by Jenn Bishop
I peek over at Avery. He’s moving a little bit, but I wouldn’t call what he’s doing dancing. It’s hard to keep track of him with everyone dancing and laughing and the lights so dim.
When the music switches to a hip-hop song, the crowd forms a circle and people take turns dancing in the center. I try to stay behind someone so I don’t get pushed in. Dancing at Kiersten’s house is one thing, but I’m not ready to put on a show for the entire sixth grade.
The girls in gymnastics and dance are the first ones to take turns. They dance and bend in ways I’m pretty sure my body can’t. Gregg sneaks in and flops around on the floor like a worm. He has his tie wrapped around his head like he’s a ninja, even though we’ve only been here for twenty minutes.
“Gregg’s ridiculous,” Gabriella says, laughing.
Yeah, Gregg’s something special, all right.
Gregg freestyles in the center for a minute and then yells for Mr. C. to come into the circle.
Mr. C. is popping and locking, but it isn’t until he gets down on the floor that we pretty much flip.
“I didn’t know Mr. C. could do the windmill,” Kiersten shouts over the music.
“Me neither! He’s good.”
We all chant, “Mr. C., Mr. C., Mr. C.!” And the next thing I know, Kiersten isn’t standing next to me anymore. Avery is.
“Guess this is what he does when he’s not grading math tests,” Avery says.
“Probably practicing in his basement.”
Avery smiles. His short brown hair looks a little bit slick, like he put gel in it for the dance. But there’s still those freckles on his nose, and his eyes are that sharp, crisp blue like that shirt Mom makes Dad wear when they go on dates—the one she calls his handsome shirt.
I’ve sat next to Avery about a million times since kindergarten, in school or on the bus, but standing next to him, both of us dressed up like we’re trying to be someone else, someone more grown-up—it’s different. I don’t know what to say. The million random ideas and thoughts that float around my head all day have flown away.
“How’d you do on the math final?” he asks.
“One-oh-four. How about you?”
“One-oh-two. How’d you get the second bonus question? It was impossible. I looked in the book after, and I still couldn’t figure it out.”
“It’s all in here.” I tap the side of my head.
The DJ changes to a slow song by Taylor Swift and I can feel it. This is it.
My mouth goes all cottony and I look at Avery, who’s staring right back at me. Everything happens in slow motion. He opens his mouth. He doesn’t even have to ask; I’ll say yes.
But then he turns around.
And asks Gabriella.
Kiersten catches me as I stand alone, practically frozen in place watching Avery and Gabriella. She mouths, “What happened?”
I can’t open my mouth and tell her because I don’t know. Avery doesn’t want to dance with me. He wants to dance with Gabriella. He is dancing with Gabriella. And I need to find someone else to dance with so I can stop thinking about Avery, because if I think about him for one more second, I know I’m going to cry.
I lock eyes with Gregg, whose tie is no longer wrapped around his head. “You want to dance?”
Gregg’s one of the few guys in our class who are even shorter than me, but I don’t care. All I know is, I can’t let Avery see me standing alone right now. I rest my hands on Gregg’s shoulders and he places his hands around my waist. He kind of smells, like maybe he didn’t put on enough deodorant for this much dancing. He holds me closer than I want him to, but I don’t ask him to back off. He probably thinks I really want to dance with him.
Wait. What if he thinks I actually want to dance with him? I try to pull away the tiniest bit, but instead he holds on to me even tighter.
We slowly turn and I see Kiersten resting her head on Naveen’s shoulder. She smiles when she sees me. I bite my lip. My first slow dance is not supposed to be like this. It’s not supposed to be with Gregg, who’s gotten kicked out of Mr. C.’s class for spontaneously turning into a chicken more times than I can count.
I sing along in my head with Taylor Swift. I’ve probably listened to this song a thousand times before, but now it feels like I’m hearing it for the first time. She understands how stupid boys are.
When the song finally ends, I pull away from Gregg. He stares back at me with this goofy smile on his face, and something tells me he’s going to ask me to dance during the next slow song unless I do something about it first.
Whatever the opposite of epic is, this is it.
Gabriella and Avery pull apart, but I don’t watch like I’m right here and anyone can see me. I watch like it’s a movie.
It’s supposed to be me. I was supposed to star in that movie.
“Let’s go to the bathroom.” Kiersten tugs at my hand and I follow her across the gym, through all of my classmates who are still having a good time.
The bathroom is the one place the decorating committee forgot. Inside are the same barf-green stalls and grimy tile that have always been here. Bits of streamers that got stuck to people’s feet litter the floor. There’s no room in front of the mirror as girls redo each other’s hair or put on another layer of lip gloss. We all looked shiny and perfect on the dance floor, but under the fluorescent lights, you can see who’s wearing gobs of makeup to cover zits and who still hasn’t started shaving her legs.
“It’s just one song,” Kiersten says.
“Yeah. One slow song. And he asked Gabriella. Gabriella! Not me.” I chew on the inside of my lip.
“Maybe she just didn’t know what else to do,” Kiersten says.
“You wouldn’t have said yes.”
I’m watching Kiersten’s face as she thinks it through. She waits one second too long to reply. And then everything goes black.
In the darkness, I let out a little yelp and reach my hand out to grab Kiersten’s. “I can’t see!” someone screams from inside one of the stalls. It sounds like Hailey Anderson.
Kiersten grips my hand tightly. She’s always been afraid of the dark.
But not me. I wait for my eyes to adjust. “The power went out,” I say. “That’s it.”
I wonder if Gabriella is still out there with Avery. If she’s holding his hand in the dark.
The red exit sign casts a glow over the bathroom and slowly my eyes adjust, until I can make out the sink and the girls standing against it. It’s like someone froze us in place when the lights went out.
Ms. Harrington, my old homeroom teacher, opens the bathroom door and shines a flashlight on us. “The generator’s not kicking in like it’s supposed to,” she says. “Go out into the gym. I’ll help you see to wash your hands and finish up in here if you need to.”
Someone whispers, “I can’t see the toilet paper.”
Kiersten and I head back into the gym. Kids are sitting on the floor or standing around in clumps. No one has a clue what’s going on. Does the blackout mean the dance is canceled now?
“Stay put, folks.” Mr. C.’s booming voice carries through the din. “We’re hoping to get the generator up and running.”
“Was there a storm or something?” Kiersten asks.
I remember the warning that cut into the Red Sox game on the radio. “The music was so loud. Guess we missed it.”
With no music and no dancing, everyone is crowding around the food. I spy Avery over by the chips, but then I see that he’s still with Gabriella. “I want to get my phone,” I say, and we head over to where we left our bags.
When I take out my phone, I see a long list of missed calls from Mom’s cell phone.
I text Mom that we lost power at the dance, that we’re not sure if it’s over or not.
I’m not the only one trying to touch base with someone back home. Soon nearly everyone has their cell phones pressed to their ears, trying to reach their parents. Meanwhile, Mr. C. keeps telling us not to go anywhere. He says something about the
whole town being without power.
“I bet we’re the only class that has ever lost power in the middle of the sixth-grade dance,” Kiersten says, picking at her nail polish.
Someone’s cell phone rings next to us in the bleachers. It’s not one of those generic ringtones, but the song they play in the eighth inning at Fenway Park. Avery’s phone.
He runs over toward us and I try not to look at him.
“What? Mom? I can’t—you’re not coming through clear,” he says.
Kiersten is watching him, too. I think about how she hesitated when I asked what she would do if Avery asked her to dance. Does she have a crush on Avery?
Avery’s butt hits the bleachers hard as he sits down. He startles me, so it’s okay to look. At least, that’s what I tell myself. There’s something in his voice that’s changed.
His hand, the one holding the phone, is shaking.
“Okay, okay. I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here. I’m safe.”
He places the phone on the metal bleacher with a bang.
He turns toward me. “Maddie?” His voice is just as shaky as his hand. What happened to the confident Avery from math class, the one who always knows the answers to all of Mr. C.’s questions?
“Yeah?”
“Call home.”
Before I get a chance to call home, Mr. C. uses his someone’s-in-trouble voice. It cuts through all the chatter in the room. A few people are still whispering until he yells, “Hey!” and then everybody gets real quiet.
“I’m sorry to be the one to have to tell you this, but we have no choice but to cancel the dance.”
Across the room, some of the kids start talking again, but I’m still stuck on what Avery just said—Call home—and the fact that I still haven’t.
Mr. C. shushes everyone. “The power substation is shot. We’re not going to be getting power back anytime soon, folks. I…” Suddenly Mr. C. sounds like he has something caught in his throat. “I don’t know how to tell you this. Can’t believe it myself, really. These kinds of things don’t happen here.” He clears his throat. “The thunderstorms spawned a tornado that crossed the western side of town.”
I hear someone gasp. Western side. Which side of town is the western side? All the missed calls from Mom. Is my house—are we on the western side of town?
Mrs. Gleason from the library steps up next to Mr. C. “We’re putting out a robocall to your parents letting them know the dance is canceled, but I have a feeling a lot of them are already on their way.”
I call Mom’s cell number and press the phone to my ear. Pick up. Pick up. Please, pick up.
It goes straight to voice mail. “Mom, it’s Maddie. They told us about the tornado. Please, call me back.”
I stare at the phone in my hand, willing it to ring, and chew on the inside of my cheek. Probably everyone’s trying to reach someone on a cell phone. That’s why I can’t get through. It has to be.
“My mom said we can give you a ride.” Avery’s voice isn’t shaky anymore, but it’s not his normal voice either.
“Did she talk to my mom?”
Avery shakes his head. “She just said she’d be here soon. And something about it being a close call.” He slides his phone back into his pocket. “Want to go outside and wait?”
I scan the crowd for Kiersten, but everyone is frantic, and I can’t find her.
Outside are at least a dozen other kids, plus a long line of cars in the pickup circle. Kayla Cassidy’s mom yells out her name and Kayla runs toward her. Her mom kisses her on her forehead, even though there’s a ton of people who can see.
I stare down at my phone.
Come on, Mom. Call me back.
There are sirens in the distance, but right in front of the school, it’s way quiet. The concrete steps are scratchy against my bare legs. I kick off my shoes. There’s no reason to be dressed up anymore.
I keep thinking about the thing I always told myself when I was little and the thunder got so loud it shook my house. I’d camp out on the rug next to my parents’ bed. Cammie was just a baby then, so it was all four of us in the room. No, five. Hank was always there, too. Hank hates storms.
Tornadoes don’t like hills, I’d tell myself. Tornadoes happen out west, where it’s flat for miles and miles and miles. They don’t happen in New England. Not in Hitchcock, Massachusetts. And especially not on Hollow Road, where everyone’s house is surrounded by forest.
Avery sits down next to me. He’s jiggling his leg, like he always does right before a test. Did he get taller? His pants are a little too short again.
“I’m sure they’ll call soon,” he says. “The cell towers get overloaded anytime there’s a disaster.”
I swallow hard. “Right.”
With each passing minute, there are fewer and fewer of us waiting outside the school. Finally, a red minivan pulls up in front of us and Avery leaps up from the stairs. The passenger-side window rolls down. I know that face.
“Dad!” I run toward him, my shoes in my hand.
Dad opens the door when he sees me. I barrel into him and he hugs me close. Sequins must be falling off my dress but I don’t care.
When we finally pull apart, I notice a cut on his forehead. His face—it’s dirty.
“Sorry I wasn’t here sooner, hon. I couldn’t find my car,” he says.
“What happened to it?” I ask.
Dad furrows his eyebrows as he stares back at me. He doesn’t answer my question.
“Where’s Mom? And Cammie? They’re okay, right?”
Dad nods. “They’re okay, honey. We’re all okay.”
I climb into the backseat next to Avery and we head toward our street.
“How’s the house?” I ask.
“Our street was hit pretty bad.”
I try to listen as Dad tells us about what happened. How the sky was this weird green color he’d never seen before. How the wind died down and it got still. So still. He and Mom went down in the basement with Cammie, just in case. And Cammie really had to pee, so they made him pee in a bucket in the basement. They weren’t taking any chances.
I stare out the window at the houses as we pass them by. Tidy yards. Cars parked in front of garages. Swing sets. It doesn’t seem possible that a big, whirling, destructive mass blew through the other side of town. But when I see Dad’s dirty, scratched face in the rearview mirror, I know it must have.
“What about the Germ and Greta?”
“The Manoukians are okay, too.”
Dad turns to look at Mrs. Linden, Avery’s mom, and there’s this look on her face. The weird thing is, Dad has that look, too. Dad hardly ever gets frazzled. The only thing that can get Dad worked up is the Red Sox or the Patriots.
Avery’s mom doesn’t put on the blinker to make the turn for our street. “Where are we going?” I ask.
“You can’t go that way. Too many trees are down. That’s why it took us so long to get to the school,” she says.
Rolling down the window, I hear a siren. Soon it’s not the only one.
As the sirens grow louder, I dig my nails—the nails Mom and I painted glittery blue just last night for the dance—into the palms of my hands. Red and blue lights flash up ahead. I can see more in the rearview mirror.
Avery’s mom pulls the car over to the side of the road to let an ambulance pass. A fire truck barrels by next, and behind it are three—no, four—police cars.
I glance over at Avery. He has his thumb up to his mouth. He’s chewing at the skin around his thumbnail. Nobody is talking anymore. Not even Dad and Avery’s mom.
I crawl my hand out to the center of the seat between the two of us. The ambulance, fire truck, and police cars are all at the turn up ahead. They’re heading for Hollow Road. That’s when it clicks. This isn’t some story on the news that I’m watching with Mom, something that happened hundreds of miles away to perfect strangers. The scratches on Dad’s head. The fact that I’m in Avery’s mom’s car, not Dad’s. This is real life. My life.
Avery folds his hand around mine and gives me a squeeze. My heart does that jumpy thing it does in class sometimes when I’m looking at Avery and he’s busy taking notes. Kiersten says it’s creepy and I need to stop doing it—the looking—but she does the same thing with Naveen all the time. And anyway, I can’t stop. It’s not that easy.
But this isn’t like all the other times. Avery’s hand is cold and clammy and he’s not even smiling. There’s no way he’s going to kiss me, like I thought could maybe happen tonight, if for once my life were like a movie.
I squeeze back.
“You’re holding your breath,” Avery says.
I let it out, staring at all the red lights in front of us. The traffic is bumper to bumper.
Even though it’s taking forever to get home, Avery doesn’t let go.
My hand is so sweaty I think about wiping it on the seat, but I don’t. I need something to hold on to that feels real, because right now everything feels like a dream. A nightmare, really. Everything except Avery’s hand on mine.
By the time we make the turn up our street, the sky is darker than normal for a little after eight-thirty. It’s more than just the clouds. Suddenly I realize what’s so different. None of the streetlights are working. And with the power out, there are no lights on in any of the houses.
Mrs. Linden said lots of trees were down, but so far everything looks just fine.
Avery is the first one to say anything. “Holy—”
“Avery, please,” his mom says.
In one yard, it looks like someone cut off the tops of the trees with a scissors. In the next, the trees are chopped lower, split in half, or worse—lying on their sides, roots up in the air. One house is missing a roof. Another is half a house. Everything from inside is strewn all over the lawn: broken windows, the pink cotton-candy-looking fluff that goes inside walls, piles of bricks. There’s a tree folded over a car, too, but then the next house is kind of okay.
It doesn’t make sense.
Mr. Chen from down the street is using his chain saw to free a car in his driveway from a tree that’s toppled over.
