Rising (8 page)

“Gabriel!
 
Wake up!”

I shot up in bed.

“You’ll be late for school,” my mom was
yelling.
 
“And I don’t have time to check
you in.
 
I’ve got to get Pop to his
doctor’s appointment.”

I jumped up, still dizzy from the dream.
 
The digital clock next to my bed read
7:26.
 
After a two-minute shower; pulling
on jeans and a t-shirt; and grabbing a bottle of Sunny-D, I was out the
door.
 
I backed out of the drive and
tossed my backpack onto the passenger seat, where I saw a paper bag with the
top neatly folded.

“Lunch,” I mumbled, thankful for a thoughtful
mother.

The take-in bell rang just as I squealed into a
parking spot.
 
I made it to my locker and
into Mr. Hampton’s class as the tardy bell rang overhead.
 
After morning announcements, the classroom
television popped on for Now News, a nationwide news channel anchored by
teens.
 
Bleary-eyed from another night of
restless sleep, I was barely listening until I saw a hurricane tracking chart
with red routes bee-lining for Louisiana.

“Let’s ask expert Stan Wallace at the National
Hurricane Center here in Miami, Florida, what he thinks,” said an overly
serious-looking brunette of about 18.
 
“Can you give us your expert opinion on where and when Hurricane Lucy
will make landfall?”

“Well, it’s too soon to tell either of those
things.
 
This is an extremely unusual
hurricane.”

“How so?” interrupted the stern teen anchor,
trying desperately to look older than she was.

“For one, it did not organize and form in the
Atlantic as most hurricanes do.
 
It
formed off the coast of Cuba, which is unprecedented.
 
There have been reports that there was a very
large and intense electrical storm over Cuba just prior to the formation of
this hurricane. We have had only limited information from Cuba about the storm
as most of the populated areas are still out of power and communications have
been down.
 
Some meteorologists believe
this anomaly had something to do with the formation of Lucy.
 
At this point, we are using prior knowledge
of hurricane routes.
 
As Lucy is heading
northwest at a sluggish half mile an hour, there’s no telling exactly when and
where, which brings up another strange thing.”

“What’s that?” asked the teen anchor.

“The winds are already exceeding 125 miles per
hour, which makes her a strong category 3 hurricane,
and
she’s already 90 miles wide.”

“Why is that unusual?”

The meteorologist blinked stupidly at the
anchor.

“It is highly irregular for a storm to be so
large in size with such intensely, strong winds and to barely be moving at
all.
 
But, the good news for us is that
radar shows a bank of cooler air sweeping down into the Gulf of Mexico next
week, which we expect to disband Hurricane Lucy altogether, downgrading her to
a tropical storm.
 
We’re certainly going
to keep our eye on her and see what happens.”

“And, you’ll let us know as soon as you have
more information, won’t you, Mr. Wallace?” asked the brunette.

“Absolutely.”

My mind wandered as the newscast began its
collage of video clips from past devastating hurricanes along the Gulf
coast—Betsy, Andrew, Katrina.
 
It was
always the same.
 
The news would feed on
people’s fears of the next storm that would sweep in, crushing and destroying
homes and lives in the Deep South.
 
I
knew it was their job to warn those in harm’s way, but I wondered why they must
always make it sound apocalyptic in scale.
 
They spread more fear to these people rather than actually helping them
prepare for the disaster.

“Yeah, right.
 
Like any of you know what’s gonna happen or when it’s gonna happen.”

I turned to the boy who had mumbled at the
television.
 
It was Jeremy Kaufman, an
awkward skinny kid who kept mainly to himself.
 
He had a few friends, but I couldn’t name one of them.
 
I only knew Jeremy because we’d been in art
classes together since freshman year.
 
He
was really good, too.
 
Most of the time,
Jeremy had his ears plugged with his iPod, hiding it under his tattered Hot
Topic hoodie.
 
He only got caught by
teachers when he forgot where he was and broke out singing lyrics from whatever
metal band he happened to be listening to.
 
I smirked when Jeremy started playing an air guitar, wishing I could blow
the world off like him.

World History was dull as always because of Mr.
Hampton’s complete inability to interest anyone.
 
It gave me more time to wonder why that
newscast bothered me so badly.
 
I zoned
out all the way through Pre-Calculus, unable to focus.
 
Even in Mr. Dunaway’s class, I found myself
staring out the window for most of the period.
 
As the bell rang for lunch, Mr. Dunaway caught me.

“Hey, Gabriel?
 
Are you okay?
 
You seem a little
distracted?”

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine.
 
Just a little tired.”

“Have you given any more thought to the Science
Fair?”

I hesitated, but I already knew what had my
interest now.

“I’d like to research this hurricane out in the
Caribbean, its unusual formation and the course it runs.”

“That sounds like a terrific idea.
 
Science that is current and evolving—love it!”

I headed toward my table of friends—and
Clara.
 
As I got closer to them, I
noticed her watching me.
 
I noticed
something else, too.
 
Although that same
dizzying vibe of hers was there, it was laced with something new.
 
A steady warmth filtered out from her.
 
I knew this feeling.
 
I’d felt it before.
 
There was Tammy in fifth grade; the Weber
twins in seventh; my first girlfriend, Chelsea, in ninth; and a slew of
underclass girls, none of whom I was interested in, since I hit seventeen.
 
Once upon a time, I’d even felt it from
Jessie, but it faded long before I had to tell her I saw her only as a
friend.
 
I stifled a smile when I sat
across from Clara.

“Hello, stranger,” said Ben, biting into a
Twinkie.
 
“I thought you were sick or
something when I didn’t see you this morning.
 
Sleep late again?”

“Uh, yeah.”

“Look who decided to join us today.
 
Clara’s going to actually help me with Mrs.
Jaden’s homework, unlike certain people who claim to be my friend and never
do.”

Clara had the book
Lord of the Flies
open to the homework chapter for last night.

“Hi,” she said.

“Hi,” I replied.

Clara shifted back to the book, showing Ben
where the tragic death of Piggy happened.
 

“But, why did they kill him?” whined Ben.

“Because he was weak,” explained Clara as she
ate her chips.

“So what.
 
We don’t just kill people because they’re weak.”

“No,
we
don’t.
 
But, there are plenty of wicked
people out there who do.
 
Look at the
terrorist attack in Paris this summer.
 
I
mean, who would’ve thought people would bomb the Eiffel Tower on Bastille
Day.
 
That’s just awful.”

“Yeah, well, if they weren’t so laissez-faire
about everything,” chimed in Mel, as she usually did when the conversation
reverted to politics, “they might’ve gotten a hint they would be next when
Buckingham Palace was hit at the last Summer Olympics.”

“That’s not the same thing,” Ben said to
Clara.
 
“You can’t compare Piggy’s death
to terrorist attacks.”

“Why not?”

Clara looked as if there were no way to argue
against her.

“Well, because,” stammered Ben.
 
“Because, because—”

“We might be here a while,” interjected
Mel.
 
“On a different note, I hear that
all of Dunaway’s students have to do the Science Fair.”

“Yeah,” I complained loudly, “I can’t believe
he’s making it mandatory.
 
Some
teachers.”

Clara chunked a chip at me from across the
table without looking up from her book.
 
I caught Mel and Ben exchanging a look.

“Well, what are you doing?” asked Mel.

“Actually, it’s funny you ask.
 
I just told Mr. Dunaway that I’m going to
research that hurricane off the coast of Cuba.”

Clara clapped her book shut.

“Really?” she asked.
 
“That’s interesting, because I was going to
do the same.”

“Well, you two better duke it out and quick,
too, before someone else beats you to it.
 
Have you filled out the official form?” asked Mel.

“No,” I said.

Clara shook her head.

“Then I guess it’s the first one of you to Mr.
Dunaway that wins.”

Clara and I stared at each other for a
minute.
 
I felt that warmth again coming
from her.

“Why don’t we do it as a team?” asked Clara
matter-of-factly.

“Sure,” I agreed.

The warmth multiplied.
 
I smiled as I bit into a sandwich.
 
Ben and Mel exchanged another look.
 
I just ignored them.

“So,” Ben asked Mel, “what are you going to
do?”

“I’m doing a study on
traiteurs
.
 
Since my grandmother is
one, I’ll have first-hand access to a primary source.”

“Sounds more like Social Studies than Science,”
I said.

“Yeah, you’re right.
 
I had to do a lot of convincing with Mr.
Dunaway to get him to let me do a comparison of modern medicine to old
medicine.
 
He said I could do it as long
as there was, as he said, ‘an equal share of real medicine versus faith
healing.’ ”

“Sounds like my dad.
 
Don’t be offended,” said Clara.

“I’m not.
 
Very few people actually believe in the healing arts of
traiteurs
, but it doesn’t matter to me.
 
I know she’s for real.
 
She even thinks I could be the one to pass
her secrets onto.”

Clara looked like she wanted to ask another
question, but then Mark and Zack took a seat.

“Our game is tomorrow afternoon,” Zack was
saying, “so I know ours won’t be canceled.”

“By Saturday, it may be here,” said Mark, “and
I’m supposed to be starting receiver.
 
I’ll be pissed if I don’t get my chance because of a stupid storm.”

“What’s up?” I asked.

“Coach Jackson just told us we may have to
postpone the game if we have to evacuate because of that hurricane,” said Mark
bitterly.

“What are you talking about?
 
As of this morning, it hadn’t even moved out
of the Caribbean.”

“It’s on the move now,” said Zack.
 
“It’s not going fast, but Coach said it’s
definitely headed for the Gulf.”

Ben shivered visibly.

“What’s up with you?” asked Mark.

“I hate storms,” said Ben, his brow pursing.

“What?
 
You afraid of a little thunder and lightning?”

“I don’t care about thunder.
 
It’s the lightning that freaks me out.”

“Why?”

“Because,” I answered for him, “he was struck
by lightning when he was a kid.”

“What!
 
How come I never knew that?
 
You
didn’t die?”

“No, Mark, he didn’t die,” said Mel dryly.
 
“Can you tell?”

Mark ignored her, urging Ben to tell him more.

“There’s nothing to tell, really.
 
My dad took me to the golf course with him,
and out of nowhere a freak storm rolled up and struck me while I was holding
his putter.”

“No way!
 
Did they have to do CPR?”

“I was six.
 
I don’t know.
 
I just woke up in the
hospital.
 
But, I’ll tell
ya
, I hate storms.
 
Every time we have a bad one, I get all jittery.”