Alayna’s eyes blazed. “You wouldn’t dare.” Her glitter-gold fingernails disappeared as she clenched her hands into fists.
Scary, but not as scary as his brothers. “Try me.” Luke matched her defiant stare.
Finally, she whirled around. “Megan, come,” she ordered.
“No. I’m going to help Luke,” Megan said.
Nice. He shot her a thumbs-up behind Alayna’s back. When Alayna stormed out, Luke sagged against the counter. Yes! Fist pump.
Megan clapped him on the back. “Awesome. That should shut her up.”
“I wasn’t sure it would work.” He grinned.
“Why not? You’re a genius.”
“Yeah, right. You haven’t seen my grades for English and history.”
“Can’t be as bad as mine.” Megan grabbed a metal scraper. “English is the worst. First you get all these rules and then all these exceptions to the rules. It gives me a headache. Math makes more sense.”
“You like math?” Luke entered a run.
“Not really, but I’m good at it.”
“What did you take at your old school?”
“Algebra. Mom signed me up for geometry this year. I’ll probably be the only new kid and eighth grader in the class.” She sighed.
“There’s a bunch of other eighth grade math geeks, including me, so you won’t be alone.”
“Cool.”
“But you’ll probably be the only new student.”
“I figured. I’m already dreading the first day of school.” Megan dumped her piles into the bucket. “Being stared at on the bus…”
“You don’t have to take the bus. You can bike to school if the weather’s nice. We could go together… I have to pass your house anyway…” Heat spread up his back, but Luke kept his gaze on the ground.
“That’d be great. Thanks.”
The afternoon’s training session went smoothly. Alayna refused to speak to Luke, which suited him just fine. After preparing the food for the next day, Luke followed Megan to the house to visit the pups. He wasn’t there long before Willajean asked him about the bloodhound pup.
“Go ahead and sell it,” Luke said. “Dad agreed to the papillon.” A ball of nausea churned up his throat. He petted the white pup in his hands, hoping somehow it would work out, that he would convince Dad.
Willajean was quiet for awhile. Then she said, “That’s good. I’ll call right now.”
His chest tightened as Willajean talked on the phone. By the time she returned to the sunroom, he regretted his rashness. Dad’s gonna freak.
“All set,” Willajean said with satisfaction. “Storm Watcher Kennel is having a good summer.”
To take his mind off the bloodhound pup, he asked, “Why did you name it Storm Watcher?”
Willajean paused for a moment, pursing her lips. “Well, every time a thunderstorm blew in, my father and I sat on the back porch and watched the lightning strikes move closer until the pouring rain forced us inside.” She picked up a puppy and stroked his wriggling body.
“I never knew how much my dad liked the weather until he died and I found thirty years of weather data in his desk. Then I discovered a tower way out in the back cornfield. It has instruments to measure wind speed and direction, temperature, and rainfall.”
She had a weather tower? Sweet. Luke would love to see it. The back cornfield must be pretty far away, or he’d have noticed it before.
Putting the dog down, Willajean gazed out the window for so long that Luke thought she had finished.
“I guess I named the kennel after my father. Funny,” she muttered more to herself than to Luke, “I didn’t realize that until now.”
Willajean shook her head as if to push away her father’s memory, but then stopped as if she’d had a sudden idea. “Wait here.” She hurried out.
Luke continued to pet the pup on his lap, wondering what had lit a fire under her.
Willajean poked her head back into the room. “Come on.” She jingled keys in her hand.
“Where?” Luke set the pup into the box.
“You’ll see.”
CHAPTER 7
Why Not?
Luke followed Willajean out back. She jumped into a golf cart. He had barely enough time to sit next to her before she stomped on the gas.
“Megan told me you know all about the weather.”
“Not everything.” Luke clutched the seat as she made a sharp turn.
“But you’re interested in it. Right?”
“I guess.”
“See that ridge?” Willajean pointed across the fields as she drove. “When dark clouds gathered above that ridge, my dad knew a storm was brewing, and no matter what he was doing, he’d stop and find me. We’d sit on the big yellow swing and watch the lightning flicker and flash. My dad used to say it was Morse code, that the storm was signaling his buddies.” Willajean chuckled, her gaze on the distant ridge.
“Then the cornstalks would dance in the wind while thunder boomed and rumbled. When the storm became a full fury, it rolled into the valley like a boulder gaining speed down a mountain, soaking everything in its path.”
Luke scanned the ridge, relieved by the bright blue above. No sign of black clouds. Didn’t Willajean’s dad know how dangerous it was to be outside during a thunderstorm? Should he tell her?
No. A half smile of remembrance curved Willajean’s lips. Luke recognized that smile. Every time his grand-mother reminisced about Mom, she wore that same mixed expression.
At the end of the field, Willajean drove through a tight gap in a line of bushes and trees. Luke had assumed that was the back edge of her farm, but on the other side was another cornfield. Willajean slowed the golf cart as she wove through the field, avoiding the foot-high plants. A metal tower glinted in the sun.
Luke gawked. Is that an anemometer and wind vane at the top?
The neat green rows parted and circled around the guide wires at the base of the structure. Following a thin dirt path, Willajean drove right up to the tower. She stopped the cart and hopped out. Luke joined her.
Wow. Pretty cool. Luke had never expected to see a weather tower out in the middle of a cornfield.
Blocking the sun from his eyes, he craned his neck to peer at the top. He’d been right. A three-cupped anemometer spun weakly in the light breeze. The wind wasn’t strong enough to push the vane in the right direction.
“This weather station hasn’t worked since my dad got sick.” Willajean pulled a handful of soggy leaves from a white bucket at the base of the tower.
Probably a rain gauge.
“I’d like to get it back up and running, but I haven’t a clue how to do it. Would you like to try?” she asked.
He stepped back. “Me?”
“Sure, why not? It’s not like you can break it.”
He examined the tower. About thirty feet high, its triangular shape resembled three metal ladders hooked together. The wires from the two instruments on top snaked down one of the legs and disappeared into a white plastic box. Wires from the rain gauge and from a temperature sensor also led into the box. Inside the box, all the wires connected to what he guessed was a data logger or computer. He searched for the power source. A small solar panel had been attached about halfway up the tower.
“Do you still have the instruction manuals for the instruments?” he asked.
“My father never threw anything out. I’m sure they’re in his desk somewhere. Does that mean you’ll give it a try?”
Luke’s gut instinct had been to say no way, but the thrill of a challenge stirred in him. He smiled. “Sure, why not?”
“That’s the spirit.” She tossed the golf cart’s keys to Luke. “You drive.”
He caught the keys. “Me?” Fear replaced his excite-m
ent.
“Yes, you.”
“But, I don’t know—”
“Have you ever driven the bumper cars at Hersheypark?” she asked.
“Yeah, but—”
“This is the same thing. Come on.” Willajean settled into the passenger seat.
Luke hesitated, but joined her and started the engine. Driving slowly, he gripped the steering wheel tightly. But Willajean encouraged him to loosen up. He relaxed a bit, increasing the speed. They bumped over ruts and splashed through puddles. By the time they reached the house, Luke couldn’t stop grinning.
The afternoon’s training session had finished, and Luke helped Megan settle the dogs and chop the vegetables for the next day. When they were done, he wanted to see the tower again, so he and Megan rode their bikes out to the back cornfield.
Megan pulled a notepad and pencil from the pack on her bike and handed them to Luke. She scowled into the sunlight. “More work,” she said.
“What?” Luke sketched the tower and the location of the weather instruments.
“If Mom gets this thing working, I’m going to be running out here two or three times a week recording weather data.”
“Have you done it before?” Luke asked.
“Yeah. Poppy used to make me come here and write stuff down whenever we came to visit.” Megan popped the door open to the data logger. “See this button? I’d press it and different red numbers showed up on this screen.” She pointed. “Poppy thought I’d be excited to have my own job on the farm. It was our secret because he didn’t want my mom to know he spent money on his hobby. That’s why he hid it way out here, but—” She shrugged. “I liked animals better than these gizmos.”
“Do you miss him?” Luke asked, distracted from his sketch.
“He was cranky, smelly, and as stubborn as a terrier after a rat. He was ancient. Old people die.” Megan kicked the dirt. A pale yellow puff mushroomed around her feet.
She turned her back to Luke. After the way she’d gotten mad about her dad, he wasn’t about to push it. He continued drawing and almost didn’t hear what she said next.
“Yeah, I miss him.”
Her words were as quiet as the rustle of the cornstalks in the wind. He wanted to tell her he knew how she felt, but his throat refused to work. He’d heard that soulless expression too many times in the last five months. It gave no comfort. It changed nothing. Empty funeral words.
His pencil snapped in two. Relaxing his grip on the broken piece, Luke tried to concentrate on the picture. This drawing of the tower’s set up would help him when he read the instrument manuals.
By the time he and Megan rode back to the house, the sun had turned into a bloated orange hovering over the horizon. As promised, Willajean had dug out the manuals, and Megan lent Luke her backpack to carry them home.
When he arrived home, his father had left him a dinner plate in the refrigerator. Luke heated it up in the microwave. Dad only cooked beef. Burgers, steak on the grill, or a roast in the oven were his mainstays. Otherwise Dad ordered pizza or fast food. Luke never thought he’d miss vegetables in a million years, but he did. Vegetables meant someone cared about him.
Luke spread the instrument manuals out on the table and read them while munching on his burger and soggy fries. He was almost done when the door banged open. Ranger raced through the kitchen, followed by Dad.
“Late night?” he asked Luke.
“Yeah. Willajean gave me a new project.”
Dad peered over his shoulder, then picked up the wind-speed manual.
“She’s got a weather tower on her farm. She wants me to try to fix it.” Luke held his breath, waiting for Dad to laugh at the absurdity of someone asking a kid to repair a weather sensor. His father was an electrician, and he’d never once asked Luke or his brothers to help him install an outlet. Mom used to say that Dad didn’t have the patience, but Luke believed he just didn’t have the interest.
Instead of laughing, Dad flipped through the books. “These sensors all generate an electrical signal. And this logger,” he said, pointing, “records the signals and calculates the data.”
Now that Luke had his dad’s attention, he jumped at the opportunity to ask him questions about how to restart the weather station.
“First thing you need to do is clean everything,” Dad said.
“Everything?”
“Yep. Sometimes the culprit is just plain old dirt. It clogs things up and interferes with electrical contact points.”
Dad sat next to him and made notes on the sketch of the tower. “Check the data logger’s battery and all the wires, every inch, to see if they’re in good condition.” He drummed the pencil’s eraser on the table. “Wait a minute.”
He left the kitchen. When he came back, he had a box filled with tools. Jacob and Scott followed him, and Luke suppressed a groan. Something else for them to tease him about. But they surprised him by being interested. First time in months.
“Here’s some cleaner that should work, and my ohm meter to check the battery.” Dad explained the different tools he’d put in the box.
Luke marveled at his brothers and father. They were acting like a family again, like they had before Mom died. Unfortunately, it didn’t last long.
Jacob and Scott thought it would be cool to have a tower in their backyard.
“Think of the advantages, Dad,” Jacob said. “You would be able to calibrate the wind speed by how far back the dogs’ ears blow. That way, when you’re out in the woods, you would know the exact wind conditions. Like if Ranger’s ears were full back that might equal twenty-miles-per-hour wind speeds.”
“Mom would’ve loved it,” Scott said. “Remember how she never checked the weather? With a weather station in the backyard, she’d have known the exact temperature outside. Instead of shivering during all those dog trials, she would have been prepared.”
Scott’s big smile, though, wilted when Dad didn’t join in the laughter. Dad’s whole body stiffened. All animation drained from his face as if someone had switched him off.
“Time for bed,” he said. Each word an effort. He shuffled out of the room, dragging all the good feelings with him.
Luke sagged in his chair. Scott had to mention Mom. Reminiscing about her was taboo. Not because Dad had ever said so, but because every time she was mentioned, Dad bolted for his bedroom.
“Without Dad there to help you, you’ll never get the tower working, Weather Weenie.” Jacob’s harsh words hammered into the silence.
“Better stick to scooping poop. It’s more suitable for your level of intelligence,” Scott said.
After a few more taunts, they left the kitchen. Luke should have been hurt, especially after their earlier nice remarks. But the quick change in their mood snagged in his brain. And teetering just out of reach was the answer to why his brothers constantly teased him. After a moment, it clicked.
They blamed him for Mom’s death.
CHAPTER 8
The Calm Before the Storm
Guilt poured over him like a cooler filled with icy soda. No surprise Jacob and Scott blamed him. Luke had caused Mom’s death, but he hadn’t connected the mean teasing with it. That was their way of punishing him. They’d been like this ever since the night his seventh-grade homeroom had won a free screening at the movies by collecting the most canned goods for the food drive. Halfway through the movie, thunder rumbled loud enough to be heard over the soundtrack.
He’d panicked and called Mom to come get him. “Now, please,” he’d said.
Mom had never arrived to take him home. Lightning had struck, and she’d died on her way to the movie theater. On her way to pick him up early.
Luke drew in a shaky breath. Leaving the instrument manuals on the table, he crawled into bed without changing. He huddled
under the blanket. Dad must hate him too. That must be why Dad let the twins torment him.
It was a long miserable night, tossing and turning and wondering what he should do. Apologize? Talk to Dad? Would it change anything? No.
Nothing would bring Mom back. Nothing.
But would it change how Jacob and Scott treated him? Would it make Dad pay more attention to him? Wasn’t Dad already spending more time with him now that they had Willajean’s weather tower? Why ruin it? His thoughts spun like a puppy chasing her tail.
By morning, Luke couldn’t think about it anymore. If he did, he’d go insane and never leave his bed. Plus Storm Watcher kennel was the one place he felt almost normal. Almost.
July turned out to be the quiet before the storm. Every afternoon for an hour, Luke worked on the weather instruments and, at the same time, avoided Alayna. Fun. At night he sat at the kitchen table with Dad. They discussed the tower and planned what he should do to fix the instruments.
By early July the corn plants had doubled in size. After climbing up and down the tower twice, Luke dripped with sweat. He stopped for a drink. When a warm sponge pressed against the back of his leg, he dropped his water bottle in surprise and spun around. Lance sat on the dirt path. The dog had nosed him. His bushy tail swept the ground, creating a plume of dust.
At least he didn’t jump on me. He’s learned something.
Lance’s brown eyes held a cocky glint. The dog looked mighty pleased with himself. Luke scanned the cornfield, searching for Willajean.
Ten minutes later, Megan arrived, red-faced. Her short hair clung to her sweaty forehead.
“There he is,” Megan said between huffs. “I don’t know whether to praise him or punish him.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s not supposed to be here. We were playing, and I said your name. It was weird. He stood real still with his nose up, and then he just took off.”
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