Let's Call It a Doomsday by Katie Henry

Author:Katie Henry
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2019-06-23T16:00:00+00:00

Fourteen

TEEN MOVIES HAD led me to believe homecoming was about football and maybe a dance, but two years of real high school have clued me in: it’s Mardi Gras for teenagers. At least at this school. We don’t even call it homecoming.

“Why do you think they named it Rally Day?” Sam wonders aloud during lunch as he rolls a joint. The Park is packed with kids in face paint, school colors, and varying levels of intoxication.

“I think we’re supposed to be rallying the football team to murder our rivals,” Theo says.

“Wait, who’s our rival?” Tal asks.

Theo shrugs. “Sobriety?”

“No kidding. This place is lawless,” I mutter as two boys I half recognize from AP US History drink out of a water bottle I’m certain is not filled with water. “It’s like a Roman bacchanalia.”

“Fewer goat sacrifices,” Sam points out.

Behind Sam, on the other side of the Park, Hannah sits on a bench, something small and gray in her hands.

“Be back in a second,” I tell them. Tal frowns, but doesn’t stop me.

I slide down next to Hannah on the bench. She looks up and smiles, but it’s thin and tight.

“What’s that?” I peer over her shoulder at the small package in her lap. It’s badly wrapped, in what looks like a thicker kind of newspaper print.

“I think it’s a present,” she says.

“From who?”

She clears her throat. “Prophet Dan.”

I feel a stab of betrayal. She finally found him, after all this time, and she didn’t come looking for me?

“When did he give it to you?” I ask. “What did he say? About your visions, will he help us?”

Hannah shakes her head. “It was in my tree, this morning. Tied to a branch.”

She’s been carrying it around all day, unopened. Maybe she’s scared to see what’s inside. I touch the package.

“Do you want me to?” I offer.

Hannah shakes her head and unwraps. She’s going painfully slow, pulling at each piece of tape instead of tearing, until finally, we can both see what’s inside.

“Oh,” she whispers, like she’s just gotten a paper cut. Surprise and a little bit of pain.

All I have is surprise. “It’s . . . a fish.”

Not a real one. A stuffed toy, the kind you’d give to a little kid. When Hannah picks it up, its fins and tail flop.

“I liked fish,” Hannah says softly, rubbing her thumb against its plush blue scales. “When I was little. I knew all the kinds.”

How would Prophet Dan know that? Did he see it, just like Hannah sees the end of the world? I almost ask, but Hannah’s curled into herself, her eyes welled up, holding the fish in her hands like it’s breakable. Maybe this isn’t the best time.

So instead, I pick up the wrapping paper. It’s crumpled, torn, and taped back together out of order, but the print’s still visible. Not that it makes much sense. Half of it seems like a menu, with words like lentils and eggplant and cashew ricotta. The other half is random adjectives.

“Giving. Evolved. Humble,” I read.

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