Disaster

Mom says, "Watch the heat today."

I nod and hug her and go to school like normal. Her concern's nothing out of the ordinary. And neither is the heat.

At school, after lunch, I walk through the school's old parking lot, keeping my head down so that the mist doesn't get in my eyes. The vapor sprays out from above, causing a layer of green gel to settle on my skin and hair. I run my hands through my hair to try to smooth it, but it's no use; the cooling gel only makes the curls get wilder.

Heat waves ripple over what remains of the black tar, disturbed by a random cactus here and there. A couple years ago they finally tore up the blacktop and attempted to plant some native greenery, but everything except the cactus had a hard time taking root. I take my time before my next class, soaking in the heat. Everyone else complains about it, but to me, the heat finds a way to sink into my soul and give me strength.

For the school to be spraying gel, the heat has to be extreme. Just before I walk back inside, I glance at the bright orange numbers of the thermometer plastered on the side of the school. It blinks one hundred and twenty-one degrees Fahrenheit, the uppermost boundary of the orange zone. The temperature hasn't climbed this high since we moved to Austin four years ago. It rarely even reaches into orange at all, staying below one hundred and sixteen most of the time. I pull out my FON to double-check it, and it registers the same. One degree more and ...

The sirens start blaring in an earsplitting pattern of high and low, up and down. One degree becomes a reality. The numbers turn red. The temperature reads one hundred and twenty-two. The risk of heat-related death doubles.

I step inside, and for a second, all the kids just look around at one another, like the sound hasn't yet registered. Like they're all waiting for someone else to move.

"It's another drill," one guy to my left says.

"Didn't we just have a drill?" someone else asks.

I shake my head because I know this isn't a drill; I'd seen the thermometer. But I don't want to cause a panic. The principal comes on the intercom system and does the job for me.

"Report to your designated cooling areas immediately. This is not a drill."

Realization sinks in, and the hall erupts in chaos. Since I'm on the Disaster Student Council, I need to help out. I push my way through the crowd until I escape into the science hallway. The concrete makes the sirens even louder as the sound bounces from one wall to the next, then off the floor and ceiling and straight into my ears. I check each classroom to make sure it's empty, and then I circle back to the gym — the designated cooling area for our high school. I take up my position at the door on the far left and start directing kids inside.

We have drills every month. Drills consist of kids walking, talking, and making stupid jokes about the Global Heating Crisis. But there aren't any jokes now. Just a whole lot of pushing and screaming and everything else they tell us not to do during a real disaster. That one degree has made everyone go crazy.

My job is to make sure everyone who comes through my door is accounted for. I stand to the side of the door and try to scan each person with my FON as they walk through. But the crowd's too thick; I'll have to wait until they're inside.

Only three other student council members and I are already in position by the gym. Chloe's supposed to be next to me, but she must be trapped in the crowd. I don't want to think about her getting stuck outside in the heat. The last time she got too hot, she passed out.

I text her. where r u?

She responds in under five seconds. b there in a sec

When I look out across the crowd, I catch her waving.

My FON is almost back in my pocket when it vibrates again. I don't have to look to know who it is.

"Hey, Mom." I cover one ear with my free hand.

"Piper, why haven't you answered? I've called you five times today."

She's actually called me seven times. "I'm at school, Mom."

"You have to come home right now."

"I can't," I yell over the sound of the sirens. Two kids start pushing to get through the door faster, but one of the teachers breaks it up. I motion them inside with my free hand.

"You have to." Her pleading comes through even amid the disaster. She has to hear the sirens in the background. Does she think I'm going to just cut out in the middle of the crisis?

"I'll be home when this is over."

"Now, Piper." And she uses her commanding voice. But it only makes me want to do the exact opposite of what she's asking.

"I can't leave," I say. "They need me to help out."

"It's a heat bubble. It's covering the whole city."

I don't speak as her words sink in. A heat bubble means we could be stuck with deadly temperatures for weeks. The last time one of the pockets of hot air formed, the city was evacuated. Almost a thousand people died.

"Piper?"

"I'm here," I say, but a sick feeling forms in the pit of my stomach. Heat bubbles are the newest, worst threat of the Global Heating Crisis. Cities all around the world are testing different ways to get rid of them, but it seems like the more done to combat them, the more frequent the bubbles become. Three months ago, one formed over Central America, and a third of the population died. They suffocated from the heat. Scientists called it the most horrible natural disaster since the tsunami fourteen years ago that wiped out most of Indonesia.

"The city's going to disperse the bubble. And activate the domes," my mom says.

Disperser missiles have never been tested on a real bubble. "But —" I start.

"Take cover. And get home before they seal the domes. Please," she says, and then she ends the call.

I'm still holding my FON when Chloe shows up next to me. I give her a quick hug to reassure her — or maybe myself. "I was worried about you," I say.

"Why? You know I love the heat."

This is what I adore about Chloe. Even in disaster, she finds a way to stay upbeat. But with temperatures in the red zone, and given her last reaction to the heat, she needs to be extra careful. "There's a heat bubble coming."

Chloe hardly misses a beat. "Please tell me we're not going to be stuck at school all...