Solstice (2 page)

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.

F
rom 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. Everyone’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.

My face heats up, and I wish I could fade into invisibility. Jokes about my mom’s over-protectiveness are rampant at school. It’s not until I turn back around, get my tablet out, and Mr. Kaiser starts lecturing that I feel the new guy’s eyes shift off me.

“Global Heating Crisis.” Mr. Kaiser prints
GHC
in giant letters on the board in bright orange dry erase marker, underlining it three times. “We’ll finish the year with a month-long series on it.” Mr. Kaiser caps the marker and turns to face us.

I chance a sideways look at the new guy and catch his mouth curve into a smile when he sees me looking.

“How was your weekend?” he says. His voice pulls my thoughts away from Mr. Kaiser and the Global Heating Crisis, and my heart pumps into overdrive. It pushes its way through the filters in my brain and stirs up images of freedom and fun. And darkness.

Breathe. Must remember to breathe. Okay, so he’s perfect, but if my mom finds out I actually talked to a guy like this she’d probably yank me out of public school and homeschool me for the rest of the year. She’s completely over the top when it comes to guys.

“I hung out with my mom all weekend,” I say.

He smiles, and I know it’s a good thing I’m already sitting because, with the blood pumping out of my legs and into my heart, I’d never be able to stand.

“Seriously? You should have asked to go out or something,” he says.

At this, even with my reluctant vocal cords, I actually let out a small laugh. There is just no way he has any idea what living with my overprotective mom is like. It took me running away one weekend for her to ever let me go to public high school in the first place. I was fourteen at the time, and I’d tried everything. Not eating. Not doing my homework. But it was only when I resorted to running away that she finally let up a little.

“That would be pointless,” I manage to say. I glance at Mr. Kaiser, but he’s busy writing the top ten reasons global warming will kill Earth on the board. It’s interesting that his number one reason is the disperser missile because it’s my mom’s top reason, too. She claims the chemicals used to puncture the bubble strip layers from the atmosphere.

The new guy leans in and lowers his voice, and the classroom seems to fade around us. “So you go on, feeling like you have no control? That doesn’t seem fair.”

I stare at him because I have no idea how to respond. He’s looking into my soul and seeing my exact thoughts. It’s like he knows me. But I have no clue who he is.