11 - Sam
Well, good!
Sam checked for other messages, but that was it.
That was it?
Four measly words, with no detail, no arrival time, no apology… Nico had a lot to make up for.
Sam didn’t text back.
Even though he was pissed, Sam still spent the whole subway ride home building the fantasy that Nico was going to be in the condo, waiting for him with some truly amazing Valentine’s Day surprise.
Like a latte with a perfect heart drawn in the foam—and not some cellophane-wrapped last-minute-desperation purchase. Nico had to be classier than Noble One.
Sam unlocked the condo door and walked in. “Nico?” He called.
Nothing.
He made a quick check of the kitchen. The built-in coffee system was untouched. He looked in the main living room, his bedroom—even his bathroom.
Nico still wasn’t back.
It was past 3 PM !
Sam checked both phones—the burner and his regular one. Nothing new.
One Good Thing
I’m not going to text him. He’s the one who didn’t show up like he promised!
I mean, even Keahilani got flowers!
What the hell am I doing wrong?
We’re newlyweds for God’s sake!
It’s not supposed to be this hard—is it?
1937 Upper East Side Manhattan NY
“Cheers to Madam President!” Sam held up one of the circular half-milk, half-dark chocolates he’d made for Nico, but Nico was MIA. So he’d invited Ari and Frida over instead, and they were going to eat every last chocolate.
Frida was a little more dressed up than normal—“meeting someone later to celebrate” was all she’d say. Ari’s outfit was an elaborate layering of pastel scarves, topped by a tiny hat, a chalky purple candy heart that read:
U+ME
=
4EVR
“Madam?” Frida chose the square dark chocolate with thin white swirls on it that had taken three tries for Sam to get just right. “What am I, your grandma?”
“Miss?” Sam corrected.
“Or Mx.?” Ari wondered, selecting their own milk chocolate heart with a pink ribbon painted on.
Sam had used a stencil for that one, adding some organic beet-based food coloring to the white chocolate to get just the right pink.
He’d spent forever on these, just to show Nico how much he cared, and Nico didn’t care enough to even be here to enjoy them.
Sam tried to not growl with frustration. He tried to be present.
“Mx.,” Frida agreed.
“To Mx. President!” Sam said, “You had my vote, and 72 percent of the student body!”
“Landslide,” Ari singsonged.
Frida grinned as the three of them gently bumped their chocolates together like a toast. They each popped a chocolate in their mouth, and Sam watched for their reactions.
“Boozy!” Frida said, looking thrilled. “Coffee and chocolate… is that cinnamon? Nice.”
“You had the Kahlua,” Sam said. “And yeah, it is cinnamon.”
Ari put up an elegant hand. “Mine tastes like cherries. Ooh, and maybe almonds? It’s a little bitter at the end.”
“That’s the Kirsch,” Sam confirmed. He handed another circle chocolate to each of them. “This one has Grand Marnier, and a layer of marzipan to keep it sweet.”
They both stared at him in surprise. “What?” He gestured to the wet bar. “It’s not like my parents are using the liquor!”
“Scandalous!” Frida teased.
“Eat up, they won’t keep,” Sam said, so mad at Nico he wanted to destroy all the evidence of his humiliation.
“No argument from me,” Frida said, popping the chocolate into her mouth. “That’s six for each of us? Mmm! That’s good.”
“I nearly forgot!” Ari grabbed something from their bag. “Happy Valentine’s Day.” They handed Sam a small, flat rectangle, meticulously wrapped in Japanese origami-style paper, an explosion of flower petals outlined in gold.
“I don’t get a gift?” Frida was mock offended.
“Eat your chocolates,” Ari told her.
“But I didn’t get you anything,” Sam protested.
“You got me chocolates.” Ari chose another pink ribbon heart and made appreciative noises as they chewed. “Mmm.”
“Well… thanks,” Sam said. He ripped the paper off the small book. “ Double-O Seven Trivia ? I love it!”
“You know our boy,” Frida said.
Ari couldn’t hide their delight.
AERR! AERR! AERR! Both Ari’s and Frida’s phones blared an alert siren.
Sam had spent the whole day waiting for Nico to show or one of his phones to ring. He’d finally turned them both off after he called the emergency meeting with Ari and Frida so he’d stop obsessing.
Frida swiped to read the notice on her phone. “Mother of God…”
Ari turned on the living room’s art-frame TV, changing the current image of a hunky Herb Ritts model under a waterfall to live news.
The scrolling banner under the newscaster read: A RE W E N OT A LONE?
P OSSIBLE A LIEN M ESSAGES S EEN W ORLDWIDE .
“Reports are coming in from all over…” The anchor was visibly shaken.
“In the last hour a coordinated message has appeared around the globe, all showing the same image: a humanoid figure within the universal no sign of a circle with a diagonal line through it. Including right here in New York City.”
The image cut to Central Park, Sheep Meadow.
Fire trucks and police cars and a crowd of onlookers surrounded the clearing.
The stick figure of a person inside a circle with a line through it was seared into the snow.
A lone police officer cautiously walked out toward it, and they could see that each line was as thick as he was tall.
Sam studied the sign. It could only mean one thing. He said it out loud: “ No Humans .”
The screen image cut to an aerial shot of dolphins. Words on the screen read: 12 M ILES W EST OF T ASMANIA . There were maybe thirty of them, swimming in ink-blue seas, circling to form the same No Humans image.
And then again, under the words B IG I SLAND , H AWAII , red-orange lava flowed in the pattern: No Humans .
In a microscope, with Chinese headlines under it, cells of some kind grouped together to form the same shape: No Humans .
The circle of Stonehenge from above: New smaller stones had been added—showing it had always been a No Humans sign.
And on one of the giant hands of the Golden Bridge in Vietnam, like a tattoo made from green moss, there was the No Humans sign again.
Feeling a little shaky, Sam turned on his burner phone. It was really happening. Aliens!
He dialed Nico.
The TV showed the No Humans sign in a crop circle in Italy.
Three rising tones on the phone, then an alto voice: “All circuits are busy at this time. Please try your call again later.”
On the TV, an aerial view of the traffic light grid in Chicago made the No Humans sign, blinking red, then green. Red, green.
The reporter cut in. “We’re getting an anonymous report that the government’s known about the aliens for days.
” And then a mechanical voice spoke, with odd pauses in-between: “The aliens… are, real. Governments, all over, the world, have known about, the dead spot, in space, for three days. But, they’re, not going, to save us.
We have, to save us. We will, have to work, together, to survive. All of, humanity, together. Now.”
Sam recognized the voice modification. It had the same echo, the same hesitation as when Keahilani had spoken Russian, before she turned that necklace off. So this meant she’d decided the aliens were real. Was she releasing this message to avoid the panic Sam had predicted?
But why undermine the government? Isn’t a crisis when you want people to listen to the people in charge?
That’s when the power went out. And not just in Sam’s condo. The three of them rushed to the living room window and watched the lights go out, like a wave, north to south. Not just Manhattan—even the lights in Queens on the other side of the East River were out.
Sam looked up. Stars above a pitch-black New York City. A three-quarter moon. And maybe, much closer, aliens? How were they here already? Didn’t they have at least two more days?
“I have to go,” Ari said. “I can’t do anything from here.”
“Yeah,” Frida agreed. “I need to see if Bec is okay. If all the kids are.”
“Stay here, and be safe,” Ari told Sam.
They both rushed out of the condo to the stairwell.
Sam just stood there.
One Good Thing
Maybe the aliens are real. Is the message they want to kill us? Can we actually do anything to stop it?
Where’s Nico? Is he okay?
I can’t reach Dad and Mom either. Or Savta.
Okay, don’t freak out. Bond doesn’t freak out. He acts.
Maybe I should go into the 13th floor. But with the power out, can I even get onto the right floor?
Nico and me, we didn’t even get one Valentine’s Day together.
Does it even matter if I love him more than he loves me?
If these really are aliens, and it’s the end of the world, maybe this journal will be a record of humanity, and how screwed up we are.
But maybe it will also show how we loved: fiercely.
Nico, you jerk—I fucking love you!
I wish you were here with me.