Don't Breathe A Word

YA chiller 

" I see only two ways to cope with the current state of affairs: either get on with your life like a normal person, or spend every waking hour imagining the world being blasted to smithereens--like me."

     The year is 1962.  The cold war between the United States and Russia is getting much too intense.  Children are being taught how to survive an atom bomb being dropped on their schools in much the same way their descendants are put through active shooter drills.

     Connie, one of the protagonists of Jordyn Taylor's Don't Breathe A Word, is a student at Hardwick Preparatory Academy.  While her peers stress about looks and social status she agonizes over the prospect of nuclear annihilation.  When her school decides to test their new fallout shelter by having six students spend four days locked in it she becomes a very apprehensive participant, especially when life below ground becomes more decidedly sinister.

     "Maybe my problem is that I just can't summon the Hardwick Spirit that everyone else seems to have.  You've got the eager beavers, who dash to the front row of every class; the student council members, who make enthusiastic announcements about upcoming social and charity events; the athletes who strut around campus in their special team jackets; the ultra-rich kids, whose last names sound familiar during attendance because they're also the names of buildings around campus...At Hardwick, it's like they're one big happy family, and I'm an intruder barging into the living room with mud on my shoes."

     Eva, Taylor's other protagonist, has been sent by her mother and stepfather to start her junior year at a school most of her classmates have attended since fifth grade.  Cliques are set in stone.  So she's really excited when she's invited to join a secret society and becomes one of a very exclusive group.  

     Then she begins to notice a sinister side to the group.  They regularly attend special meals at the posh home of Dean Allenby where the students tell him about the misdeeds of their classmates.  When one of the group tells him about talk of the shelter he becomes especially alarmed.  

     Maybe because, sixty years earlier, of the six students who entered, only five came out alive.

On a purrrsonal note, I remember those drills.  When we heard a siren we were supposed to duck under our desks and cover our heads with our hands.  I got in big trouble my first one when my classmates and I were taught the drill by informing them and my teacher that school issue desks would not save us from an atom bomb because the whole school would be vaporized.  The drills terrified me because of my precocious understanding of the futility of trying to escape nuclear annihilation.  Maybe also, if it's an innate trait, I had anxiety back then.  The day Kennedy was shot the principal sent all students home without explaining why.  I was sure that the plane with the bomb was on the way and she was making sure we had a chance to say goodbye to our families.  I got home.  Mom explained that Kennedy had been assassinated.  My response: oh, that's all?  She was shocked by my insensitivity.  I was giddy with relief that my loved ones and I would get to stay alive.  (Jules)

Doesn't sound like good times.  (Tobago)

A great big shout out goes out to peace activists who work diligently to prevent global annihilation.

Tobago and Jules Hathaway 

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