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Автор Shaun David Hutchinson

Praise for The Apocalypse of Elena Mendoza

“Surreal, brainy, and totally captivating. ”

Booklist, starred review

Praise for At the Edge of the Universe

“An earthy, existential coming-of-age gem. ”

Kirkus Reviews, starred review

“While Shaun David Hutchinson (We Are the Ants) is a master of fusing the bizarre with the mundane, and the plot is delightfully constructed, it is Ozzie’s pained, sardonic voice that steals the spotlight. ”

Shelf Awareness, starred review

“Wrenching and thought-provoking, Hutchinson has penned another winner. ”

Booklist

Praise for We Are the Ants

“Hutchinson has crafted an unflinching portrait of the pain and confusion of young love and loss, thoughtfully exploring topics like dementia, abuse, sexuality, and suicide as they entwine with the messy work of growing up. ”

Publishers Weekly, starred review

“Bitterly funny, with a ray of hope amid bleakness. ”

Kirkus Reviews, starred review

“A beautiful, masterfully told story by someone who is at the top of his craft. ”

Lambda Literary

“Shaun David Hutchinson’s bracingly smart and unusual YA novel blends existential despair with exploding planets. ”

Shelf Awareness, starred review

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To Amy Boggs: Thank you for helping me end the world one last time

ONE

THE APOCALYPSE BEGAN at Starbucks. Where else did you expect the end of the world to start?

The man standing at the pickup counter lowered his cell phone and glowered at me. “Did you hear me say nonfat?”

I’d heard him say it the first time. And the second, third, and fourth. I pressed the button on the espresso machine and lowered the steam wand into the pitcher of nonfat milk, blasting the surface with bubbles.

“Hold up,” I shouted over the hiss. “You wanted nonfat milk?” The name on his cup said “Greg. ” He looked like a Greg. Or a serial killer. Maybe both.

“Yes,” said Greg. “It’s the milk with no fat in it. ”

“Glad you were here to clear that up for me. Who knows what I might have put in your drink otherwise. ”

My shift manager, Kyle, stood at the register and flashed me a quick grin while simultaneously rolling his eyes. I finished the man’s double tall nonfat with whip mocha and passed it across the counter to him. He didn’t need to know I’d slipped him two shots of decaf, but I was sure whoever he was going home to would thank me for it.

Fadil Himsi had been standing unobtrusively on the other side of the counter, waiting for me to finish. “What a dick,” he said when the man was out of earshot. Fadil had thick dark hair, wide eyes accentuated by heavy black-rimmed glasses, and full lips that hid an almost buck-toothed grin. More geek than chic, he had a body built for running rather than fighting, which kind of worked for him. Not that he did much of either, preferring to spend his time playing his trumpet or tinkering with his computer.