We Are the Ants(7)

Maybe that’s true, but cliché platitudes rarely help. “Is it possible for the world to end suddenly?”

Ms. Faraci cocked her head to the side. “Well, sure. There are any number of scenarios that could lead to the extinction of all life on Earth.”

“Like what?”

“Asteroid impact, gamma radiation from a nearby supernova, nuclear holocaust.” She ticked the list off on her fingers before she stopped and narrowed her eyes. “I know high school is rough, Henry, but blowing up the planet is never the answer.”

“You’ve clearly forgotten what high school is like from my side of the desk.”

? ? ?

Marcus slammed me against the inside of the bathroom stall. The rickety partitions shook, their bolts rattled, and he invaded my personal space. The edge of the toilet-paper dispenser dug through my jeans and into the backs of my thighs, and he thrust his palm against my chest and leaned all his weight onto me. His cologne filled my nostrils with the scent of freshly mown grass. Marcus McCoy always smelled like summer.

I thought I heard the door and tried to check it out, but Marcus grabbed my jaw, silencing me. He dug his thumb into my cheek and eliminated the remaining space between our bodies, his kiss impatient and rough. His scruff scraped my lips, he ran his hands up my back and across my cheeks and down the front of my pants so quickly, I could hardly react.

“Cold hands!” I ducked out of Marcus’s crushing hug to peek over the top of the stall door and make certain we were still alone. I buttoned my pants and adjusted myself.

Marcus was pissing into the toilet when I turned back around. He grinned at me over his shoulder as if I should be honored to watch him pee. “My parents are in Tokyo this weekend.”

“Again?”

“Awesome, right?” He zipped up and pulled me by the back of the neck into another kiss, but it felt like he was trying to excavate my face with his tongue. Anyway, I was paranoid someone was going to catch us, so I disengaged from his lips and stumbled out of the stall. “Where you going, Space Boy?”

“We agreed you weren’t going to call me that anymore.”

“It’s cute. You’re cute, Space Boy.” We stood at the sinks and both admired Marcus’s reflection in the mirror—his smooth olive skin and aquiline nose combine with his -dimples and muscles to make him unbearably handsome. Worse still, he knows it. Then there’s me. Round cheeks, big lips, and an angry zit on the side of my nose that resisted all attempts at eradication. I couldn’t fathom why Marcus wanted to hook up with me, even if it was only in secret.

Marcus fished an oblong pill from his pocket and dry-swallowed it. “What do you say?”

“About what?”

“Staying at my house this weekend?”

“I don’t know. My mom expects me to look after my grandma and—”

“Your loss, Space Boy.” He smacked my ass so hard, I could already feel the welt rising.

I brushed my wavy hair out of my eyes and off my forehead. I hate my hair, but I let it grow long because I hate my ears more. “You could swing by my house. Nana will be there, but we’ll tell her you’re the pool boy.”

Marcus wrinkled his nose like he’d accidentally wandered into a Walmart and found himself surrounded by poor -people. “You don’t have a pool.”

I wonder how he’d react to the end of the world. To finding out his charmed life is nearing its end. He’d been mauling me at every opportunity since we’d returned from summer break, but we only hung out at his house when his parents were gone. I wager his reluctance to been seen with me in public has less do with his concern about his friends finding out he’s hooking up with a boy and more to do with them finding out he’s hooking up with Space Boy.

I was deluding myself. We would never be more than this—whatever this was.

“If you knew the world was going to end but you could prevent it, would you?”

Marcus was busy gazing at his reflection. “What?” He’d probably clone and f*ck himself if the technology existed.

“Would you—” The bathroom door swung inward to admit a beefy kid sporting a buzz cut. He nodded at us and stepped up to a urinal.

Marcus shoved me into the hand dryer. I yelped as the sharp metal jabbed into my shoulder, and he just waltzed out the door. “Catch you around, Space Boy.”

The kid at the urinal laughed. “Fucking pansy.”





The Meteor




It begins with excitement. The date is 24 January 2016. Frieda Eichman of Grünstadt is the first to identify the asteroid, using the telescope her father gave her for her thirteenth birthday. He’s been dead these last twenty years, but he would have been proud. Though the asteroid is given the provisional designation 2016BA11 until its orbit can be confirmed, Frieda knows she will name it the Jürgen Eichman in honor of him.

Space agencies around the globe—NASA, UKSA, CSA, CNSA, ISRO, CRTS, ROSCOSMOS—release statements assuring citizens that though asteroid 2016BA11’s trajectory will bring it near Earth, it does not pose a threat. At the top levels of every government, they know this is a lie.

On the night of the Jürgen Eichman event, families gather outside to watch it streak across the night sky. They hold each other tightly and remark at its beauty, at how lucky they are to witness this once-in-a-lifetime cosmic marvel. Marshmallows are roasted, wine is consumed in heroic quantities, stories are shared. Some who know the truth dine on bullets.