Milo and Marcos at the End of the World

Kevin Christopher Snipes

• Publisher: HarperCollins
• Year: 2022
• eBook ISBN:
  9780063062580
• Print ISBN:
  9780063062566

As natural disasters begin to befall them the closer they become, Milo and Marcos soon begin to wonder if the universe itself is plotting against them in this young adult debut by the playwright and creator of The Two Princes podcast, Kevin Christopher Snipes. 

Milo Connolly has managed to survive most of high school without any major disasters, so by his calculations, he’s well past due for some sort of Epic Teenage Catastrophe. Even so, all he wants his senior year is to fly under the radar.

Everything is going exactly as planned until the dreamy and charismatic Marcos Price saunters back into his life after a three-year absence and turns his world upside down. Suddenly Milo is forced to confront the long-buried feelings that he’s kept hidden not only from himself but also from his deeply religious parents and community.

To make matters worse, strange things have been happening around his sleepy Florida town ever since Marcos’s return—sinkholes, blackouts, hailstorms. Mother Nature is out of control, and the closer Milo and Marcos get, the more disasters seem to befall them. In fact, as more and more bizarre occurrences pile up, Milo and Marcos find themselves faced with the unthinkable: Is there a larger, unseen force at play, trying to keep them apart? And if so, is their love worth risking the end of the world?

Part I

1

One Month, Three Days, and Eleven and a Half Hours until the End of the World

The first sign that the world is going to end occurs on Monday, August 15, at 12:13 p.m.

I know the exact time because I’m looking at my phone, wondering where the heck Van is. Because if there’s one thing I know about my best friend, it’s that Van Silvera is never late.

I hate when people are late. If I’m waiting for someone and it’s been more than fifteen minutes, I start worrying that (a) I’ve missed them, (b) they’re not coming, or (c) they’ve secretly hated me all my life and this is how they’ve finally decided to let me know.

In my defense, I know that’s an overreaction. But Van was supposed to meet me here in the school parking lot at noon so we could grab lunch off campus. The fact that I’ve been pacing next to her empty Jeep for thirteen minutes—that’s right, thirteen—can only mean one thing: she’s dead.

Or our friendship is.

Or both.

Where on earth is she? If today were any other day I might not be freaking out, but it’s the first day of our senior year, which means I’m already wound tighter than the restraints on a straitjacket.

Somehow, miraculously, I’ve managed to coast through the last three years of high school without any major disasters. No failed tests. No major bullying. No awkward erections in class. So by my calculations, I’m pretty much due for some sort of Epic Teenage Catastrophe because, let’s get real, no one gets through high school unscathed. No one. That’s just a fact.

Van calls me paranoid, but I basically operate under the principle that if something can go wrong, it will. The way I see it, if you don’t watch your step and keep your head down, the universe will make you a target. And I can’t think of anything more horrifying than being the center of attention.

I’ve certainly never sought any sort of spotlight. In fact, if someone were to ask my classmates at Spruce Crick to describe me, their first response would probably be, “Who’s Milo Connolly?”

As for the small subset of people who do actually remember my name, they’d probably say I’m that super-religious, super-shy nerd who only does “church stuff.” Which is only half accurate. Technically, it’s my diehard Presbyterian parents who are super religious. I’m more religious by proxy.

That said, I do spend most of my free time doing “church stuff.” I’m a big fan of rules. And church is all about rules—very specific rules that are very clear about what you can and cannot do. And if you follow the rules, you’re all set. No surprises. No confusion. No problem. It’s like having an instruction manual for life.

Most people are surprised to learn that a rule-loving and painfully introverted Christian like me has a best friend like Van, a self-proclaimed agnostic who is both the star player on the girls’ soccer team and the lead of every fall musical. But what people forget is that Van also used to be a quiet, well-behaved little Presbyterian. Back before she scandalized my parents by “taking a break from Jesus,” Van regularly attended our church. That’s how we met.

One December, when we were six, Van and I were cast as Mary and Joseph in our Sunday school’s nativity play. I was painfully shy even then and pretty much refused to say any of my lines. Van on the other hand thrived in the spotlight and wanted to say everybody’s lines: the wise men’s, the angel’s, even the sheep’s. Somehow our Silent Joseph and Chatty Mary routine was the unexpected hit of the Christmas season, and we’ve been inseparable ever since.

Which is why I’m freaking out that it’s now 12:13—no, 12:14—and Van is literally nowhere to be seen. I’ve texted her five times and she hasn’t responded. Which means today just might be the day that my one and only friend has finally and irrevocably realized that I—Milo Connolly—am a Lost Cause.

I shouldn’t be surprised. I knew this day would come. There’s no way someone as special as Van could stay friends with someone as embarrassingly lame as me.

I just thought we had more time.

“Milo!” a voice yells out as the school doors bang open.

Oh, thank goodness . . .

Van waves at me across the parking lot, and the sigh of relief that escapes my lungs practically blows me over.

I’m so relieved by the sight of her smiling face and bouncing mane of auburn hair that it takes me a moment to realize she’s not alone. A boy is with her. I don’t recognize his face, so I assume he must be some clueless underclassman who doesn’t understand the valuable time he’s wasting by trapping Van in whatever inane conversation he wants to have. But as they get closer, I notice the boy is smiling.

At me.

“Look who I found!” Van shouts with a flourish.

My brain is still struggling to make sense of what I’m seeing when the boy sticks out a hand and winks.

“Hey, Connolly. Long time no see.”

Oh. My. God.

Marcos.

I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him. It’s been three years since we were all together, so of course he looks older, but everything I remember about him—everything I can’t help but remember about him—is still the same. His jet-black hair still perfectly coiffed to look intentionally messy. His lean face still ending in that ridiculously sharp jawline, like the hero in an action movie.

As for his eyes . . . they haven’t changed a bit. Dark and penetrating, they still look as if they’re taking in everything and everyone around him. As if they could peer straight into your soul.

I never wanted to see those eyes again for as long as I live.

Before I know what I’m doing, though, I start to reach for him.

Our hands touch.

And the Earth trembles.

2

All Shook Up

“Whoa!” Van shouts as she stumbles sideways, falling against her Jeep.

A second later Marcos staggers backward, his hand pulling out of mine, and I realize that I’m not the only one having trouble staying vertical as the ground of the Spruce Crick parking lot shifts and rumbles beneath our feet.

Marcos and Van are shaking. As is every car around us. As is the whole, entire high school. Everyone and everything is literally shaking down to its foundation.

And then, just as suddenly as it began, it stops.

“What the heck?” Van gasps, trying to catch her breath. “Was that an earthquake?”

“Can’t be,” Marcos says. “Florida doesn’t get earthquakes.”

“Then what was that?” she asks.

“Maybe there was an explosion?”

“I didn’t hear any explosion. The ground literally moved. That was definitely an earthquake.”

“Weird.”

“So weird.”

Then they both look at me. Because I still haven’t said a word. Because I’m speechless. Not because of the earthquake, which, yeah, is pretty freakin’ weird, but SO WHAT?

Marcos Price is STANDING IN FRONT OF ME!

Every atom of my body is quivering. I feel like I’m still shaking apart at the seams even though the ground has settled.

How is this possible? What is he doing here? More importantly, What do I do? Because right now all I can think is DO. NOT. FAINT. Which is easier said than done considering my legs won’t stop wobbling.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

I have no idea how to answer that. Thankfully, I don’t have to.

“Holy crap!” Van exclaims, staring at her phone.

“What’s the matter?” Marcos asks, turning his attention back to her. “Is there something online about what just happened?”

“What? Oh. No,” Van clarifies. “I was about to look, but I just saw the time. We need to get a move on if we want to get to Holloway’s and back before fourth period.”

“Are you sure it’s safe to drive?” Marcos asks, squinting skeptically at the road leading away from Crick. “What if there’s another earthquake?”

“Trust me, dude, you’d rather take your chances with an earthquake than with the slop they serve in our cafeteria any day.”

“Well, if you put it like that,” Marcos chuckles.

“Oh, it’s definitely like that,” Van says, unlocking her Jeep. “Now let’s go. Everyone, inside!”

I’m too numb to argue. I slide into the front passenger seat next to Van as Marcos climbs into the back like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he’s been doing it all his life.

“Hold on,” Van commands as she keys the ignition.

She barely stops at the parking guard station so Mr. Kirby can check our student IDs before peeling out of the lot like she’s competing in the Daytona 500. Normally, I’d be screaming at her to slow down, but right now I’m far too distracted with the thoughts racing through my brain.

Marcos is here.

Marcos Price is here, and he goes to my school.

Since when?

Well, since today apparently. He must have transferred over the summer. Did Van know and not tell me? She certainly seems happy to see him.

Am I happy to see him?

I don’t know.

It’s been three years since I’ve seen his face so a part of me is obviously curious. Especially as I made a vow to never—ever—look him up on social media. But happy? No. Why would I be? It’s not like we were friends. Friends don’t treat one another the way he treated me. Friends don’t turn each other’s lives upside down and then completely abandon each other without a word of explanation. Not unless one of those “friends” is a sociopath.

I mean, look at him. You’d think he’d have the decency to at least pretend to look guilty after everything that went down between us. But no! If he’s feeling any awkwardness about our reunion, he’s certainly not letting on.

“Seriously, I feel so bad,” Marcos says, leaning forward.

For a second, I think he’s read my mind—that maybe I’ve judged him too harshly—until I realize his apology isn’t aimed at me. It’s for Van...

Table of contents

• Cover
• Title Page
• Dedication
• Contents
• Part I
• Part I½
• Part II
• Part III
• Part IV
• Acknowledgments
• About the Author
• Books by Kevin Christopher Snipes
• Back Ad
• Copyright
• About the Publisher