3

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty!”

My head jerked, and I nearly fell over sideways. I grabbed the post I’d been leaning against. Impossibly, I’d drifted off while waiting. Or maybe not so impossibly. Had I slept at all in the last twenty-four hours?

Thomas “Tack” Russo was marching toward me, a slight kid with unruly black hair and penetrating blue eyes. He wore a Kickpuncher sweatshirt and beige cargo pants, his camouflage backpack hooked over both shoulders.

“Out cold by the gate is not a good look.” Tack shook his head. “You should’ve grabbed a spot by the Wilson fire. Looks like those guys had a killer campout.”

“We’re going to be late,” I grumbled, stifling a yawn.

“No one’ll care.” His smirk slipped a fraction as he rubbed his arms, chasing away the morning chill. I spotted bags under his eyes as well. “Honestly, I wonder how many kids will even show up.”

Pushing off the post. “Nobody actually knows anything. Not yet. And I doubt Principal Myers will suddenly learn to relax.”

“Wait wait wait!” Tack swung his backpack around and unzipped it, pulling out a lumpy parcel wrapped in Sunday comics. Dropping to a knee, he held the ugly bundle aloft, head bowed like a knight swearing service. “Please accept this token as a symbol of my undying pleasure at your continuing to be alive for another year.”

I blanched, my stomach abruptly churning.

Alive another year. Am I really?

Tack glanced up. Registered my discomfort, if not the cause. He rose quickly, cheeks reddening as he thrust the package into my hands. “Sorry. I tried to find you yesterday, but . . .” He trailed off with a wince.

Tack knew I hated birthdays. That I spent them alone when I could.

He just didn’t know why.

Tack was my best friend, and utterly irreplaceable. One of the few things I liked about Fire Lake, other than the scenery. I couldn’t risk our friendship by telling him the truth. Couldn’t stand for him to think I was crazy, too.

“You shouldn’t have bought me anything,” I scolded. Every year I told him not to. And every year he did anyway.

Tack’s grin returned. “If it makes you feel better, I didn’t. I stole it.”

My eyes rolled as I tore into the newsprint. After I’d ripped through a near-seamless ball of tape, a small cardboard box fell into my hands. Inside was a pair of vintage Ray-Ban sunglasses. Silver frame. Reflective lenses.

I slipped them on. They fit perfectly.

A stony visage crashed my thoughts. He wore shades like these.

I shoved that aside. Wouldn’t let the evil bastard’s shadow darken every moment of my life. Who cared if they were similar? I liked these damn glasses.

“See there!” Tack crowed triumphantly, slapping his hands together. “Perfect! Who’s the dopest Bella now? Melinda Juilliard Wilder, that’s who!”

“Shut it, dork. And don’t triple name me today, or my mom’ll get jealous.”

Plus, I hated my middle name. It was the sole legacy of my father—being named after a prestigious performing arts conservatory on the other side of the country. Yet I couldn’t dance. Or act. Or sing. I didn’t even play an instrument. Another letdown courtesy of a man I never knew.

“What’s Virginia worked up about this time?” Tack snatched the sunglasses from my nose and slipped them on. “Something from yesterday? Did you offend Jeebus at your private birthday shindig?”

“It was nothing.” I began walking up the drive. I hated lying to Tack, but the conversation had strayed into dangerous territory. I wished I still had the shades to cover my eyes.

Tack fell in beside me. “You’re right, we need to get moving.” He handed back the glasses and hitched his pants. “Our classmates wouldn’t know what to do if the prom king and queen were late on Announcement Day. They’d probably crap themselves.”

I snorted. We hiked up to Quarry Road, then started into town. A light breeze was rippling the lake, which gleamed like a sapphire in the heart of the valley. We crossed a handful of quiet blocks before hanging a left onto Library Avenue. Street names in Fire Lake are pretty straightforward. The place never got big enough to require creativity.

“NASA really torpedoed business this month,” Tack said, pointing to a cluster of vacant condos near the marina. “My dad’s had zero work. No tourists clogging their toilets.”

“People are staying home, I guess. Waiting. A trip to Fire Lake just isn’t in the cards.”

Tack raised both palms, rounding his eyes dramatically. “But Outdoor Weekly named us the best weekend getaway in the Rockies! What better place to spend your last days on Earth?”

“People can be so dumb, right?”

“The worst.”

The hike to school usually takes twenty minutes, unless the weather is crappy. But that morning it was all sunshine and blue skies, with the temperature hovering around fifty-five degrees. A gorgeous day in the northern Idaho mountains. It felt like a prank.

As we moved deeper into town, unusual signs of neglect cropped up. A busted streetlight. Trash in the gutter. An Explorer was parked with its front two wheels on the curb, soaped letters on its windshield saying, “You can have it, Sheriff.”

I was born in Fire Lake, knew it heart and soul. I’d never seen anything like it before. The disarray felt fundamentally wrong.

A tricked-out Wrangler rounded the corner, music thumping, a chrome gun rack welded to its rear. The top was down, and three shirtless boys were hanging over its sides.

“Oh, shucks.” Tack sighed dejectedly as they tore up the block. “We missed our ride! I really wanted to flash the guns today, too.”

“I’d rather crawl on my stomach than hitch a ride with Ethan. New car or not.”

Tack shook his head. “Lay off my dudes. We’re going camping next week, gonna really bro-down. Probably get wasted. Kill something and eat it. It’s gonna be lit.”

“Lovely. I’ll be at the spa with Jessica and the squad.”

Ethan Fletcher is the one who gave Tack his nickname, though it didn’t work out like he’d planned. During sixth grade, as a prank, Ethan and the Nolan twins fastened Thomas Russo to a bulletin board by his clothes using thumbtacks. They left him hanging there, miserable and humiliated, until he was found by Mr. Hardy. In the halls the next morning, the other boys began calling him Thumbtack.

When Thomas heard, he immediately adopted the name as his own, refusing to respond to anything but Tack. Adults. Teachers. Classmates. Not even when called on in class. He was Tack, and that was final. After a while Ethan even tried to get him to stop, and Tack took a beating for refusing. A boulder could take lessons in stubbornness from that kid.

“Man, talk about depressing.” Tack paused beneath the awning of Valley Grounds, our favorite coffee shop. A hand-scrawled sign was taped to its front door.

CLOSED UNTIL . . . GOD BLESS

His shoulders hunched. “This end-of-the-world stuff is cramping my style. We might all be about to die, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need caffeine. They better reopen eventually, or it’s gonna be a long wait until the big boom.”

I knew he was kidding, but the snark soured my mood.

Forget next month. God, what will tomorrow be like if the news is bad?

“You’re probably rooting for a direct strike,” I said, trying to play it off. “No exams.”

“But what of us, then?” Tack’s eyes twinkled as he snatched my hand in his. “If the Anvil is destined to flatten Idaho, I want to spend my last moments with you, rolling down hills like we did as carefree children. Such precious memories! Like happy raindrops, double rainbows of—”

“Oh, shut up.” I shouldered him lightly, pulling my fingers free. The bump triggered a dull ache in my shoulder. I rubbed the half-moon scar under my sleeve. It always stung after one of my “special” birthdays.

My thoughts darkened, snapshots of the attack I’d suffered strobing inside my head.

The world might be about to end, but what did I care?

My world ended all the time.

I stayed silent as we passed the library, reaching the school zone at the end of the street. Fire Lake has one large campus for all three divisions. The two lower schools flank the road, which dead-ends into the high school parking lot.

The spaces were mostly empty.

“Told you.” Tack absently stroked a bruise on his chin. I knew where he got them from, and we didn’t talk about that, either. “Half this stupid town is probably hiding under their beds right now.” His expression darkened as he scuffed a ratty sneaker on the blacktop. “Maybe they’re not so dumb. Why go to school if you’re about to be sentenced to death?”

I flinched. Tack misread me. Slid an arm around my shoulder.

“Why don’t we meet up after school?” His searching glance was thwarted by my new sunglasses. “We can watch the Announcement at Bedfellow’s. If the news is thumbs-up, we can probably score some free drinks.”

I shook my head. “I promised Mom I’d be home. She’s been carrying around her mother’s old Bible all week. You know how she gets. Virginia is dead certain the Anvil will smash directly through our roof.”

“This is prime asteroid country,” Tack said lightly as we cut through the parking lot. “Space rocks probably feel right at home in the Gem State. Our incinerated remains will provide a warm welcome.”

I couldn’t help but shudder. “There’s a giant headline on CNN calling it a planet killer. They even made a freaking GIF of the world getting crushed. Who the hell wants to see that? If it strikes anywhere on Earth—”

“THE AGE OF HUMANS SHALL BE NO MORE!” Tack spread his arms wide, a thin smile curling his lips. But I noticed that his hands shook slightly. Even Tack Russo struggled to mock the legitimate prospect of annihilation. He was as scared as everyone else.

Everyone except me.

I’d tried to make the asteroid feel real. I knew the Anvil came from outside our solar system, a deadly ball of carbon, nickel, and iron twelve miles in diameter and traveling at an insane speed of 300 kilometers per second, and that an impact from such an object would deliver the kinetic force of more than a billion hydrogen bombs. First spotted three weeks ago, it was just now passing the outer planets. It would strike or slide by in just over a month.

Initial odds had been given as one-in-seven. A week later, that was revised negatively to two-out-of-five. In the last few days, some independent scientists online had moved to fifty-fifty, ratcheting global tension to a boiling point. Thus, the Announcement that evening—an official answer to the are-we-all-going-to-die question. Less than twelve hours, and counting.

Yet our little town had decided everything would go on like normal. School. Business. Public services. The leaders of Fire Lake had planted their heads firmly in the sand, and were inviting all citizens down there with them. Surprisingly, most were going along with it, even me. I guess pretending everything’s okay is more comfortable than admitting things really, truly might not be.

Personally, I felt almost nothing. The concept of a worlddestroying super-boulder was simply too abstract for me. Twenty-fours hours ago, a man had broken into my mobile home at dawn. He shot me through the shoulder and chest, then twice more in the head.

That was real. That was something to fear.

Wayward space rocks? I couldn’t get there. Maybe I was in denial.

“How about we get together afterward?” Tack was refusing to take no for an answer. We’d reached the walkway to the courtyard, and would hit a crowd in moments. “Rain or shine. Come on! If it’s bad news, we can hike out to the old miner’s hut and discuss what to wear for ‘death by interstellar debris.’ Work on our hoarding strategies.”

I took a deep breath. Nodded. “If I can slip away.”

“It’s a date!” Tack shouted, then charged up the walkway, arms thrust skyward as he continued yelling, “A date! A date! An end-of-the-world date!”

“Not a date, you moron!” But I laughed.

At least one resident of Fire Lake had something to cheer about.