Hurricane Power

by Sigmund Brouwer

  “Hello,” he said when he noticed me. “You must be David. Jennifer told me about you. She says you could be an all-state runner.”

  “All-state?” I said. “I don’t think so.”

  “Me neither,” a guy beside Jennifer said. He had wavy black hair. He looked like a magazine model: the kind who thinks it’s cool to look down his nose at the camera while modeling the type of designer suit that you’d only wear if you liked ballet more than hockey. He turned to Jennifer. “You probably just asked him to join the team because you think he’s cute.”

  “Don’t be such a jerk, Jason,” she said. “Just because I won’t go out with you—”

  “That’s enough,” Coach Fudd said. I corrected that in my head. Coach Lewis. “You two will destroy our team’s unity. It’s important that you all get along.”

  Jason turned his head so Coach Lewis couldn’t see him. He dramatically rolled his eyes.

  “Besides,” Coach continued, “we need Jason. Not only is he our fastest runner, but he also helps keep my computer running. That machine’s so complicated, I’d be in trouble without him.”

  Jason seemed to like the coach’s compliment. He stopped rolling his eyes and said in a nicer voice, “Hey, Coach? I have an idea. Why don’t we run an indoor sprint? That way we can all see exactly how the new guy runs.” He shot me a challenging smirk.

  I hadn’t brought my gym bag with me. I’d actually been thinking about telling Jennifer that I wasn’t interested in the track team. It wasn’t hockey. But now, of course, I had something to prove.

  I gave Jason a big grin. “Sounds like a good idea.”

  “But you don’t have any gear with you,” Coach Lewis said to me. “And everybody else has stretched and warmed up.”

  “That’s all right,” I said. I just wanted to wipe that smug look off Jason’s face. “I’m good to go.”

  chapter four

  Coach Lewis lined seven of us up at one end of the gym. The other six, including Jason, wore gym shorts and T-shirts. I was sure I looked out of place, standing there beside them in my jeans. I suddenly felt self-conscious. Especially with all the girls, including Jennifer, watching us.

  What was I doing here? I was about to race six kids I didn’t know in a high school I’d attended for only two days. I was doing it because of stupid pride, because some guy had dared me.

  Worse, I knew I was a hockey player. That’s the only sport I’ve ever cared about. I wasn’t into track. Why did I think I could run against guys who actually competed in track events?

  The guys beside me dropped to a crouch. They each placed one heel against the wall behind us.

  Huh?

  “David,” Coach Lewis said. “Get set.”

  “I am set,” I said, feeling more out of place. I decided that even if these guys smeared me, I was going to do my best. But I wished I knew what the coach was talking about.

  “In the blocks, set,” he said.

  “Um, blocks?” I said.

  Jason laughed, which instantly made me feel mad again. Now I understood why I had decided to race him.

  “You’ll get a better jump from a crouched position,” Coach Lewis said. “Use the wall behind you in place of starting blocks.”

  Starting blocks? I guess I should have known. But my school in Wawa wasn’t big on track. And I’d never watched it on television.

  “I’m okay this way,” I said. Coach Lewis was probably right. But I’d never used blocks before, let alone a wall. I didn’t think this was a good time to risk trying something that could cost me time.

  “Your choice,” Coach Lewis said.

  He looked at the others. “To the end of the basketball court,” he said. “Any questions?”

  No one had questions.

  Coach Lewis nodded. He brought his arm up.

  “Take your mark...”

  I felt the adrenaline start to pump.

  “Set...”

  A fraction of a second later, Model Guy was pushing off from the wall.

  “Go!”

  Coach dropped his arm as he shouted. Jason had jumped out ahead of the rest of us. This was no time, though, to stop and point out that Jason had cheated. Instead I focused on my legs, which were pumping as fast as they could.

  A quarter of the way across the gym floor, I felt this wonderful balloon of excitement growing inside me. The thunder of shoes on the hardwood only added to the thrill. The weirdest part of all was that I didn’t feel my own feet on the floor. I was in full motion, and it felt like I was breaking free of gravity.

  I pulled ahead of three guys.

  Halfway across, I pulled ahead of two more.

  The only person ahead of me was Jason. The other end of the gym seemed to rush toward me.

  I still felt totally free, almost outside of my body in the joy of racing hard.

  I pushed myself, loving the rhythm of my legs and arms and the feeling of speed. And just like that, I passed Jason. Then I crossed the line at the end of the basketball court.

  Cheering and applause broke into my little zone of concentration. Time slowed down. And there I was, hands on my knees, gasping for breath as Coach Lewis walked toward me. He had a huge grin on his face.

  “Wow,” he said. “Do you have any idea how fast you are?”

  I shook my head. I was a hockey player.

  “Let me put it this way,” he said. “We need you on this team. Will you join?”

  We need you. That sounded nice, being new to the school and all. It wasn’t like I had any other plans; all my friends were a couple of thousand miles to the north.

  “Sure,” I said to Coach Lewis. “I’d be happy to.”

  “Good,” he said. “We practice after school every day but Friday. Our first track meet is Saturday. Can you make it?”

  “I’ll have to check with my manager and booking agent,” I joked.

  “Huh?” he said. The way his face wrinkled, he looked even more like Elmer Fudd than before.

  “Nothing,” I said. “Dumb joke. There’s nothing to stop me from being there.”

  Or so I thought at the time.

  chapter five

  I spent a lot of time and energy learning how to use starting blocks at my first practice. Afterward, Jennifer caught up to me in the hallway.

  “Where’re you going?” she asked, smiling. We were alone, walking past empty classrooms.

  “Home,” I answered. Our big old house was half a mile from the school. It wasn’t much to look at, but Mom was into interior design. She planned to fix the house up and make it look like something from the 1920s.

  “I wanted to ask you about that,” she said. “Your home, I mean. There’s something I don’t understand.”

  “What’s that?” I asked.

  “It just seems strange...” She looked at her feet and then back at me. She had a nice smile. “Maybe it’s none of my business, but can I ask you a kind of personal question?”

  “I guess so.”

  “Well,” she said, “this isn’t the nicest neighborhood. Or the nicest school. You’ve probably figured that out.”

  I nodded.

  The school, for example, had a metal detector at the main entrance. The kind used at airports to make sure people don’t take guns or knives onto airplanes. Security guards made sure all students walked through the metal detector. It didn’t take much to figure out this place wasn’t exactly kindergarten.

  All the houses in the neighborhood were really old. Most of them were falling apart. I knew from listening to Mom and Dad that many of these big old houses held four or five families.

  “So,” Jennifer said, “your family moved down here from Canada. That must have cost your folks a lot of money.”

  “Probably,” I said. “We flew down and hired movers to bring our furniture by truck.”

  “That’s what seems strange to me,” she said. “Anybody with any kind of money wouldn’t choose to live in this neighborhood or go to this school. So why...?”

&nbs
p; “Why am I here? Why did my family move here?”

  It was her turn to nod.

  “I ask my Mom and Dad that every day.” I grinned to show her I wasn’t totally serious. Actually I had stopped asking why after they had sold our house in Canada. By then, no amount of arguing could have changed their minds, so I had given up.

  “And?” she asked.

  “Let me tell you the short story,” I said. The long story was something I didn’t really want anyone to know. “My dad’s a doctor. He decided he wanted to spend some time helping people who couldn’t afford medical care. So he took a two-year leave of absence from his job in Canada and moved us down here so he could work in an inner-city clinic.”

  She thought about that for a moment. Then she said, “I’ll bet the long story is interesting.”

  Interesting? How about scary and sad? How about something that nearly tore our family apart? And nearly put my dad in jail. But I wasn’t going to tell her about that.

  “Let’s stick with the short story,” I said.

  I could tell from the look on her face that she wasn’t going to give up. So I changed the subject.

  “What about you?” I asked. “Your dad...”

  “My dad.” Her smile got smaller. “He’s great. He’s taught here and coached the McKinley Hurricanes track team for more than twenty years. When he joined the staff, this was a nice neighborhood. He’d really like to work in a better school now, but people in the school system think he’s a loser. Which really hurts. I mean, he cares more about kids than about winning. Around here, though, a track coach needs a winning team to get noticed. And, as you can imagine, this school doesn’t attract a lot of star athletes. It’s been a long time since we’ve won a track meet.”

  She clutched her books to her chest as if she were hugging the slightest chance to help her father.

  “That’s why I wanted you to join the team as soon as I saw how fast you can run,” she said. “Dad’s getting close to retirement, and I’d love him to have a winning season. Maybe then he could get a job in a safer school for his last few years of teaching.”

  “Oh,” I said.

  Before I could say anything else, Jason caught up to us.

  “Jennifer,” he said, “your dad wants to talk to you.”

  Jason smiled at me—a fake-looking smile that we both knew he didn’t mean. “Nice run today.”

  For a second, I felt like knocking his teeth in. But I thought of all I had learned in the last few years because of what my dad had gone through. I knew that Jason and I could be friends or enemies. And it would be a lot easier on both of us if we weren’t enemies.

  “Look,” I said, “in Canada, I played hockey and—”

  “You trying to impress me?” he asked.

  “No,” I said, “I just wanted you to know that I’ve been part of a team. And I can see that you’re good. Now we’re on the same team. Maybe we can work together.”

  I stuck out my hand, hoping he would shake it.

  He kept his fake smile in place and walked away, ignoring my hand. Jennifer shrugged and followed him back toward the gym.

  It made me mad, of course. I stayed mad as I walked. Until something took my mind off Jason.

  Halfway down the hall, I walked past an open corridor. I saw someone standing at the far end. He looked just like the kid who had handed over his money the day before.

  “Hey!” I shouted.

  His head snapped toward me.

  I was right. It was the same guy!

  But before I could say another word, he turned and ran. He sprinted down another hallway. By the time I got to where he’d stood, there was no sign of him anywhere.

  Weird, I thought. What’s got him so scared?

  chapter six

  “How was your second day of school?” Mom asked me.

  We were all sitting at the kitchen table, eating a mushroom, pineapple and tomato pizza.

  “Interesting,” I said.

  “As interesting as your first day?” Dad sniffed the air. “At least you didn’t roll in any—”

  “Sweetheart,” my mom said quickly to him, “we’re eating.”

  “Right,” he said. He grinned at her. As always, I was glad to see them getting along. A year ago, things had been different. A lot different. But seeing them together now was like seeing a pair of newlyweds.

  Mom’s a redhead, with a few strands of gray starting to show up. She had on a blue T-shirt stained with paint from the work she’d started in a hallway. Dad had not changed from his white dress shirt and tie; he had a paper towel tucked into his shirt to protect it from tomato sauce. He kept his dark hair short, almost a buzz cut. People say that I look a lot like him—not skinny, not chunky, medium height, brown eyes and a chin with a dimple right in the middle.

  “So define ‘interesting,’” Mom said. “I mean, in terms of your second day at school.”

  “Well—” I stopped myself. Kirk, my six-year-old brother, was about to grab a slice of pizza that had my name all over it.

  “Kirk,” I said, “is that an alligator outside?”

  Kirk’s eyebrows shot up as he turned to look out the window. He’s a little redheaded guy with a grin a mile wide. I like him a lot. But then, I like pizza a lot too. I made a quick grab for the pizza slice.

  “Cut it in half and share,” Dad said. “And don’t mess with your brother like that.”

  Kirk glared at me for tricking him.

  “Come on,” I answered. “I’m just trying to help him learn about real life. Some day politicians will be trying to fool him too. Without this kind of lesson, how will he understand democracy?”

  “Cut it in half,” Dad said.

  “Sure,” I said, not too upset. At least Dad was around the house now and cared about what I did or didn’t do.

  “Define ‘interesting,’” Mom prompted again.

  In between bites of pizza, I told them about Coach Lewis and the short race in the gym and learning how to use blocks. The great thing about the renovation work Mom had started was that she didn’t have time to cook. That meant we ate less health food—steamed carrots and broccoli—and more junk food.

  My parents thought it was great that I was going to be competing in the track meet on Saturday. I also told them about seeing the kid from the day before.

  “The boy you held up at gunpoint?” Dad asked.

  “Yeah,” I said, not happy with the way that sounded but unable to deny it.

  Dad continued, “The boy you were chasing when the cops showed up and made you roll in the—”

  “Sweetheart!” Mom cut him off. “Can’t you think about anything else?”

  “Actually, no,” he said. “Everyone at work thought it was hilarious.”

  “Thanks for sharing it with everyone, Dad,” I said.

  “Go on with your story,” Mom urged.

  “Well,” I said, “he saw me and ran away.”

  I put up my hand to stop Dad from interrupting me. “No, I didn’t chase him again. No, I didn’t roll in—”

  “David!” Mom exclaimed.

  I grinned at Dad. He grinned back.

  “Anyway,” I said, “now I know he goes to McKinley. So if I’m lucky, I’ll be able to find him again. I really want to give him his money back—and tell him it wasn’t a real gun.”

  I took a short time-out to gulp down some milk. “What I can’t figure out,” I said, “is why he hasn’t called the police. Or why he didn’t at least give me a chance to talk to him today.”

  “Do you think the fact that you threatened him with a gun might have something to do with his not wanting to talk to you?”

  “Dad,” I said, “yesterday, when he was running away, he had to see that the police stopped me and cuffed me. And today, he could have called the school security guards. I couldn’t have done anything to him. But he didn’t ask for their help. It’s like he’s afraid of them.”

  I stopped, listening to what I had just said: It’s like he’s afraid of
them.

  “That’s not good,” Dad said. His smile was suddenly gone. “Only people who have something to hide work hard to avoid the police. And if he has something to hide...”

  He didn’t need to finish his thought. Whatever this kid was hiding couldn’t be good. He thought I had robbed him. And now he knew we went to the same school.

  Mom’s smile had disappeared too. “David,” she said, “you be careful.”

  “Of course,” I said. “There’s nothing to worry about. Really.”

  chapter seven

  Naturally, the next morning it took all of three hours to bump into him. And his two friends. Two big, mean-looking friends with nose rings and tattoos.

  We were in the hallway during the mad rush of kids pushing to get to their classes at the 11:00 AM break. I was on my way from my American history class to math class. I was thinking about the lesson I’d just had on the War of 1812. I had learned about it in Canada too. The short version of it is that the Americans lost to their neighbors north of the border. Of course the history teacher here had taught about it differently. She said that the Americans had not succeeded in winning.

  Still, it was interesting, the way history can be when you look at the stories instead of just memorizing dates. Like how British warships were so close to destroying Washington, DC, that when night fell, a lot of Americans wondered if the White House would still be standing in the morning.

  Of course back then it wasn’t called the White House. It got that name after it had to be painted with whitewash; the outside had been scorched by a fire that almost destroyed it. And when the sun rose the morning after the battle, the Americans could still see the flag. It waved in the shrouds of cannon smoke that hung in the air like fog. That inspired Francis Scott Key to write a little poem that started, “Oh, say, can you see, by the dawn’s early light, what so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming?”

  I guess, if you’re an American, that little poem can give you the shivers. But when I hear it as a Canadian, I remember that the Americans definitely did not win the War of 1812. And I’ve noticed they haven’t tried to fight us since. Of course that wasn’t something I was going to bring up on my third day of school in Florida.