A signal caught on the screen, a blurry image scrolling vertically like the self-dumping hoppers in a grain lift machine. Another tweak of the rabbit ears and the image stilled. It was some dumb talk show, the host overseeing a competition between housewives who’d done their own makeovers. Alex started clicking the plastic knob, changing the channels. An ad for a new kind of car wax. A close-up of a weeping woman in soap-opera-soft lighting. A newscaster giving a live early-morning traffic report, the sound fuzzed by the bad signal.

Everything looked to be normal.

When Alex turned off the TV, you could sense the relief in the room, the first stirrings of optimism.

“Okay,” Patrick said. “So we can assume that the spores from McCafferty haven’t spread out of the valley.”

“Not yet,” Eve said.

That sent a ripple of concern across the basketball court.

“Let’s focus first,” Chatterjee said, “on what we know to be true.” He ticked off the first point on his slender forefinger. “The adults are affected, but not the kids. Can we zero in on an age?”

A silence as we all regarded one another. Marina called down from the bleachers, “I see Stevie Saunders and Hanna Everston across the street. How old are they?”

Answers rang out.

“Stevie’s twenty-three,”

“I think Hanna is, too.”

“No, she’s just twenty.”

“Twenty, then,” Dr. Chatterjee said, his voice heavy with dread.

My insides felt heavy, too. I pictured that hipster beanie, the Piggly Wiggly apron. When I spoke, my voice sounded thin against the gym walls. “We saw Eddie Lu. I think he’s just nineteen.”

“He is.” A younger kid raised his hand as if he were in class. Chatterjee nodded at him. “He’s my cousin. His birthday was this summer. We had a pool party.”

“Oh, my God,” Marina said. She covered her mouth, turning away from the window so fast that her pigtails whipped her cheeks.

“What?” Patrick said.

Marina said, “Talia Randall’s out there.”

Britney stiffened at the mention of her cheer captain. “She is? Is she…?”

Marina’s face looked down at us all. She didn’t say anything.

“Oh, my God,” Britney said.

Alex said, “Wasn’t her birthday just last month?”

Britney nodded. Her lips parted in shock. Her face, suddenly wan. Sweat sparkled across her temple. I didn’t understand what was going on.

“How old did she turn?” I asked, trying to catch up.

“Eighteen,” Alex said, keeping her gaze pegged on Britney.

Britney’s trembling hand rose to the back of her head. She tugged the rainbow ribbon free, and her hair fell about her face, crowding her cheeks, her eyes. Her pale, sweaty face stared out from beneath the straggly locks.

“We did a thing in class yesterday,” Britney said faintly. “But today…”