“Surreal, brainy, and totally captivating.” —Booklist (starred review)
“Provocative and moving.” —Publishers Weekly (starred review)
“Hutchinson artfully blends the realistic and the surreal.” —School Library Journal (starred review)
From the critically acclaimed author of We Are the Ants and At the Edge of the Universe comes a mind-bending, riveting novel about a teen who was born to a virgin mother and realizes she has the power to heal—but that power comes at a huge cost.
Sixteen-year-old Elena Mendoza is the product of a virgin birth.
This can be scientifically explained (it’s called parthenogenesis), but what can’t be explained is how Elena is able to heal Freddie, the girl she’s had a crush on for years, from a gunshot wound in a Starbucks parking lot. Or why the boy who shot Freddie, David Combs, disappeared from the same parking lot minutes later after getting sucked up into the clouds. Other things that can’t be explained are the talking girl on the front of a tampon box, or the reasons that David Combs shot Freddie in the first place.
As more unbelievable things occur, and Elena continues to perform miracles, the only remaining explanation is the least logical of all—that the world is actually coming to an end, and Elena is possibly the only one who can do something about it.
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
The Apocalypse of Elena Mendoza
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.
“I wish he was the exception.” I washed out my milk pitcher and cleaned the area behind the bar. I was a little overzealous about keeping my station orderly, and it bugged me when I took over from someone who left dirty spoons lying around and dried milk caked on the wands.
“So what’re you doing here?” I asked. “Don’t you have band practice?”
Living in Arcadia, Florida, meant that there was little to do aside from slowly develop skin cancer at the beach, complain about how there was nothing to do in Arcadia, or hang out at the only Starbucks in town and complain about how there was nothing to do in Arcadia. I both loved and hated my job. Loved because it let me help Mama with the bills and got me out of the apartment; hated because half of my classmates eventually showed up there at one point or another, and I wasn’t exactly popular at Arcadia West High.
Fadil shook his head. “Mrs. Naam’s sick. And I was kind of hoping to run into someone here.”
“Is it Gemma Darville? I’ve seen the way she gives you the googly eyes.”
“It’s not Gemma.”
Fadil didn’t get the chance to answer because a horde of customers, who must have coordinated their entrance to overwhelm us, rushed in all at once and I was distracted by cappuccinos and Frappuccinos and getting yelled at for not steaming the milk to exactly 173 degrees like I’d been ordered to. People take their stupid coffee way too seriously. It goes in the face hole and comes out an entirely different hole, but it probably doesn’t taste much different coming out as going in.
Look, I know Starbucks is like the McDonald’s of coffee stores and that all I was really doing was pressing buttons and steaming milk, but when a rush came in and I was making three and four drinks at a time, I felt like I had eight arms. I lost myself in the rhythm of pulling shots and steaming milk and blending ice. It was, in its own weird way, cathartic. Which is why I didn’t notice Freddie standing at the counter until I set her drink down—a caramel Frappuccino with whipped cream and extra drizzle on top—and called her name.
Winifred Petrine—Freddie to most everyone—wasn’t paying attention and hadn’t heard me. She stood to the side, looking cute in a pink jersey top and jeans that hugged her hips, staring at her phone. Curls of sapphire-blue hair fell over her cheeks, and I couldn’t stop admiring her.
Ugh! Just say hi already and stop mooning at her like an idiot.
“What?” I said.
Freddie looked up. “What?”
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You said ‘what.’?”
Was I turning red? My cheeks were hot and I’m sure I was blushing like crazy. I pushed Freddie’s drink toward her. “Your caramel Frappuccino with extra drizzle.”
Freddie made this face where her right eyebrow arched up, her left down, and her lips puckered as if she wasn’t sure whether to thank me or check to see if I’d poisoned her drink. “Yeah,” she said. “Thanks.”
I turned and glared at the siren logo grinning at me from the stack of cups to my right. “I don’t need your help.”
She’s only a girl, Elena. And one with horrible taste in frozen drinks. You could do better.
“Shut up,” I mumbled under my breath. I hated the siren logo, and not simply because she offered unsolicited relationship advice. She was creepy, all smiles with her two tails and boobs hanging out.
Fadil cleared his throat; I’d forgotten he was standing there. “Were you whispering to the cups?”
“What were we talking about?” I asked. “That’s right. You were going to spill who you came here hoping to see since you obviously didn’t drop by for my entertaining company.”
Fadil knew more about me than any friend I’d ever had. He knew about my virgin birth, he knew I poured the milk into my bowl before the cereal, he knew I’d had a crush on Freddie since sixth grade, and he knew the fastest way to piss me off was for someone to drag their fork against their teeth while eating. He did not, however, know about the voices I’d heard since I was a young girl. There was only so much honesty a friendship could survive.
“Why didn’t you talk to Freddie? Wasn’t that the perfect opportunity just now?”
I glanced toward the front of the store. Most of the café tables were occupied by Arcadia West students pretending to do homework or by the regulars who came for the free Wi-Fi, so Freddie had taken her drink to the patio, which was mostly empty because it was September in Florida and still ninety degrees. The only other person outside was a boy I’d seen hanging around before but didn’t know.
“I think flirting while on the clock is against company policy.”
“Is that in the official employee handbook?”
“Right under the section about not allowing friends to distract you while you’re working.”
A burst of laughter exploded from one of the tables in the corner where Tori Thrash and her friends were pointing at someone’s drink that had fallen onto the floor and spilled everywhere. Michael caught me looking and called out, “Clean up on aisle five, Mary!” which everyone at their table seemed to think was hilarious.
Maya came back from her break reeking of cigarettes and nudged my shoulder. “Kyle said to take out the trash and then go on your ten.”
“Great,” I said, motioning at the coffee puddle, “then you get to take care of that.”
“Sorry, I’m on my ten.” I turned to Fadil. “Meet me around back?” He nodded, and I quickly gathered the garbage and carried it into the stockroom. I stripped off my apron, hung it on my locker, and heaved the pile of trash bags out the back door.
Whatever happens next, Elena, don’t be scared.
The siren’s voice blasted me from every box of coffee and sleeve of cups stacked on the wire racks. I even heard her from the cups in the trash. It was the worst surround sound ever.
“It smells terrible, sure,” I said. “But why would I be afraid of the garbage?”
I’d grown accustomed to the presence of the voices. Sometimes they helped me, like when I was six and got lost in the mall and a horse on a broken merry-go-round told me what store to find Mama in. Other times they spoke in cryptic riddles, which I ignored. Either way, the voices were an inconsistent constant in my life. I might go weeks without hearing them, but they never disappeared permanently.
Fadil met me near the Dumpster and helped me toss the trash bags inside.
“What’re you doing Saturday?” I asked. “Want to catch a movie and maybe hit the comic book store?”
Fadil sucked air through his teeth. “Yeah. So I was kind of planning to go to the renaissance festival with some of the marching band crew.”
“You should come,” he said. “I swear it’s more fun than it sounds. I’ll buy you one of those giant turkey legs you love so much.”
I shook my head. “No, it’s all right.”
Fadil shoved his hands in his pockets and we stood by the Dumpster inhaling the fragrant scent of spoiled milk and old pastries. “You know what? Forget it. I can go with them next weekend. Jack spent weeks working on his corset and gown and is determined to wear it as often as he can, so it’s not like I won’t have plenty of chances to go.”
“Really?” I perked up, a smile lifting my cheeks. “You don’t have to—”
“It’s done,” Fadil said. “Besides, I’ve been dying to see that indie film. The one where everyone gets a letter the day they’re going to die?”
“You’re the best.”
Fadil squared his shoulders and held his head high and proud. “I know.”
“Kind lord, how can I ever repay you?” I said, affecting my worst British accent.
“Well, since you mentioned it,” he said. “I hear you’re in a study group with Naomi Brewer.”
“Come on.” I motioned for Fadil to follow me around the side of the store to the parking lot. My stomach was rumbling and there was a sandwich shop next door. “Trig. As usual, I’ll get stuck doing all the work. Why?”
“I was hoping you could maybe arrange for me to randomly run into you guys while you were studying.”
I fake gagged when I realized what Fadil was asking. “Naomi? Really?”
“She’s cute! And smart and she’s into K-pop and did I mention she’s smart?”
“Twice,” I said. “But didn’t she get caught copying off one of your tests freshman year, causing you both to get a zero?”
“That was Callie Schumer.”
“Whose best friend is Naomi.”
“Callie was her best friend,” Fadil said. “They don’t talk anymore.”
“How the hell do you know all of this? Do you have audio-recording devices in the girls’ locker rooms?”
Fadil frowned. “What kind of boy do you think I am? If I were going to bug the locker rooms, I’d obviously prioritize video over audio.”
I laughed in spite of myself.
“Will you do it?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “It’s kind of weird. And it’s Naomi Brewer!”
Fadil’s thick eyebrows dipped to form a V. “Is it that much stranger than your weird thing for Freddie, to whom you’ve barely even spoken?”
I sighed. “Fine, I’ll think about it.”
We reached the front of the patio, where Fadil grabbed my arm and pulled me to a stop. “Go talk to her.”
He motioned at Freddie with his chin. “She’s sitting alone. You couldn’t ask for a better setup.”
“I smell like trash, my hair is a mess, and what am I supposed to say? ‘Hi, I’m Elena and I’ll be your creepy stalker for the afternoon?’?”
Fadil tapped his chin dramatically. “Well, the first part works, but I’d leave out the stalker bit.”
“I’m not doing it.”
“What if I go with you?”
“Right,” I said. “Because flirting is so much cooler with your best friend tagging along for emotional support.” I tugged his shirt. “Besides, I’m hungry and I only have ten minutes.”
Fadil gave me a shove and shouted, “Hey, Freddie!” in her direction before scurrying behind a car. Yes, I was going to kill him. Slowly and painfully. But now Freddie was looking at me and I think she was smiling, though she could have been confused, and I had no choice but to approach her and try to make word sounds without accidentally biting off my tongue.
Everyone knows someone they’ve admired from afar but were too intimidated to ever consider actually talking to because their mere presence triggers spontaneous desert mouth or uncontrollable babbling. That person, for me, was Winifred Petrine. She was so out of my league that, while I’d definitely had a crush on her for a long time, I’d never seriously entertained the thought of asking her out, because I preferred the people I hit on to not hit me back.
The walk to Freddie’s table felt endless even though it was only a few feet. My brain created a million scenarios where I introduced myself. In most, I ended up drooling or tripped at the last minute, face-planted on the sidewalk, and broke my nose. None ended with me asking Freddie out and her accepting. I finally reached the table and opened my mouth to speak. I did not drool. I didn’t speak to Freddie either, because someone bumped me from behind.
“Excuse you,” I said, turning around.
The boy who’d run into me stood uncomfortably close. He was the one who’d been sitting at the other table, and he looked like a baby freshman with an undercut and the bangs of his soft blond hair swept back and styled into a pompadour. He wore cargo shorts and a short-sleeve green plaid button-up. He was holding a flat-black gun in a hand that seemed too small and delicate to wield it.
“Elena Mendoza?” the boy asked in a soft voice.
I froze. My brain was screaming I should run or hide or knee the boy in the balls, but I couldn’t decide which to do, so I stood there unable to move at all.
“I . . .”
The boy raised the gun, aimed, and fired. The shot deafened me, and I was certain for a moment that I was dead. That he’d put a bullet in me and I was going to bleed to death in front of Starbucks. But he hadn’t shot me. He’d shot Freddie. He’d shot her and then backed up two steps.
Freddie slid out of her seat, and I fell to my knees beside her, pressing my hands to the wound in her stomach. Blood spread across her blouse and I yelled for help. I heard Fadil calling my name, but his voice was an echo across a vast chasm, too far away.
You’re a story. I’m a story. There are 7.5 billion stories on the planet. Two hundred and fifty new stories begin each minute, and 105 stories end. It’s easy to allow the world to collapse down to our own stories. To see ourselves as the central figure in the only story worth knowing and forget that every person we encounter is living their own, is the center of their own universe. But that’s the nature of the human experience. That’s why the patio felt so small as I ignored Fadil’s shouting and the boy with the gun and focused on the blue-haired girl who was smiling as she died. Her skin was moist and ashen, her eyelids fluttered, but she was smiling at me like I was the only person in the world who mattered.
Time to shine, Elena!
The voice hit me from the siren signs in the window and the one on Freddie’s cup and even from the ones on the wad of napkins stuffed under the table leg to level it.
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked.
Heal her, obviously.
“How the hell am I supposed to do that?”
Do I have to explain everything?
I kept pressure against the wound in a vain attempt to stop Freddie’s blood from escaping, but every beat of her weakening heart pushed more of it through the gaps between my fingers.
You’re wasting time, Elena. Consider that the volume of a human’s blood makes up approximately 7 percent of their body weight. Winifred Petrine weighs 156 pounds, which means her body should contain four liters of blood. How much of that do you think is puddled on the ground? How much more do you think she can lose and still survive?
“Then tell me what to do,” I begged. “How am I supposed to heal her?”
You just do it. If you don’t, Winifred Petrine will die. Ticktock, Elena.
It was ludicrous. The voice from the sirens expected me to magically heal a gunshot wound? I had no idea where to even begin. But the voice was right. Freddie had lost so much blood. Too much. If I couldn’t stop the bleeding soon, she wouldn’t survive.
A shadow fell over me. Over us. I didn’t need to look up to know who it was.
“Are you going to shoot me?” My voice trembled, but my hands remained steady against the wound in Freddie’s stomach. I looked over my shoulder at the boy. He appeared even younger than I’d first thought. His cheeks were dusted with downy hair, freckles dotted his nose, and he had this dimple in his chin. I’d expected to find nothing in his eyes. A cold, inhuman vacancy. Instead they were red-rimmed and broken. They were hurting. He was hurting.
The boy pointed the gun at me. I’d never seen a real one up close. It resembled the toys my little brother was constantly begging Mama to buy him. “Hi, Elena,” he said.
He knew my name. I tried to recall ever meeting him, but I would have sworn I hadn’t. “I don’t—”
“Was your mom really a virgin when you were born?” The gun twitched.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Did God make you?” he asked. “Do you think he’d intervene if I shot you?”
“I don’t believe in God.” Kneeling on the patio of a Starbucks while the girl I had a crush on was dying and a strange boy was pointing a gun at me was the wrong place to start a theological debate, but the words had spilled out before I could stop them.
The boy blinked mechanically, like he was a computer processing what I’d said instead of an actual human being. “I don’t think I do either.” He pointed at Freddie with the gun. “She’s bleeding to death.”
“Because you shot her.”
Come on, Elena! Heal her! Heal her now!
I choked off my fear, reaching inside for every ounce of courage I possessed to look the boy in the eye and speak without my voice quivering. “I’m going to try to help her now. If you’re planning on killing me, I’d appreciate it if you’d wait until I finish.”
The boy chuckled. With a gun pointed at me and Freddie dying, he had the nerve to laugh. “My mom would have liked you.”
It was such an unusual thing to say that I nearly faltered. But then Freddie groaned, drawing my attention back to her. If the boy was going to shoot me, I couldn’t stop him, but maybe I had the power to save Freddie.
Since the siren hadn’t told me how I was supposed to heal Freddie, I closed my eyes and hoped for the best.
I felt like I’d been plunged into an isolation tank. No sight or sound or touch or taste or smell. But there was something else. A sense of Freddie where there’d been nothing before. I reached out to her and I wasn’t alone in the dark anymore. She was there with me. Her body was traced in lines of impossible colors of liquid fire. And in her stomach was a gaping hole. A density that was sucking in the outlines of her body, devouring her quickly dimming light. Instinctively, I understood that the black hole was the gunshot wound. All I had to do was reach out and heal it. The darkness in Freddie’s stomach evaporated and the light of her body flared so bright I thought it might blind me.
Freddie gasped. She screamed. I opened my eyes and lifted my blood-covered hands. It was real. I’d done it. I yanked back Freddie’s shirt, which still sported the bullet hole, and found no wound. Nothing but smooth, flawless, blood-covered skin.
“How did you—” the boy began. He never finished. A bright, narrow beam of light streaked from the sky to envelop him. It was molten gold and it reached from the heavens to the ground in a straight line. It was beautiful and awful, and then I blinked and it was gone. I blinked and the boy was gone. The gun fell where he, only a second earlier, had stood, prepared to shoot me.
But Winifred Petrine was alive. She’d seen me and she’d smiled and I’d healed her, and she was going to live.
Reading Group Guide
A Reading Group Guide to
The Apocalypse of Elena Mendoza
By Shaun David Hutchinson
About the Book
Elena Mendoza did not mean to start the apocalypse. But when the voices inside her head told her she could heal the girl who was bleeding to death at her feet—the girl she had a crush on and had finally worked up the courage to talk to—she knew that she had to try. Until that very moment, Elena hadn’t known that she had the power to heal others, nor that there would be terrible consequences each time she used this power. She didn’t know that healing Freddie would force her to make impossible choices on a daily basis, or that she would end up endangering everyone that she cared about. All she knew was that Freddie was dying, and she had to try to do something. So she healed the gunshot wound and inadvertently started the apocalypse. Now she just has to figure out what comes next.
1. Why doesn’t Elena tell Fadil about the voices she hears until after healing Freddie? Why does she leave this part out when telling her mother about the miracle? Why does she become more open about the voices as the story goes on?
2. Elena does not believe in God. How does this affect the decisions she makes regarding her healing powers and the voices’ demands?
3. Why do you think David shot Freddie? Why is it so important to Elena that she have this information? Would knowing the cause help Elena or Freddie deal with the aftermath of the shooting? How does Elena’s search for answers affect David’s family? Do you think it is significant that David was raptured immediately after Freddie was healed?
4. How has being the product of parthenogenesis affected Elena’s life? In what ways did it prepare her for the events of the story? What effect does it have on her relationship with her mother?
5. What does Elena see when she heals someone? Why does everyone have a different look to their energy?
6. Why is Fadil friends with Elena? Are there times when she unknowingly tests his friendship? Why have they never become romantically involved? What makes him particularly well suited to help Elena deal with her healing powers?
7. Discuss Javier’s relationship to Elena. Why did they break up? Is he a good person?
8. Is Freddie grateful to Elena for saving her? How is her life different now that she has been healed? What are her reasons for being angry with Elena’s actions?
9. Why does Fadil think that the natural disasters and unexplained phenomena happening around the world are connected to Elena’s actions? Why does Elena doubt that this is true?
10. Both Freddie and Fadil mention how beautiful Elena is in her Valkyrie costume. Why does this particular outfit make such an impression on them? In what ways is Elena like the Valkyrie?
11. Elena says, “‘All that ambient light overwhelms the stars in the sky, but they’re still up there, millions and billions of light-years distant, waiting for us to see them. They’re a lot like life that way. The constant noise of our own personal problems drowns out what’s happening in the rest of the world. We get caught up in our day-to-day struggles and can’t see that everyone is fighting their own battles. But they are.’” What battles are the people around her fighting? Is Elena aware of their struggles, or are they drowned out by her own problems? Can she help to solve any of these problems?
12. Why did Carmen Ballard and Harrison Bartlett try to force Elena to use her powers? How are their tactics different from others who have asked Elena for help? Why does Sean agree to help Carmen Ballard?
13. Both Elena and Freddie are careful to differentiate between having a crush on someone and being in love with them. What do they say the differences are? How do these differences impact the relationship between the two girls? Do you think there is a point when their feelings begin to shift from a crush to something deeper?
14. Why does Mrs. Haimovitch feel that she doesn’t deserve a miracle? Why does Elena heal her anyway? Do you think people can act in such a way that they deserve to suffer?
15. Why does Elena have a hard time believing that her actions are saving the human race? Do the opinions of those around her sway her feelings on the subject? Are there problems that Elena should not solve, or people that she should not save?
16. Elena’s mother believes that life is one long tunnel with no light at the end. She says “‘There are lights along the way. Sometimes they feel spread farther apart than others, but they’re there . . . but walking through a stretch of dark doesn’t mean you can’t be happy. And if you’re lucky, you’ll bump into someone willing to walk through the darkness with you.’” Do you think there are other characters who share this philosophy, even if they wouldn’t describe it this way? Do her mother’s words help Elena with the decisions she has to make?
17. The ability to choose our own actions is a common theme throughout the book. Who was faced with a difficult choice and had to live with the consequences of their actions? Does Elena feel that the motivations behind decisions matter, or just the outcome? What makes Elena’s choice to use her powers especially difficult?
18. Why are the voices so upset by Elena’s decision to leave the portals open and let people decide for themselves whether or not to cross over? Why does this seem like the best option to her? Is it worth the sacrifice she makes? Are you surprised by the people who choose to cross over?
1. Elena has the special gift of healing. Take a class on basic first aid, talk to the school nurse, or research the basics on the Internet so that you, too, can help to heal those who are suffering.
2. Music is very important to Freddie, particularly because it provides a link to her father. Find music by some of the artists that are mentioned in the book and listen to it. Does hearing the music add to your appreciation of the story? Create your own soundtrack for a particular period or event in your life.
3. When Elena heals an illness, it appears to her as a visual representation of what is actually wrong with the victim’s body. Choose an illness or physical issue and draw a picture of how it might look to Elena. Write a short paragraph explaining how it could be remedied.
4. Elena and her mother volunteer at a dog shelter, walking and playing with the dogs. Find a shelter in your area that could use a hand and help out.
5. Several characters from Shaun David Hutchinson’s other books make an appearance in The Apocalypse of Elena Mendoza. Choose a character that doesn’t interact with Elena and write a short story in which they meet. If you haven’t read Hutchinson’s other books, choose another character from a favorite book.
6. Freddie creates a beautiful sculpture out of found objects and other items that others would consider to be garbage. Gather together items that are no longer being used and create your own work of art. If sculpture doesn’t interest you, try a collage or installment art piece.
7. Elena dresses up as a Valkyrie for Halloween. Research this group of strong women and write a short essay about their place in Norse mythology.
Guide written by Cory Grimminck, Director of the Portland District Library in Michigan.
This guide has been provided by Simon & Schuster for classroom, library, and reading group use. It may be reproduced in its entirety or excerpted for these purposes.