It is an absolute delight having Anastasia in my class. She has an agile mind and a seemingly limitless hunger for knowledge. She does not participate in class discussion as much as I would like, seemingly afraid of being labeled a “know-it-all” by her peers. Assuring her that no such teasing will be tolerated in my classroom does not appear to make much of an impression. I am concerned she will not be able to reach her full potential if she does not learn to express herself in front of the other students.

It is my recommendation that Anastasia be considered for the Gifted and Talented track, where she is more likely to be challenged, and may—in the presence of other children performing at her level—find the courage to emerge from her shell and begin to truly bloom.

—letter home from Mr. Michael Willis, third-grade teacher. Sent November 2005.

Chapter 1

Seattle, Washington: July 13, 2031

Twenty-five days pre-invasion

1.

My alarm went off promptly at 6:02 a.m. I sat upright in the dim light of my bedroom, gasping and clutching the blanket to my chest. My curtains glowed like jewels under the pressure of the sunlight trying to break in from the outside. Dropping the blanket, I slapped at my phone until my finger managed to slide the alarm notification over to Ignore—more out of luck than anything intentional on my part. The sound silenced, I staggered out of the bed, tripping on my own dirty laundry and nearly stepping on the cat. He gave me a dirty look as he moved aside. I didn’t care. I was focused on getting to the window, on opening the curtains.

Sunlight flooded the room as I pulled them open, shocking the last of my exhaustion away. I closed my eyes and inhaled, breathing in the faint, sweet scent of morning, and everything was fine. Everything was amazing.

I love the summer. Most of my friends grumble about the way climate change has rearranged the Seattle seasons. “If I wanted to see the sun every damn day, I’d live in California,” they say, and then they huff off to get their sunscreen and their sunglasses and their sun-sun-go-away goth T-shirts, and I guess I can feel sorry for them, even as I feel totally happy for me. I’m a sunshine girl. Always have been. They’ve had decades of Washington tailoring its weather to them, and it’s only fair that I should have a few years of the weather tailoring itself to me.

Sure, rising sea levels and declining air quality mean my time in the sun—ha-ha—will probably spell the end of life on Earth as we know it, but at least I’ll be warm until the giant tsunami comes and sweeps us all away.