The World Ends in April

by Stacy McAnulty

  “You can zip-line after TEOTWAWKI,” I say. “It doesn’t require electricity.”

  “Whatever. I’m putting it on the list,” Londyn says.

  “I figure we won’t have a lot of time for leisure activities with all the hunting and gathering we’ll be doing,” Mack jokes. They go back and forth coming up with ideas. I ignore them mostly. Sometimes I throw in an occasional groan.

  “What’s on your bucket list, Norie?” Londyn asks after I sigh at her suggestion of hang gliding.

  “The only thing on my bucket list is to have enough food, water, and supplies for me and my family to survive.”

  “Boring,” Londyn says. “And you practically have that.”

  “Don’t you want to do something fun?” Mack asks.

  “Nope.”

  “Or accomplish something incredible?”

  “I don’t have time to train for a marathon.” I cross my arms.

  “A marathon?” Londyn raises her eyebrows. “Can you even run a mile?”

  “If I wanted to.”

  “Maybe start with a 5K,” Mack laughs. “I’ll do it with you.”

  “Okay,” I agree, and they both stare at me like I suggested running through the school naked. “Part of preparing for the end of the world is getting physically ready. We’re not going to be sitting at desks all day. After TEOTWAWKI, we’ll be hiking, and farming, and carrying heavy stuff, and maybe even fighting off the enemy.”

  “Fighting off the enemy?” Mack asks. “Who’s the enemy? Why are we fighting?”

  “People that come to take our supplies. We’ll have to punch them and stuff.” I air-box to demonstrate.

  “And you think running a 5K is going to get you ready for hand-to-hand combat?” Londyn snorts.

  “Forget it,” I snap. “We’re not doing a 5K. And we’re not doing a bucket list.”

  “We’re totally doing a bucket list,” Londyn says.

  “And a 5K,” Mack adds.

  I give up.

  For the rest of the day, I look over my shoulder, waiting for the principal—a gray-haired woman I’ve never spoken to in my life—to grab me and walk me to her office, where my dad will be waiting. I imagine the office filled with police and lawyers.

  But none of that happens. I ride the bus home, and everything is normal. The world is the same as yesterday.

  Mack and his parents go away for Christmas break. They visit family in New Jersey, and then visit other relatives in Florida. He does it every year, so I’m used to it. What I’m not used to is Londyn being around. On the afternoon of Christmas Eve, I get a text.

  LONDYN: Can I come over?

  ME: sure

  I send the message right away, but in my head I’m debating if this is a good idea. We’re about to decorate gingerbread houses and do corny family things. What will she think?

  LONDYN: is your grandfather there?

  ME: he’s coming later

  LONDYN: Good

  Dad is taking care of the meal—mostly just heating up stuff he got from the market. The boys are running around like a litter of rambunctious hyenas. I only have two brothers, but when you put them in a small space, it seems like there are eight of them.

  Londyn and Dad haven’t met before. She’s only been here while he’s at work. The minute she arrives, he clearly feels the need to interview her.

  “You rode your bike? Where do you live?”

  “My mom and I live with my aunt on Meadowlark.”

  “What’s your aunt’s name?”

  “Susan Caulkins.”

  “Hmm, I don’t believe I’ve met her.” This isn’t surprising, because we only talk to one of our neighbors—the Meyers, who live to our right. They’re older, and Dad insists on doing stuff for them like bringing in their garbage cans.

  “Do you have big plans for Christmas?” Dad asks.

  “Nope.” Londyn answers all his questions but doesn’t give away any more than she has to.

  Bubbles greets Londyn with her tail wagging. Londyn picks her up and snuggles my dog to her chest.

  “I can see you haven’t taught her to attack yet,” Londyn says to me. Maybe she came over to see Bubbles. That makes sense.

  “Well, the boys are decorating gingerbread houses, if you girls want to join in,” Dad offers.

  “I don’t know,” I say. “We might work on a school project.” Our code for the Doomsday Express.

  “Over break?” He raises one eyebrow. “I’ll be in the kitchen monitoring the building and demolition of edible houses.” He leaves Londyn and me in the foyer.

  “So what do you want to do?” I ask.

  “Let’s decorate gingerbread houses.”

  “Seriously?”

  “What? Your dad said we could.” She shrugs.

  “Okay. It didn’t seem like something you’d enjoy. Ya know, a festive activity. You’re not the festive type.”

  She looks down at her clothes like she’s noticing them for the first time. She’s wearing black jeans and a dark-gray hoodie; both are now covered in white dog hair.

  “Sorry. I don’t own reindeer clothes.” She gestures at my ugly Christmas sweater that has Rudolph on it.

  “I’ve got lots of Christmasy clothes.” I point toward my room. “I’d be happy to unload some of them—”

  “No! We’ll never be the kind of girls who share clothes.” She’s trying to sound tough, but I laugh. Then she snorts.

  She sets Bubbles on the ground, and we walk to the kitchen.

  “I’ve got you all set up.” Dad points to the counter separating the kitchen and the family room. The boys have taken over the table, and it’s already covered in frosting.

  Dad makes us cocoa. We construct our houses, but mine keeps falling over. Londyn has a steady hand. Her little cottage is up in no time, and she’s applying SweeTart roof tiles. I thought she might create a graveyard or haunted insane asylum. But her project is cheery and much better than mine. Despite Dad being an engineer, his constructing skills have not been passed on to his offspring.

  We’re cleaning up the mess when the front door opens, and we hear a loud “ho, ho, ho!”

  Londyn looks at me and smiles. “Is that Grandpa Joe?”

  “Yes.”

  The boys run to the front door, and Londyn is right behind them.

  “Merry Christmas Eve, soldiers.” Grandpa Joe stands in the doorway wearing a camo jacket and a red Santa hat. Two huge black trash bags filled with gifts are gripped in his hands.

  Phillip and Edward pause to salute before trying to relieve him of the packages.

  “Put ’em under the tree, boys.” He ruffles Edward’s hair.

  “Hey, Dad,” my father says to his father. “I thought we agreed you weren’t going to go overboard with the gifts this year.”

  “These are my only grandkids. I’ll do what I want.” He shrugs and smiles. I think they’ve had the same argument for the past few Christmases. “And who is this? Londyn, I presume?” He offers his hand.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Mr. Joe. I’ve heard all about you.” She shakes his hand and smiles like she’s meeting a celebrity.

  “Call me Grandpa Joe. All my favorite people do.”

  Dad looks at me and raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t understand what’s going on. Or worse, he does.

  “Londyn, I need to show you something in my room.” I pull her by the shoulder.

  “What?”

  “It’s a surprise.” I gesture to the stairs with my head.

  “Fine.” She huffs. “But if you got me a present, just know that I didn’t get you one. Keeping your expectations in check, Norie.”

  When we get to my room, I close my door.

  “Listen—”

  “Are you going to remind me again not to talk a
bout the asteroid or the end of the world or prepping in front of your dad?” She crosses her arms.

  “Um…”

  “Norie, I’m not dense. And you’ve already warned me.”

  “But it might be harder with my grandfather here. He was preparing for the end of the world since before we even knew it was going to end.” How can I explain this? “He’s like a pitcher who’s been waiting his whole life for the big game, and now it’s time for the Super Bowl.”

  She clicks her tongue. “Or the World Series.”

  “Yes.” I snap my fingers and point at her. She gets it.

  “I’ll be good. I promise.” She draws an X across her heart with one finger.

  We rejoin my family and watch the movie Elf in the family room. We eat popcorn and sugar cookies. Bubbles sits on Londyn’s feet. Then we play Ticket to Ride. We have to teach Londyn the rules, but it’s not hard. She picks them up quickly and comes in second place behind Dad. He never loses.

  When it’s dark outside, Dad sends me to turn on the Christmas lights in the front yard, and then asks, “Is your friend staying for dinner? You should invite her.”

  I nod.

  Londyn is at the kitchen table playing Jenga with Phillip and Grandpa Joe.

  “Are you staying for dinner?” I ask.

  Dad comes up behind me. “What she means to say is, you’re welcome to stay for dinner.”

  “Okay,” Londyn says.

  “But I need you to ask your mom. Make sure it’s okay.”

  Londyn pulls her cell phone from the back pocket of her jeans. She fires off a text. Then looks up.

  “Mom says it’s okay.”

  Dad takes a deep breath. I can tell he’s not sure if he believes her. I’m no help. I shrug; she could be telling the truth.

  “Mom’s not feeling good, and my aunt’s working. She’s a nurse and won’t be home until morning.”

  I never thought about a kid being lonely on Christmas. In commercials and movies, it’s always old people who are alone. A gray-haired lady and her cats or the grumpy neighbor who spends most of his time shoveling.

  Londyn stays for dinner, and she stays for dessert. We hang out with my family the whole time.

  Finally, Dad says, “Londyn, let me drive you home. I don’t want you riding your bike in the dark.”

  “No, no.” Grandpa Joe holds up a hand likes he’s directing traffic. “We need to open gifts first. Before she goes.”

  “We’ll do gifts in the morning, Dad,” my dad says through gritted teeth. I can imagine what he’s thinking; we don’t have anything for Londyn.

  “Just one present. What’s the harm?” Grandpa Joe says. “I got something for Londyn and Mack too. You’ll have to give it to him when you see him.”

  “Yes!” Edward cheers. We never open gifts on Christmas Eve. We always have to wait until the actual day. He runs to the tree—Bubbles and Phillip right on his heels—and he starts shaking presents.

  “No, sir,” Grandpa Joe says. “You don’t get to pick. We’re opening the ones in the candy-cane paper.”

  Phillip joins the search for the approved presents. After all their digging, they only find three.

  “Where’s mine?” Edward asks, pushing out his bottom lip.

  “It’s a family gift, Ed,” Grandpa Joe explains.

  Londyn and I move closer. One of the gift tags reads The Drosses, one says London and Family (her name spelled wrong), and the last is for Mack and Family.

  Phillip hands Londyn her present.

  “Thanks,” she mumbles, looking uncomfortable.

  “Go on!” Grandpa Joe says. Phillip and Edward tear into the Dross gift. Red-and-white paper flies across the family room.

  Londyn unwraps hers at the taped seams. I look over her shoulder, wondering what Grandpa Joe got us.

  Edward and Phillip get ours open first. Edward holds the box over his head.

  “A walkie-talkie,” he announces. “Awesome.”

  “Not just a walkie-talkie. These are dual-band handheld radios capable of both FRS and GMRS. The two-way radio range is up to thirty miles. They operate on batteries, so we won’t be dependent on the electric grid. Of course, you need a license for GMRS. And a hand-crank charger isn’t a bad idea, but maybe Santa will bring one tomorrow.” He winks and adjusts his hat.

  “Cool.” Phillip works on opening the box.

  Dad stares at Grandpa Joe but says nothing. His jaw tightens, and I know from experience that when he does speak, he’s going to use his disappointed voice—which is quiet and deep and terrifying.

  “Thank you, Grandpa Joe,” Londyn says, and then she steps closer and whispers to him. “This is going to be very helpful.”

  “You’re welcome. I want you and Eleanor to help each other out and stay in touch even when you can’t text no more. After the asteroid crashes, it’s going to be hard—”

  “Joe, stop!” Dad snaps. I flinch. I’ve never heard my dad call his dad by his first name. “You promised no more of this nonsense.” Dad moves forward and puts a hand on Grandpa’s chest.

  Bubbles runs for cover under the coffee table.

  “Sorry. Forget I mentioned an asteroid. This is stuff for just-in-case scenarios. Like if we have an earthquake.” Grandpa Joe winks at me.

  “Joe, let’s talk in the other room.” Dad speaks to Grandpa Joe like he’s talking to one of his own kids. And Grandpa Joe obeys like he’s not actually the parent.

  They go down the hall to the spare bedroom. We hear the door close, and the voices get loud—including Dad’s, and he never yells. But I can’t make out exactly what they’re saying.

  “I hope we don’t have to give back the walkie-talkies,” Edward whispers.

  When the arguing stops, I hear only one set of footsteps in the hall. Dad walks into the family room.

  “Londyn, I’d better get you home. It’s late.”

  We put her bike in the trunk of the minivan. I ride in the back seat and let Londyn sit up front. Her gift is in her lap. Neither of us wanted to ask my dad if it was okay to keep it. She gives him directions to a small, pretty house that’s completely dark inside and out.

  “Thanks for the lift.” She opens the door and hops out.

  “Help her with the bike, and walk her to the door,” Dad says to me as I go to move to the front seat.

  “Fine.”

  “What are you doing?” She struggles to pull her bike out of the back.

  “Walking you in.” I take the dual-band radio from under her arm.

  “What are you? My date?”

  “My dad is making me.” This must be the right answer because she doesn’t complain or say anything else.

  She lays the bike on the porch, then takes a key out from around her neck and unlocks the front door. She flicks on the lights in the house and on the porch. I glance inside and see a small tabletop Christmas tree in the living room.

  “Are you okay?” I ask, still standing outside.

  “My mom’s home. I’m fine.” The house feels empty and cold.

  “Bye.” I hand her the present from Grandpa Joe. “Merry Christmas.”

  And she closes the door without another word.

  When Dad and I get home, the boys are already in their pajamas. They’re anxious to go to bed. They think it’ll make Christmas morning come sooner.

  “Where’s Grandpa Joe?” I ask.

  “He left,” Phillip answers.

  “What?” I shoot Dad my most serious look.

  “I’m sure he’ll come back tomorrow.” Dad sighs. “But he shouldn’t have left the boys here alone. I’ll need to talk to him.”

  I want to say, Haven’t you done enough talking? Instead, I go to my room. It’s been a weird last pre-TEOTWAWKI Christmas Eve.

  I text Mack.

 
ME: what’s up?

  MACK: Can’t talk

  MACK: Sorry mom is making us go to mass

  I put my phone down. It vibrates a second later; I pick it up, expecting Mack. It’s not.

  LONDYN: Merry Christmas

  Another newsletter is ready to go by the end of the week. Londyn and I worked on it every day over break. When she couldn’t come to my house, we discussed it on the dual-band radio. (We could have a more private conversation on our cell phones, but the radio is fun, and we need to practice using it.) We also saw two movies and went bowling with my dad and brothers. Phillip definitely likes Londyn more than he likes me.

  “Why can’t she be our sister?” he asked when I refused to share my Milk Duds but Londyn gave him M&M’s. He had his own box of Skittles that he ate superfast.

  Mack gets home from his trip on New Year’s Eve and invites me over to watch movies until midnight.

  “Can we invite Londyn too?” I ask over the phone.

  “Do you think she’ll want to?”

  “You never know.” I’m just saying this; I’m certain she’ll say yes.

  “Cool. Let’s make it a real party. I’ll invite the whole Nature Club.”

  “Please don’t. Three is enough of a party for me.”

  “Fine.”

  Dad drives Londyn and me to Mack’s house around five. I bring Mack’s gift from Grandpa Joe. When Dad notices the present, he just sighs.

  Grandpa Joe did come back Christmas morning. He got there before we woke up, but instead of playing the role of Santa, he was the Grinch. All the presents he’d brought the night before were gone when we came downstairs. He gave us each one hundred dollars in a plain white envelope. But we were allowed to keep the radio.

  Mack’s parents have decorated the family room for New Year’s. There are balloons and streamers and a table of poppers and noisemakers. They’ve never gone to this kind of effort for just me. And Mack isn’t wearing his usual uniform of jeans and a black T-shirt. He’s got on a baby-blue sweater with his jeans. I guess adding Londyn makes it special.

  “It’s so nice to meet you, Londyn,” his mom says. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

  Mr. Jefferson opens bags of chips, and then sets out crackers and cheese. Mrs. Jefferson brings down a veggie tray. She tells Mack what’s on the table and where. He leans close, his face almost in the food, to inspect the buffet.