by Jen Malone
“She’s going to be fine,” Sadie says for the millionth time. “I just know it.”
“It’s Bubby,” Vi says. “She can do anything.”
“I think it’s sorta romantic that she took off to save Mr. Wheeler,” Becca says with dreamy eyes. “Can’t you just see them, clinging to each other in the wind, holding on together to fight the pushes of nature?”
“Forces of nature,” I say in a monotone. “And no, it’s not romantic at all. It’s stupid. It was stupid for Mr. Wheeler to go down to the beach, and stupid for Bubby to go after him by herself, without a car. What if she doesn’t come back?” My voice is rising as panic fills my chest.
“She’s going to be fine,” Sadie says again as she squeezes my hand. “She has to be.”
But she still isn’t here. Even an hour later, almost four o’clock, five hours away from landfall, she’s not here. Officer Rodriguez radioed in to say that he drove all along Coastline Drive, stopping now and then to check the beach, and didn’t see them. He’s going to keep searching as he looks in on a couple more holdouts on the island.
The lights flicker as the wind gusts outside. Becca lets out a little shriek, and Vi grabs my arm.
“That’s it, I’m going out to look for them.” Dad shrugs on a Windbreaker as my mom tries to convince him not to go.
“Oh my God, y’all, I feel like I’m going to be sick.” My stomach’s churning all that lunch lasagna.
Sadie moves in front of me, a hand on each shoulder. “Lauren, it’s going to be okay. I’m sure they just realized how crazy this storm is going to be, and they’ve gone into a store or something.”
“But all the stores are closed and boarded up!” I know she’s trying to help, but all I can think about is Bubby struggling to maneuver Wanda through the streets as wind and rain try their best to knock her down. “What if she’s hurt?”
Dad’s got his car keys in hand, and Mom finally lets go of him. Now Zach’s trying to convince Dad to let him come too, and Mom’s shaking her head.
The lights flicker again, and the front door flies open in the wind. Officer Davis and Mr. Alberhasky race forward to pull it shut.
“What is that?” Vi’s dad says over the howl of the wind.
“I think it’s a person,” Officer Davis says, squinting through the sheets of rain.
“Bubby,” I whisper. I pull away from my friends and run to the open door.
“Lauren! Get back here!” Mom yells.
But I don’t listen. Instead I run until I’m just outside the door, standing next to Mr. Alberhasky and Officer Davis. The driving rain soaks through my long-sleeved shirt and jeans in seconds as I hold a hand up to my eyes to peer down the school drive. Sure enough, there’s someone coming up the pavement.
Rolling, it looks like, not walking.
Bubby.
“Bubby!” I yell. I take off down the driveway, with all the adults on my heels.
She’s riding Wanda up the driveway, but there’s something weird about her. As I get closer, I see what it is—a man, perched on her lap. It’s Mr. Wheeler.
“Hey, LoLo! Look what the cat dragged in!” she shouts through the wind.
She stops Wanda when I reach her, and Mr. Wheeler hops off. She stands up and I grab her in the squishiest, wettest hug ever.
“I was so worried,” I say. “Dad was going out to look for you.”
“Pish-posh. You don’t have to worry about me,” she says. “I’m tough old Bubby from the block.”
I squeeze her even harder. Dad reaches us and throws his arms around us both.
“Let’s get inside,” he says. He keeps an arm around Bubby while I hold her other hand. No way am I letting her go now. Mr. Alberhasky fires up Wanda and rolls it behind us as Officer Davis helps Mr. Wheeler inside.
Bubby and I start shivering the second we step in the doors. Becca’s mom throws blankets around both of us, and Mrs. Marks shows up with hot tea. My hair is plastered to my head—I hate getting my hair wet—and my clothes feel like they’re glued to my body. But I don’t care. Because Bubby’s here and safe. Everyone I love is okay. Mom, Dad, Zach, Bubby. Josh is safe at school in Raleigh. My friends and their families are all here.
I reluctantly let go of Bubby so that we can get changed into dry clothes. A woman from Sandpiper Active Living hands Bubby her suitcase. In the bathroom, I pull on a pair of jeans. I yank my science flash cards out of the pocket of my wet pair. They’re unreadable, the ink smeared and the paper tearing. I’ll have to make new ones.
“Nothing like a dry pair of duds to make a woman feel like new,” Bubby says as we stand in front of the sinks and try to do something with our hair.
I finally give up on mine and start laying out the flash cards that are still salvageable. I line them up on the little shelves that jut out from under the mirrors.
Bubby peers over my shoulder. “Were you studying?”
I nod. “I have to. I need to fix my grades. I can’t let anything get in the way of that, not even a hurricane.”
Bubby sighs and looks at herself in the mirror. “I sure do wish I had my blond wig,” she says as she smooths her wet hair. “I hate for Mr. Wheeler to see me like this.”
I smile at her. “You saved Mr. Wheeler’s life. I doubt he’ll care what your hair looks like.”
“True dat,” she says, and I cringe a little. “You know, this little rescue mission has reminded me that maybe there’s more to catching a gentleman’s eye than good looks. Like saving his behind from a hurricane.”
My hair is starting to seriously frizz, so I pull a rubber band from my bag and try to collect it into a ponytail. “So, does this mean you won’t be sharing flirting tips with Becca anymore?”
Bubby laughs, and my heart melts to hear it.
“Oh no, of course I’ll still be doing that. Becca needs some of my sage advice on catching a young man’s attention, after all.” She gives me a side eye. “And you, too, my LoLo.”
“No, thank you,” I tell her. “The only thing I’m worried about is my grades. And RSVP. That’s it. No boys.”
Bubby sighs. “Extremes are dangerous, Lo Baby. And you miss out on so much. Trust me, I learned the hard way. Remember when dear old Mr. Vernon moved to Scotland this summer, and I didn’t get so much as a kiss?”
I can see my cheeks tinging red in the mirror. Really, grandmothers should not mention kissing. Ever.
“That’s because,” Bubby goes on, “I was too focused on getting his attention. And the same with Mr. Wheeler. Until today, anyway.” She shoots me a sneaky smile in the mirrors. “Think about it,” she says as she scoops up her wet clothes and disappears out the door.
The lights flicker again. I should get out of here. The bathroom is the last place I want to be if the power goes out. Who knows what kind of creepy ghosts might haunt a middle-school bathroom. But I stay a minute longer, looking at my reflection in the mirror, bordered by those flash cards on the shelf.
Extremes, Bubby said. Am I being too extreme? I jumped from super-studious Lauren to good-times Lauren and then back to even-more-focused Lauren. Is there a middle ground? Somewhere that I can get As in school, do my extracurriculars, enjoy RSVP, and still have fun with my friends? Maybe even play a video game or two with Zach on occasion?
I feel like it’s something that can’t be planned, though. Something I can’t jot down in my calendar for six p.m. to seven p.m. on Wednesday nights. Maybe it’s just knowing when I’ve studied enough, or keeping my extracurriculars to a few really important ones. Maybe it’s saying yes to an impromptu Saturday afternoon trip to the mall in Wilmington with Becca after finishing my homework, or combing the cove for shells with Sadie before jumping into RSVP business. Or maybe it’s just more time spent in the PPE with my favorite friends, or lingering over dinner with my family once in a while.
If I let myself slow down, I feel like maybe—just maybe—I can find this balanced Lauren. The Lauren who knows how to have fun, still does well in school, and doesn’t
let herself get so caught up in the schedule of it all.
Then the lights flicker again, and I grab my bag and race out the door. I leave the flash cards on the shelves.
Becca
Daily Love Horoscope for Scorpio:
Something’s brewing on the horizon. The winds will blow in with a big change, so brace yourself, Scorpio!
I mean, I for sure know that hurricanes are nothing to mess around with and I don’t want anyone or anything to get hurt, but if I’m being totally and brutally honest, I completely l-o-v-e all the excitement in the air.
Drama is so totally my jam.
Besides, now that Bubby is safe and everyone else in town seems to be here (except for Alexandra, since Officer Rodriguez told us she and Ike refused to leave their house), it’s cozy and warm and there’s lots of laughter from little pockets of the room where groups of old dudes are gathered to play cards and little kids in pj’s are listening to our town librarian Miss Suzie do a story time. If not for Linney trying to organize cheerleading practice in the center of the room, all would be perfect. Ugh. Like a giant swirling hurricane is going to be influenced by her cheer:
Blow your mighty, blow your best, blow right out of town.
’Cause we are fighting, we won’t rest, and you can’t keep us down.
It’s been dark all day because of the storm clouds, but now it’s getting to be night, and if I were home, Daddy would just be setting up the timer for my homework. (Let’s just say I have a teensy-tiny problem sitting still and Daddy thought a butt-in-seat timer would keep me in place. FWIW: it doesn’t.)
But no one (except Lauren) seems to care one itsy-bitsy iota about homework tonight. Plus, unless the storm blows out to sea, we’re probably not even having school on Monday. We’d have to have morning assembly on cots in the middle of Mrs. Bishop’s meditation shrine and the model-ships-in-bottles collection Mr. Hallowell insisted counted among the “essential items only” we were instructed to bring.
I rifle through my rolling suitcase for some appropriate shelter wear. What does one wear to a hurricane evacuation? I packed tons of options, naturally (I can do “essential items only” as well as the next person), but from the looks of it, the proper attire seems to be either sweats or pajamas. And I don’t do sweats.
Pajamas it is.
I find my cutest matching flannel set—navy with hot pink, light pink, and white polka dots—and slip off to the girls’ room to change. I grab my sparkly toiletries bag while I’m at it, so I can brush my teeth. And then I add my strawberry lip gloss, because hello, this may be a giant sleepover, but there are boys around.
And not just boys, but Philippe. I wonder what he thinks of all this. Do they even have hurricanes in France? Maybe I should go ask him. I may possibly have casually noted him setting up a cot near Lance and a couple other guys from the soccer team earlier (and by “casually noted,” I mean I could tell you he sleeps on a blue ticking-striped pillow, brought a DS with three games in the case, snacks on ruffled potato chips, and knows how to make a bed with hospital corners—you know, casually noted). Maybe I should go ask him.
Except I’ve kind of been avoiding him ever since B-Day (Braces Day). I doubt he’d be interested in talking to a brace-face anyway. I sigh and survey the room instead. Mama and Daddy are over by the back doors talking to Mayor Keach. Vi is helping her dad set up a folding table by the stage for a couple of giant coffee urns, and Lauren is against the wall, actually doing her homework, although she said she’d be up for hanging out as soon as she finishes all her math problems. Weirdo. I hunt for Sadie and finally find her in a big circle with Izzy and a bunch of girls who look like they’re around the same age as Iz.
I plop down in the middle of them. “What’s happening, chicas?”
The girl on the other side of Sadie sniffles, and Sadie removes her arm from Izzy’s shoulder and turns to the girl. “We’re just missing some furry friends over here,” Sadie says.
The girl has big brown eyes, and they’re all watery when she looks at me.
Awww. Poor thing.
“I want my puppy,” she says.
I share a look with Sadie, who says, “Her parents took her dog to the animal shelter in Wilmington so he’d be safe during the storm.”
“Oh,” I say. “Well, hey, tell you what. Do you know Cooper at Polka Dot Books?”
The little girl nods.
“Well, he’s my next-door neighbor, and he’s basically the best dog there is. And he’s at the same shelter. So I’m betting he’s taking really good care of . . .”
I pause and wait for her to fill in her puppy’s name.
“Oscar the Grouch,” she offers. I raise one eyebrow and avoid Sadie’s eyes so I don’t laugh.
“Right. Oscar the Grouch. I bet little Grouchy is having the absolute best time of his life with all those other doggies to play with.”
She nods and gives me a big smile, and I look around at the other girls. They’re only a couple of years younger than we are, but they look so small and lost. Was I ever that little? Yipes.
“That doesn’t seem that fair, though, does it?” I ask. “How come they get to have all the fun and we don’t? I think we need to do something about it. I say we have a . . .” I motion to Sadie to yell at the same time as me, but she just looks at me with big question marks in her eyes, so I have to yell, “DANCE PARTY!” solo.
All the girls squeal and jump up. I find my phone and plug it into my glittery portable speaker (obvs I packed the true essentials) and crank up a happy tune. A few adults look over with pursed lips, but then they go back to their boring talking and we girls boogie down. I even get Lauren to ditch the homework once she spots us. When she decides to excel at something, she’s all Lauren about it, and ever since the Scottish party this summer, where Lauren totes let loose on the dance floor and started having Fun with a capital F, dancing is her thing. I love it.
I’m midspin when I happen (just happen, I swear) to glance at the soccer boys, and I almost fall over when I catch Philippe watching me. Watching ME! Omigosh, I seriously could die right on the spot. I don’t even know what to do, besides clamp my lips closed over my braces, of course. I duck my head and do another shimmy-thing move, and when I peek back at him, he’s facing Lance. Bummer. But he was watching me, and I saw it with my own two eyes. Oooh la la!
After the girls are all worn out from the dance party, Sades and I help them find their parents and then Sades goes to tuck Izzy in since her mom has joined Vi’s dad in handing out coffee to the grown-ups. I consider trying to sneak a cup myself in case Philippe happens to glance over again, so I can look all grown-up and mature, but I’d feel pretty guilty about using up the shelter’s entire supply of cream and sugar.
Instead I wait for Sadie and then we wave over Lauren and Vi.
“You guys want to go peek out some windows?” The gym at our school is in the middle of the building—on purpose since most schools around here have to double as storm shelters—and doesn’t have any windows that could blow in during a storm. But that also means we can’t tell what’s happening outside here.
“Are we allowed to leave this room? Since everyone’s here and the cafeteria’s closed now?” Lauren asks, glancing around.
“I mean, the bathrooms are in the hall, and we’ve been going there all night,” Vi says.
“Duh. Right.”
We head in the direction of the bathrooms but then peel off down the hallway that leads to the main office and the doors outside. When we reach them, we each push one of the four heavy side-by-side doors open halfway and peer outside. It was eerily calm when we drove over to the school late this morning, and even though you could kind of smell the storm in the air and the clouds looked pretty creepy, you couldn’t really tell anything big was coming. But obviously it was way worse by the time Bubby showed up, and now the winds have picked up even more. The trees are bending over, and in front of the school a plastic cup bounces across the sidewalk before getting lifted off the gro
und and disappearing high into the sky. It’s super weird to think that on the other side of the bridge Sandpiper Beach is basically a ghost town. I cross my fingers on both hands and make a wish that we get to go back home to everything looking exactly the same.
“Okay, that’s long enough!” Lauren declares, pulling on my pajama shirt to yank me back inside. “We came, we saw. Now let’s get back!”
Sadie and Vi clang their doors shut too and we all turn. The hallway is in nighttime mode, with only about a quarter of the overhead lights on, and the wind rattles the heavy doors. Something slaps against the outside of one of them. None of us want to admit we’re scared, but we all jump a little at that.
“Let’s go,” Sadie whispers.
“Cosigned,” I say.
In the distance, from the direction of the cafeteria, a lone figure walks slowly toward us. Uh-oh. Are we about to get in trouble for wandering the school without a hall pass? Or worse? We all stand frozen as the shape draws closer.
Wait.
Is that . . . ?
Yippity skippity! It’s Philippe!
My hand automatically flies to my mouth to cover the Metals of Evil. When he reaches us, he looks kind of shy, and his eyes bounce all around but don’t really settle on any of us.
“Um, bonsoir,” he says, kind of in my direction, but he could also be talking to Lauren. It’s hard to tell.
Sadie answers. “Hey! Coming to check out the storm?”
“Er, yes. I mean, non. I was . . .” He trails off and then takes a super-duper deep breath and looks STRAIGHT at me. “Do you feel like talking?”
Do I feel like talking? Do I feel like talking? Do seagulls poop on Sadie’s head? Well, maybe that was just the once, but yes. Yes, they do. Of COURSE I feel like talking with Philippe!
“Sure,” I answer breezily. I can do breezy! Except, well, my voice might have cracked a little, but whatevs. Otherwise? Totally breezy.
