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planet, we’d already know about it.”
    “You think the government would tell us this soon?” I chip at another piece of polish.
    “I don’t know. Maybe not. Depends if they thought they could do something about it. They wouldn’t want us to panic early.”
    Panic: from Pan in Greek mythology, a satyr—half-goat, half-man—who was known to create irrational, sudden fear in people for fun. Something that happens to me when I feel trapped.
    “What do you think happens now?” I ask.
    Dominick looks at me, into me, like he’d really like to give me a clear answer because he knows that I overanalyze everything. He replies, “We wait.”
    When the bus pulls up to Beth Israel Deaconess Hospital instead of the train station where Dominick parked his car, passengers bombard the driver with questions.
    “Just following orders,” he announces. “They want to check everyone for radiation exposure.”
    “I don’t like this,” Dominick whispers to me. He hasn’t been back in a hospital since his father died. At the time we were only friends, but his father’s death bonded us together more than we ever expected. We spent every free moment texting and calling each other, and a few months ago he suddenly kissed me in my backyard. It’s not a good idea starting a relationship in the spring of junior year, but no one ever said love was convenient.
    Outside the bus windows, the hospital parking lot brims with activity. Officials covered in white HAZMAT suits with hooded masks usher passengers off the buses ahead of us.
    HAZMAT team. Oh shit, we’ve been poisoned by aliens. I touch my head to check my temperature.
    “I’m calling my dad,” I say to Dominick, almost as an apology. I take a deep breath and wait for the ring. Dad answers immediately.
    “Alexandra, where are you?” he yells through the phone. I go back to picking at my nails.
    “I’m fine. Just freaked out.” I let my breath leak out like deflating a balloon.
    “We’ve been calling you. Did you hear the news? Or are you too busy screwing around with Nick to care about what’s happening in the world?”
    I take another breath. “Dad, I’m at Beth Israel Deaconess Hospital in Milton. It’s crazy here. They want to run tests on us since we came close to one of those . . . things.”
    “What the hell were you doing near one of them?”
    “It was near the tracks. The train had to stop.”
    He goes silent for a few seconds. “You have your medication with you?”
    “Yes,” I mumble, turning away from Dominick. “But I’m still freaking out. They’re wearing HAZMAT gear.”
    “I’m coming to get you.” He hangs up before I can argue. His words sounded strong. Clear. The events haven’t triggered him. Yet.
    The HAZMAT team reaches our bus. I wonder if there are scientists or doctors underneath those suits. Or both. Or neither. They round us up, including the bus driver. I don’t think he saw that coming by the look in his eyes, like an innocent man being arrested for treason.
    As we enter the hospital, one worker shouts, “Women to the right, men to the left. Children under twelve years old remain with a parent.”
    I give Dominick a quick, hard kiss on the lips. For the first time in years, I can’t tell what he’s thinking—if he’s more concerned with leaving me or being alone himself. Those are two very different things, and the distinction makes all the difference in the world to me. One means he’s afraid that I can’t handle the situation. The other means he’s afraid. And that my fear is justified.
    As I am sorted according to my gender, my mind recalls horrific events in history when this happened. The Holocaust. The Titanic. When do you know that an event is the beginning of what will become a tragic end? Is it only at the end?
    The herd of women and some children quietly move down a tented hallway lined with plastic and brown butcher paper. A person in a HAZMAT suit approaches me with a clipboard. The only facial features