by Lara Zielin
I leave him, my heart jumbled like the pieces of the Good Shepherd’s stained glass. If nothing else, Ethan is right about one thing: I don’t have to figure it all out tonight.
25
The next morning when I enter the breakfast room, I’m surprised to see that Alex Atkins and a cameraman are already there.
“You can just put everything on our servers,” Alex is saying to Stephen, who looks like he would haul off and punch Alex in the face if the cameras weren’t right there. Behind Stephen, Victor and Ethan stand near a table cluttered with laptops and power cords. Mason and Hallie are frozen at the buffet, watching the conversation go down. “I mean, we all figured Victor would be running for the hills eventually. But so soon?”
My heart soars. Victor must have said something last night to Stephen about quitting.
“Enough, Alex,” Stephen growls. “You’re getting what you want. Now shut up about it.”
Victor puts a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Dude,” he says. “Don’t let him get to you. It was just a matter of time—”
“No it wasn’t!” Stephen spins around and glares at his brother. “You do not have to stand there and let this happen. You are fine. This is all in your head, and if you could just realize that, you’d keep us from losing Polly! She’s our one advantage in this field!”
Victor shakes his head. “It’s not that simple, Steve. I’m a liability. And besides, I can build more instrumentation if I just—”
“If you stay, we keep priority over the instrumentation we have now!”
Victor swallows visibly. His scar moves up and down. “I’m not trying to piss you off. But I’m not cut out for chasing. I never have been. This is your dream, man. For a while there I let it be mine, because I thought you needed me. And that’s just not true anymore.”
Behind his beard, Stephen’s face falls. “But I do need you. We’re the Tornado Brothers. I’ve never chased without you, Vic. I mean, what the hell? How are we supposed to do this?”
“Come on. Really? The leader of this group is you. Always has been. You know that.”
“Perhaps, but you’re the only one who really knows how to extract the right data from Polly.”
“I think I can get Mason up to speed. A few phone calls, e-mail him a few documents. Hell, I can always meet you on the road if you’re really struggling with her.”
“No,” Stephen rumbles. “It’s bigger than that. What you’re doing is effectively putting an end to the Tornado Brothers. To our team.”
Victor cocks a dark eyebrow. “Last time I checked, you still had a hell of a group with you.”
Alex takes a step forward. “As touching as all this is, and as much as I’d love to stick around and watch the soap opera unfold, I need to go. So I’ll expect the schematics for Polly within a week. Text me when they’re ready, and we’ll give you directions for posting them to our shared space.”
“Aw, screw that,” Mason says, striding over from the buffet. “Steve, tell this guy to shove his Doppler up his ass. We don’t have to honor that bet.”
Stephen smiles sadly. “Losing to this guy sucks. I know. But we shook on it, and our word’s our word.”
Mason sticks his finger in Alex’s face. “This be not done, bilge rat,” he says, leering with his best pirate face. “We’ll give ye no quarter for the rest of the season.”
“Freak,” Alex mutters, his little body twitching in disdain. He turns to leave, but as he does, he catches sight of me. “Ah, the intern! The girl I must thank for her information. How are you?”
I struggle to process Alex’s words. What information does he mean? “Excuse me?”
“Telling Max what you did gave us a head start on Victor’s plans. Very nice of you.”
I look over at Ethan, whose eyes have gone round. Stephen glares at me, then starts punching buttons on his laptop.
A whip cracks over my heart, sending pain searing through my chest. I realize Alex is saying that he broke the news of Victor’s departure to Stephen. Victor didn’t even get to tell his own brother the news—because of me. Because Max told Alex what I shared with him last night.
I swallow down nausea. Don’t throw up on camera, is all I can think. “That can’t be. Max would never say anything.”
Alex winks at me. “Wouldn’t he, now?”
He would if he was angry enough, I think. If he was pissed off about the way you ran away from him.
My mouth is partway open, and I can’t seem to close it.
“Well, this has been fun,” Alex says. “I look forward to getting to know Polly much better.”
The minute he’s left the room, I rush Victor. “I didn’t mean to say anything,” I wheeze, trying to catch my breath since suddenly it feels like I just ran a marathon. “It was an accident.”
Stephen’s head snaps up. “Victor confided his plans to you, and you blabbed them to a Twister Blister. That’s information that should have stayed in our group. You should have used discretion!”
“Hey, easy there, bro,” Victor says. “Lay off. Ultimately all this is my choice, my fuckup—not Jane’s.”
Stephen takes a breath. “This can all still go away. If you’d just stay on—”
Victor holds up his hands. “No, man. I’m done. I’m sorry, but I’m done.”
“So that’s it?” Stephen asks quietly.
Victor nods. “That’s it.”
“What about today’s chase?”
“We’re headed south, looks like, and that’s the direction I need to go in anyway if I want to get back to the university. I’ll bite my fingernails for one more chase if it gets me closer to Norman. Then I can get a rental car home.”
“You really going back to the lab then?”
“For now, yeah,” Victor says. “To start, I can dig into the data Polly’s already pulled. That way we don’t have to wait until there’s a break in the weather to run analytics. And after that, I can start prototyping some new inventions.”
Stephen smooths down his beard. From behind him, Ethan’s eyes find mine, sharp enough to bore holes into my skull. The weight of his anger—his disappointment—crushes me.
“From now on, there’s to be no fraternizing with the Twister Blisters or any other chasing team,” Stephen says to me. “Do I make myself clear?”
I nod.
“Fine. We’re leaving Patchy Falls and heading south in twenty minutes. Everyone be ready.”
He throws a power cord on the table as he strides out of the room. I’m still standing there, trembling. I try not to lose it, but the room goes blurry anyway.
“Jesus,” Victor says, standing next to me, “I hate it when girls cry.” He hands me a crumpled napkin from his pocket and I wipe my face. “Look, I’m not mad. I’m kind of relieved, actually.” I stare at the floor, unsure of what to say.
“Everything’s going to be fine,” Victor continues, “though I’m going to guess the rest of the team needs time to cool off. It’s a tough break for them. So give ’em a few days, and things will be okay again. But don’t worry. This isn’t your fault. It’s mine. And you couldn’t know Max was going to say anything. I’m sure he seemed trustworthy.”
You have no idea, I think.
Victor reaches out awkwardly and pats my back—once, twice. Sort of like he’s not used to touching other people.
“Thanks,” I sniff. When my eyes are dry, I begin the long walk of shame back to my room to get my bag.
No one even pretends to look up as I go.
* * *
I slink deeper into my seat and stare out the van’s window. A coal train rumbles across nearby tracks, shaking our vehicle. In spite of all the noise, I swear the silence is still deafening. At least in my direction, anyway. No one’s said a word to me since breakfast.
To make matters worse, I got a text from Max. R we ok? U left in a hurry lst nite.
I wanted to throw the phone across the seats when I read it. No, we are not okay, I think. Not after what you did. Where do
you get off? I fight the urge to text back the question. He’s not worth it.
I shove my phone into a bag underneath the seat and don’t take it out again until we’ve stopped for lunch.
“Good thing the storms look like they’re breaking farther north and east,” Ethan says to Mason as we file inside a TGI Friday’s rip-off called—no kidding—Thursday’s. “Not sure we could have made it all the way down to Lawton before dark.”
“But it’ll be bad if they move too far into Missouri,” Mason says. “More trees and hills there. Makes the chase a lot harder.”
The roar of traffic along the highway behind us is suddenly replaced by the blare of Top Forty music inside the purple-and-white-striped restaurant. A hostess wearing a black shirt and yellow suspenders chews on a hunk of gum.
“Six?” she asks. Her eyes are ringed in dark makeup.
“Hi, yes,” Hallie says, and we’re led to a table. I sit next to Mason, who at least doesn’t scoot his chair over to get farther away from me.
“Hey, everyone,” our waitress says. “I’m Elise. I’ll be taking care of you today.” She smiles, and her round face is adorable under a pixie haircut. Beside me, Mason stiffens. His gaze is fixed on Elise’s suspenders. He looks like he might pass out. Following his eyes, I spot a Star Trek pin next to a Star Wars Wookie.
No. Way. Elise is a sci-fi geek.
“What can I get you to drink?” Elise asks. Everyone gives their order, except Mason, who seems to be on the verge of a heart attack.
“Ch—Co—ke . . .”
Elise’s brow furrows. “Cherry Coke?” It’s all Mason can do to nod.
“Be right back,” Elise says. As she turns away, the whole table launches into more weather talk, except for Mason. He’s gone totally quiet. When Elise comes back to take our order, Mason barely gets out “baby back ribs.”
The food arrives, we eat, and still Mason hasn’t said a word. Unfortunately, no one seems to have noticed Mason’s possible geek soul mate has served us lunch—except me.
Before the meal is over and Elise can bring us the check, I flag her down. “Excuse me, can I get another Diet Coke?” I’m trying to think of any excuse for her to talk to Mason, who’s staring at her like she’s Princess Leia come to life. “I’m, uh, totally parched from all the tornado chasing we did this week,” I continue. “We were on this storm up in Nebraska, then we stayed in the town it hit to clean up after it did some damage.” I know I sound awkward and totally lame, but for crying out loud, she’s wearing a Wookie pin.
Elise is too sweet to ignore all my blabber. “Oh, so y’all are tornado chasers?”
“Yeah,” I say, nodding. “Mason here is an actual scientist—he could tell you more about the important weather stuff. I’m just tagging along to take pictures.”
The whole table has gone quiet, staring at me. They’re wondering what in the hell I’m talking about. Except Hallie. She suddenly gets it.
“Yeah. Mason was the star of the day,” she says. “Probably we should get a dessert for him. Mason, you feel like a brownie sundae or something?”
Mason turns six shades of scarlet. And then, somehow, he taps into a hidden reservoir of suave. “Sure,” he says, finally lifting his eyes to Elise. “I’d love a brownie sundae.”
Elise smiles at him. “Nuts and a cherry?”
He nods. “The works.” Before she can go, he asks, “You a Star Wars fan?”
She looks confused for a second, then remembers. “Oh, the pin. Right? Well, yeah. My girlfriends all make fun of me for it, but I don’t care. I suppose I’m a joke to them, watching Star Wars and reading comics and watching all these sci-fi shows. Last year I went to that big comic convention in California? Comic-Con? They laughed at me for weeks.”
I think Mason’s heart might actually come thudding out of his chest. “I—I was there!” he says.
Elise’s eyes go round. “Really? No one around here ever knows what Comic-Con is. And you were there?”
Mason smiles. I can tell he wants to erupt into the same stories he’s told all of us about it, and I say a silent prayer he doesn’t. Be chill, Mason, I think. Be totally chill.
“Are you on Facewars? I’m JangoFett25.”
Facewars is like Facebook, but for Star Wars nerds.
“Oh, totally,” Elise says. “I’m Tarfful-Warrior.”
“I’d—I’d love to talk to you more,” Mason says. “Can I direct message you?”
Elise glances around the table. The conversation’s suddenly taken a personal turn in front of all of us. I don’t envy her one bit, and at the same time, I want to blurt out how Mason is a really good guy and she should definitely get to know him. And that if they started dating, he’d only be a few hours away at the University of Oklahoma—at least when he wasn’t chasing. But I stay quiet.
“Sure,” she says after a moment. “That would be cool.” She pulls out her waitressing notepad and writes her Facewars name on it. She hands it to Mason, who looks like he’s been given a room full of Christmas presents early.
Stephen clears his throat. “I’m sorry, but I think we may need to forgo the sundae.” He’s staring at his smartphone. “A tornado watch has just been issued twenty minutes south of here. Looks like it could be big. We should roll.” He hands Elise a credit card and she trots off to process the bill. I’m about to stand, when Mason grabs my arm.
“Thanks,” he whispers, his eyes warm. “That was awesome, the way you handled that.”
“No problem,” I say, relieved that someone is finally talking to me. “Just don’t forget to direct message her.”
“Not on your life,” he says.
We pay the bill, then all but sprint to the van. The clouds to the south are already darkening, turning from deep blue to black.
“Drive like hell,” Stephen tells Hallie, and we peel out of the parking lot.
26
Twenty minutes later, the van hits a bump that launches me a few inches out of my seat, despite my safety belt.
“Stay on this road,” Ethan tells Hallie. “I know it’s not paved, but we need another mile here, then we put Polly out. After we get our readings, we’re back onto pavement.”
Hallie glances in the rearview at Ethan, and I know what she’s thinking: that this is the stupidest thing we’ve ever done but she can’t argue because Stephen’s authorized it. We’re on a dirt road because we’ve got a wall cloud to our south and we’re trying to get Polly in the perfect position.
“It’s going to be fine,” Ethan says as we hit another bump. “There’s almost no precipitation around this storm. No worries.”
Dust rises behind the van, and rocks clink under the carriage.
“Okay,” Stephen says after another mile on the road. He looks at the Doppler and then at the GPS. “I think we should be good here.”
Hallie pulls over and is barely stopped before Mason and Ethan have leaped out to set up Polly. I stay in the van, not feeling like taking pictures. Victor’s in the passenger seat, up front.
“So no photos?” he asks, turning around to face me when the other chasers are out of the van. His voice is casual, though I can see he’s got a white-knuckled grip on the sides of his seat.
“No. Not today.”
On the other side of the window, wind tears at the few scrubby trees along a nearby fence line. The bright green field dulls as the grasses flatten against the earth. Victor pulls out his iPod and sticks in his earbuds. “No offense,” he says to me, “but I gotta distract myself.”
I nod. Outside, I hear a yell. A spinning funnel is starting to drop, about a quarter mile away. Ethan’s grinning and pointing at Polly, his white shirt stark against the black sky. Hallie throws herself into his arms, and they laugh with the sound of two people in total like with each other.
They’ve forgotten I even exist.
I look away.
Just then, my phone buzzes in my jacket pocket. I pull it out to see a new text from Cat.
Hey. Wanted to chk i
n. How r u?
My muscles go limp with relief. I’m beyond ready to stop thinking about the Torbros and talk with Cat. Ignoring the chaos outside, I type back. Mixed. Bad day w team. Long story. But my mom sent me a lettr ystrday. She’s in rehab!
A minute later, my phone rings. It’s Cat. I glance at Victor, who’s got his iPod turned way up and his eyes closed. He’s not paying attention at all.
“Hi,” I say.
“Hey.” I can hear Cat breathing. “Jane, I don’t know how to tell you this.”
“Tell me what?”
“You say you got a letter from your mom? About going to rehab?”
“Yeah. Yesterday. Said she checked into some facility near Duluth.”
“That—I don’t think that can be right,” Cat says. “Because I saw her just today. At the . . . at the liquor store.”
“No,” I say quickly, trying to piece the timing together in my head. “You must have seen her before she left.” My mom sent the FedEx two days ago, saying she was leaving for rehab immediately. She called me yesterday when the package got rerouted, sounding lucid. Wouldn’t that mean she’d called from the facility? In any case, she’d at least be in the rehab center by today. So Cat couldn’t have seen her at the liquor store.
“My mom and I were at that Hallmark in Mills Plaza,” Cat says. Her voice is so low, I can hardly hear her above the wind battering the van. “It’s right next to a Petco? There’s a First Round Liquors there too. And, Jane, I swear—we saw your mom come out of it.”
“What time?” I whisper.
“I don’t know. Around noon, I guess.”
“There must be a mistake,” is all I can think to say.
“Jane.” Cat’s voice loses some of its softness. “Just think. Think about what you’re saying. I’m sorry to be the one to tell you this. But there is no way your mom is in rehab. She’s not.”
“But—she has to be.” I grab the water bottle next to my seat and take a swig, suddenly parched.
