It's the End of the World as I Know It

Derrick is sure that doomsday is coming, and he's prepping to survive--whether his friends believe him or not--in this middle grade novel for readers of Gary Schmidt, Gordon Korman, and Jack Gantos Ever since his mother was killed in the line of duty in Iraq, Derrick has been absolutely certain that the apocalypse is coming. And he's prepared: he's got plenty of canned goods, he's fully outfitted with HAZMAT suits, and he's building himself a sturdy fallout shelter. When his neighbor Misty insists on helping with the shelter, Derrick doesn't think it's such a good idea. Misty's just had a kidney transplant, and her reaction to her brush with death is the opposite of Derrick's: where Derrick wants to hide, Misty wants to see and do everything. But as confident as Misty is, Derrick's doomsday fears just keep getting worse. And Derrick's promised apocalypse day begins with a very strange disaster, Derrick and Misty have to figure out a way to survive--especially when the end of the world as they know it looks nothing like they expected.

Praise for It's the End of the World As I Know It

A Junior Library Guild Selection

• “Humorous and exceptionally realistic . . . Simultaneously funny, quirky, and raw, this emotionally impactful look at loss is sure to find a wide audience. Recommended for all collections.” —School Library Journal, starred review

“A sympathetic and even sometimes funny look at anxiety disorders and the complexity of grief. . . . The terrifying allure of survivalism makes this journey through trauma a compelling one.” —*Kirkus Reviews

“Landis, a middle school teacher, offers flawless eighth-grade voices and awkwardness. . . . He gets that kids have deep emotions even if they don’t want to admit to them. This book will be a hit with fans of Jordan Sonnenblick.” —Booklist

“[Derrick’s] relationship with Misty, who after a kidney transplant is as determined to court experiences as [Derrick] is to flee from them, adds a dimension that’s lively but also more deeply relevant than his narration admits; his kind but perplexed goofball guy friends (including one proud owner of a live-mice-eating snake) are endearing. . . . [Derrick’s] grief and anxiety will speak to many kids.” —BCCB

Auteur

Matthew Landis slays boredom wherever it lurks in his eighth-grade social studies classroom. He lives in Doylestown, PA, with his wife and four kids, some chickens, and a boxer that acts much like the forgotten eldest child.

Échantillon de lecture

19 Days Before The End

(Monday, September 3)

 

1

“So what did you say?” I ask Tommy.

He hands me another screw and I send it through the plywood with my cordless drill. “I said, ‘Mother: No, thank you.’”

“He said, ‘Not happening, Kelly,’” Brock calls behind us. He’s loafing in the shade of the giant maple tree in my backyard, murdering flies with his tree trunk arms. “And then she said, ‘Don’t call me by my first name, because I birthed you and therefore control your life.’”

“She’s making me try out.” Tommy sneezes three times in a row because of his massive allergies. “For soccer.”

I get my level out and make sure the plywood is lined up straight with the shed wall. “Hmm. Soccer is pretty much just running,” I say. “Probably ninety percent running.”

“I know,” Tommy says. His arm bumps into me when he says it. He’s always talking up in your personal space. “But she threatened to sell Pete.”

“She always does that. She won’t actually do it.”

“She posted him on Snake4Sale.com,” Brock says. “Tommy cried.”

“I didn’t cry.” Tommy heads to the shade and slumps on the ground next to Brock, which makes him look extra small. Me and Tommy both have brown hair and people used to say we could be brothers until I grew way bigger last summer. “It was, like, a moaning sound.”

“Sounded like crying,” Brock says.

I pull a screwdriver from my tool belt and start checking the tension on each screw. If they’re too tight, they could crack the plywood under the extra pressure from people banging on the outside to get in. “You should pretend to be sick for tryouts.”

“Kelly will know,” Tommy says. “She has, like, psychic mom powers.”

“Kelly knows all,” Brock says.

Tommy fishes out a Gatorade from the cooler. “But it’s fine, because I won’t, like, make the team. I’ll get cut on the first day of tryouts. And Pete will be saved.”

“Pete wants to eat you,” Brock says. “He tried once and he’s going to try again. Let her sell him.”

“That was a misunderstanding,” Tommy says. “Pete was confused. He thought my hand was a mouse.”

“I think to Pete, we’re all mice,” I say. “He’s a python.”

“No. You guys.” Tommy shakes his head. “Pete is cool.”

“There is a predator living in your house and he is coming for you,” Brock says.

The alarm on my watch goes off. It’s one of those big bulky ones with all the buttons you see Navy Seals wear on TV. The doomsday blog I follow, Apocalypse Soon!, gave it ten out of ten mushroom clouds.

“I will push the earth out of orbit,” I say, taking off my tool belt. “Witness me.”

I toss my watch to Brock and he counts down, “Three, two, one . . . destroy gravity.”

I drop to the grass and crank out thirty pushups before my arms start to burn. At forty, I slow down. Five more and my shoulders are screaming. I close my eyes and do smaller sets of two and three. My muscles are lead but I keep pushing. Blood pounds in my ears and the sun blazes on me like the fire that will spew out of the supervolcano under Yellowstone National Park on September 21.

“Time,” Brocks says.

I collapse onto the spikey grass. “How many?”

“Sixty-five,” Tommy says. “New record.”

I jump up and beat my chest with dead arms. Six months ago I couldn’t do twenty pushups in a day, and now I’m closing in on seventy in two minutes.

I’m getting stronger. I will be ready.

Brock throws my watch back. “My mom wants me to play football,” he says. “I heard her talking to my dad about it. They think if I don’t exercise, I will become part of the couch.” He slow tracks a fly in the air but lets it go. Brock is deadly, but he can also show mercy.

“Wanna go out for soccer with me?” Tommy asks him. “We could get cut together.”

“I have Hall Monitor training after school.”

“They have training for that?” I ask.

“One of the many changes I suggested as Hall Monitor in Chief.”

“Dee.” Tommy comes over and gets real close again. He waits a few seconds and then says, “You wanna do it? It would be like when we did tee-ball but just ate sunflower seeds on the bench.”

I look at the shed and think of all the stuff I have to do still: Hang the rest of the plywood. Order the gas masks. Mainly it’s the rolling steel door I’m worried about. That thing was supposed to come two weeks ago, but there was a shipping mess-up.

“Can’t. You know—the apocalypse.”

He sneezes five times. “Yeah.”

Clang.

We look two backyards over and see my neighbor Misty walking toward a tree with a paper target on it. She digs around in the grass and picks up a ha…