take a shower, which doesn’t take long now that I have no hair. Then I go to the kitchen for a snack. I wear my headphones to avoid Dad’s questions about the progress of my work. When I go back to my room, I promise myself it’s time to get my bibliography done. Right after I check my email. There’s no way Dr. Cologne could have written me back yet, so it’s not really stalling.

  But there is an email.

  And it is from Dr. Cologne. For a second, I forget to breathe.

  Dear E.J.D.,

  You must tell your family. It is up to each of us to protect the ones we love. If you don’t do it, who will? They may not accept it at first. I’ve run into resistance from numerous colleagues. They do not want to see what’s plainly in front of them. There’s too much pride among scientists. Most of our career is spent competing for discoveries and for glory. This is not the time. We need to get ready. I’ve attached some images of the asteroid. Maybe these will help your family realize the threat.

  I understand if you are having doubts. People have predicted the end of the world before. None have been right. But our world has been struck by objects from space countless times. Some impacts have caused major extinctions. Mathematically speaking, we are overdue for a severe, life-altering collision. We’ve been forturnate. But our luck runs out this spring.

  Be brave and take care of yours.

  Sincerely,

  Dr. Martin Cologne

  I read the email one more time, and I have no doubt what I need to do.

  “Dad, come here!”

  “What is it?” Dad shouts as he runs up the stairs. “What’s wrong?”

  Maybe I shouldn’t have screamed. This is important and life-threatening but not a right-this-minute emergency.

  He stops in my doorway and looks around. He’s still wearing his work clothes—navy pants and a baby-blue button-down shirt that’s now untucked.

  Bubbles jumps off my bed and runs to Dad, then me, and then Dad again. She barks, probably confused by the excitement.

  “What?” Dad asks again.

  Edward pushes in under Dad’s arm. “Is it a spider? Is it a big spider?”

  “No. Go away. I want to talk to Dad alone.” Of course, that’s like a magnet to my brothers’ curious little brains. Now both Edward and Phillip are standing in my room.

  “Boys, let me speak to your sister.” Dad sounds calmer. He realizes I’m not on fire or anything. He shoos them out and closes my door. Judging by the shadows, they haven’t gone far. I wonder if life would be easier if I had sisters.

  “What’s going on?” Dad asks.

  “Here.” I point to the computer. I’ve got the website up, but my email is closed. I know Dad wouldn’t want me contacting this guy or any stranger.

  He leans over and reads, but not for long. His eyebrows pull together.

  “What’s this?”

  “Dr. Cologne is tracking an asteroid that’s going to crash into Earth in the spring.” I was nervous about telling my dad, but now I’m excited.

  He starts reading again. I chew on my lip as I watch him scroll through the posts. I never noticed he’s such a slow reader. When I can’t take it anymore, I reach over and click the video from Dr. Cologne’s office. My eyes jump from the screen to my dad to the screen to my dad.

  “What do you think?” I ask when it’s over.

  “That was…that was interesting.” He taps his fingers on the side of the laptop.

  “What should we do?” My head is buzzing with ideas. Do we need a bunker? How much water should we have? As much as I hate MREs, I think we need more. Should we call my aunts and uncles? Maybe it’s better to tell them in person. We need to help Mack’s family get ready too.

  Dad chuckles. “What do you mean, what should we do? This is one of those satire videos.”

  “No, it’s not.” My face grows hot.

  “Eleanor, you believe this nonsense?” He tilts his head and stares like we’re speaking different languages.

  “Dad, this doctor knows when it’ll be TEOTWAWKI.”

  Dad groans and pulls out my desk chair to take a seat. “I’m going to strangle your grandfather.”

  “This has nothing to do with Grandpa Joe. I found the website. Me.” I clench my fists. My fingernails dig into my palms. Bubbles tries to make her way into my lap, but I push her aside.

  “Most kids don’t know what TEOTWAWKI stands for. He’s always talking about it and getting ready for the end of the world. He put the ideas in your—”

  “No! I hate bug-out drills and lessons on water purifying. Edward and Phillip love that stuff. Not me.” I shake my head. Dad should know this.

  “Okay.” He holds up his hands in surrender.

  “Please. Just take a closer look.” I get up and hand him my laptop. “Make sure you read everything. I’m going to get ready for bed.”

  I take my time brushing my teeth and getting a glass of water. I need Dad to study the evidence.

  When I get back to my room, he’s already closed my laptop and is scratching Bubbles behind her ears.

  He looks up at me. “Thank you for showing me the website.”

  “And?”

  “This asteroid is not a legitimate concern.”

  “The asteroid is real!”

  “Perhaps. But it is not a threat to Earth. This is not how the world will end.”

  “Then how will it end?”

  “No one knows, Eleanor. Not this guy. And not your grandfather.”

  “Dr. Cologne does know. He has a PhD from Harvard. He’s one of the top astrophysicists in the world. He’s written—”

  “Calm down.” Dad stops me. “Sometimes experts are wrong, or they abuse their position for notoriety.”

  “No.”

  “Everything about this feels wrong, Eleanor. This is not legitimate science. His website only has grainy satellite pictures and dire warnings.”

  I don’t want to cry but can’t help it. “But what if he is right?”

  “It’s my job to take care of you, and I promise, you are safe from asteroids.” Dad gives me his pity look—sucking in his lips, raising his eyebrows, and tilting his head.

  I nod because I want to believe him. My dad is smart and knows stuff. But he’s a mechanical engineer who designs air-conditioning systems for cars. He’s not an astrophysicist.

  “You need to promise me, if you’re worried about this or if you have more questions, talk to me, please. I know you get worked up about things.”

  “Okay.” And this is an absolute lie. I won’t talk to Dad again until I have more proof. Until I can convince him this is real. As the asteroid gets closer to Earth, there’s no way other scientists will stay quiet. There will be better pictures and more data. I have to be patient. Even though the world is ending in the spring, that’s still two quarters of a school year away. And school years last forever.

  * * *

  • • •

  My phone rings before my alarm goes off in the morning. The caller ID says Grandpa Joe.

  “What’s wrong?” he yells as I try to say hello.

  “Nothing.”

  “Both you and your daddy called me last night. That never happens. Everyone all right?” He sounds like he’s out of breath.

  “When did Dad call?” I sit up and rub gunk from my eyes.

  “Sometime after you. Are you going to tell me what’s going on or should I ring him?�
��

  “Don’t call him unless you want to be yelled at.”

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” he says.

  For a second, I consider not telling him about Dr. Cologne, the asteroid, and the website. Adults have a funny way of looking at things. They make up their minds quickly. Sometimes before you’ve even finished explaining.

  “Hello? Eleanor? You there?”

  “Yeah.” But Grandpa Joe is different than most adults. “Turn on your computer. I want to show you a website.” I tell him the web address. Then I put my phone down on the bed and run to use the bathroom and let Bubbles into the backyard.

  “Did you find it?” I ask when I get back to my room. My hands are still wet. I wipe them on my pajama pants.

  “Holy Toledo,” he says. “How’d you find this?”

  “Kind of by accident,” I admit.

  “This…this…this is incredible.” He whistles loudly, and I have to pull the phone away from my ear.

  “So you believe it?” I ask.

  “What’s not to believe? This is a gosh-blang scientist telling us the world is ending. “Man, oh man, oh man, oh man.”

  Suddenly I worry that I might give Grandpa Joe a heart attack with this news. I should have warned him, told him to sit down or something.

  “Are you okay?” I ask.

  “Sorry. Just trying to read it all. There’s so much to take in.”

  “I know.” I perch on the edge of my bed.

  “Spring, huh? We’ve got five or six months to be ready.”

  These words take a weight off my shoulders. I’m not alone.

  “Dad doesn’t believe it.”

  “That boy. He always knows better. Is that why he called me late at night? It was after eight. Almost nine, actually.”

  “Yes, and nine o’clock is not late, Grandpa Joe.”

  “It will be after this asteroid strikes. We’ll be going to bed when the sun goes to bed and gettin’ up when the sun gets up.”