Another Kind of Hurricane

by Tamara Ellis Smith

  “Henry,” Zavion said again. “Please—”

  Henry took another step forward. The wind rushed past his ears. He heard Mom’s voice riding on it. You can’t keep running away. He took another step away from Zavion. You can’t keep running away.

  You. Can’t. Keep. Running. Away.

  “I need you,” said Zavion.

  Henry turned around. Brae was sitting in the exact same spot, only sideways, one set of paws up trail and one set of paws down. Part of him ready to go up with Zavion, and part of him ready to go down with Henry. Zavion shifted from one foot to the other. He rubbed his hands together.

  If Zavion could be brave, maybe he could be brave too.

  Henry walked back to Zavion.

  “Okay,” he said. “Let’s do it.”

  —

  The sky was a medium gray, like the feathers of a Canada goose. But the wind was steady and strong, so the sky kept moving, sort of rippling, like a giant hand stroking the feathers. Nothing was staying still. Not the goose-gray sky, not the trees, not the grass and ferns that bordered the trail, nothing. Henry wasn’t either. He just kept on moving. He was afraid if he stopped for even half a second, he wouldn’t get himself going again.

  “C’mon, Brae,” he called. “We have to go up, boy!”

  Brae raced ahead of him.

  The sky was getting darker by the minute. Henry followed the white tip of Brae’s tail like a flashlight. It was the only thing he could see. It was better that way, not seeing where he was going. Even though he could walk this trail in his sleep.

  Brae began to trot, and then he ran and Henry ran with him.

  “You with me, Zavion?” he yelled.

  chapter 77

  ZAVION

  Henry ran ahead and Zavion panicked. A purple-gray color was inking its way across the sky. It was getting darker by the minute. And the air was thick, like soon Zavion’s t-shirt, jacket, jeans, and sneakers would be covered in that same purple-gray color. He knew the color, and knew the feel of the air. It was going to rain.

  Zavion thought he might smell that musty, windy, floody smell. He looked up.

  “No. I am not in New Orleans.”

  He said the words out loud to keep that part of his brain—the part that might curl up into a ball and roll back to the hurricane, back to New Orleans, back home—to keep it straight and flat, to keep it connected to his eyes and nose and feet. He saw a tiny clearing in the bushes. He smelled a wet, piney, earthy smell. He felt the dirt and rock under his sneakers. He wrapped his scarf one more time around his neck. Put his hand in his pocket and felt the marble.

  chapter 78

  ZAVION AND HENRY

  The purple-gray sky cracked open and the rain began to rocket down.

  It was almost impossible to see. Zavion and Henry had to rely on their voices and hands to guide them.

  “Are you with me?” Henry yelled. It was hard to yell into the wind.

  “I’m with you,” Zavion yelled back. It was hard to hear.

  “Let’s get off the trail,” yelled Henry. “We’ll be a little more protected.”

  “Okay,” Zavion yelled back.

  They stepped off the trail and walked into a denser, more wooded part of the mountain. The trees were close together here and their branches were like one umbrella overlapping another, and they slowed the crisscross of rain just enough for Zavion and Henry to open their eyes a little wider. Fallen logs lay across the ground, some perfect round tunnels and others caving in on themselves. Large groups of ferns fanned out like playing cards in someone’s hand. And rock outcroppings appeared out of the ground every few hundred feet, small mountains amid the trees and ferns.

  “Brae!”

  The way Henry’s mouth moved and his neck tensed made it clear that he yelled the name, but the word seemed to get swallowed by the thickness of the rain and the thickness of the trees, and so it sounded no bigger than a whisper.

  “Brae!”

  Zavion called to Brae, and his word was swallowed too.

  But somehow Brae heard the boys calling his name and joined them off the trail.

  The rain fell harder. Slivers thrown from the sky, the ground, the air around them, black and purple daggers, the color of a plum or a bruise. It got darker in the woods. The trees and ferns and rocks became shadows of themselves, and then they shape-shifted into other things. Scary things.

  Henry saw Wayne. He saw Wayne at the start line as the sun was coming up, running down the mountain, lying at the bottom of the cliff, his bent leg, the blood, his wide eyes.

  Zavion saw his Grandmother Mountain mural. He saw himself slipping on the door, slipping under the water, coming up once, flailing his arms, jerking his neck, sinking back down.

  Henry and Zavion saw these things, but they kept walking. Their socks wet. Their necks wet. They kept walking until the trees became trees and the ferns became ferns and the rocks became rocks once again.

  Zavion’s toe caught on something and he fell to the ground. He tried to get up, but the leaves were slippery and he fell back down before he managed to scramble onto his feet. He ran to catch up with Henry.

  Henry slipped on a wet rock and crashed into a tree. He opened his arms before he hit and thwacked the trunk with his chest. Hugging the tree, he turned to look for Zavion.

  The sky lit up with lightning, and Zavion saw Henry waiting for him.

  The sky lit up with lightning again, and Henry saw Zavion running toward him.

  Henry wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands. “You okay?”

  “Honest?”

  “Honest.”

  “I have no idea. Are you?”

  “I have no idea either.” Henry turned to look behind him. “Now where’s Brae?”

  Zavion cupped his hands around his eyes so he could see a little better through the rain. “I see him. He’s over there. Under that ledge.” He wiped his eyes with the palms of his hands. “Smart dog.”

  “Yeah, let’s get under there too.”

  They ran.

  Zavion felt, for a moment, like he was running a cross-country race.

  Henry felt, for a moment, like he was racing Wayne.

  They ran to where Brae lay huddled under a flat, protruding rock ledge. Henry unwrapped Osprey’s leash from his wrist and clipped it to Brae’s collar. “I don’t want you to get lost, Brae. I know you’re afraid.”

  “He’s afraid?” said Zavion. He sank down onto the backs of his heels.

  “He hates thunder and lightning. They terrify him.” Henry buried his face into the wet fur behind Brae’s ear. “Sorry I called you stupid,” he whispered.

  The boys peered out into the pouring, pounding rain.

  Henry pushed his hand into the back of Brae’s neck. “It’s okay, buddy,” he said.

  “How do you know its okay?” said Zavion.

  Henry stared at Zavion for a full minute. “I guess I know because of you,” he said.

  “Me?”

  “Yeah. Check you out. Brae’s not the only one terrified of this storm. You want to turn around?” Zavion shook his head. “I didn’t think so. See? You’re facing it. And if you can, well…well…so can I.”

  “But you already are. You’re already facing it, climbing this mountain,” Zavion said. “That’s why I can.”

  “Nah, you are,” said Henry.

  “No,” said Zavion.

  “Yes,” said Henry.

  “No. No, you are,” said Zavion.

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  The two boys threw their Nos and Yeses into the thick, dark air, and the words hit the rain like stones, making circles that grew bigger and bigger and bigger, cutting through the sheets of water. And in the spaces inside those circles, Henry saw himself tugging on Wayne’s shoulder as he lay on the ground and Wayne opening his eyes. Zavion saw himself diving into the water and pulling up wood and shingles and glass.

  The circles dissolved into the air one after another. No dissolved into Yes
dissolved into No dissolved into Yes. No, Henry couldn’t save Wayne. No, Zavion couldn’t save his home.

  But Yes—maybe Yes—they could help save each other.

  From under the ledge, the boys stared out into the storm.

  It was kind of awesome. The storm on the mountain—yeah, it was kind of awesome.

  —

  “Are you okay now?” said Henry.

  “I think so.” Zavion put his hand onto the back of Brae’s neck. “He’s not shaking anymore. I guess he’s okay too.”

  And then—

  The thunder and lightning stopped.

  The rain and wind slowed down too.

  They took a good look at themselves. Zavion and Henry were covered with mud. Brae was too. Three brown bodies breathing hard as the rain turned from daggers to drops, as the wind died to a breeze, and as the sky became up and the earth became down once again.

  chapter 79

  ZAVION AND HENRY

  “What was that?” said Zavion.

  He and Henry were back on the trail. The ground was muddy and full of puddles. They had to keep their heads down to watch where they stepped.

  “Just a flash storm,” said Henry.

  Silent steam rose from the ground, like the earth was recalibrating itself, letting go of some of the water that had just thundered down into it.

  “That always happen up here?” said Zavion.

  “No,” said Henry. “Only sometimes.”

  Not that night, he thought.

  The memory flooded back to Henry.

  —

  The bird on the wind swooped so low that the boys and Brae could almost feel its feathers. The last tree on the mountain, one of the red spruces just below them, rustled and they knew the bird had landed there, maybe settling in for the night.

  Henry pointed at the bandanna. “Brae—” he said, moving his finger so he was pointing at Brae. Then he slowly moved his finger so it was pointing at the bandanna again. Brae grabbed the bandanna in his mouth.

  “No, Brae,” said Henry.

  The tree rustled again. A lot. Too much movement for a bird to make. Brae got up off of the sleeping bag and trotted over to the tree, the bandanna still hanging from his mouth.

  “Brae!” yelled Henry.

  “You taught him to steal food?” said Wayne.

  Brae bounded back to Henry and Wayne, his tail wagging, and then he doubled back to the tree. When he came back again, someone was with him.

  “Awww jeeez,” said Henry.

  “Jeezum Crow,” said Wayne. “Your timing is incredible.”

  “Did you actually follow us up here?” said Henry. Nopie was going to ruin the whole night.

  “Nah, I come up here all the time—”

  “Bull—” said Wayne.

  “I do.”

  “You’re full of it.”

  “It takes three hours and twelve minutes to climb the mountain from my driveway to this spot. I can turn off my headlamp in three places, I know the trail so well—”

  “Okay, okay!” said Wayne.

  “I love being up here at night,” said Nopie.

  “We love being up here at night,” said Henry. This trail was his and Wayne’s. This night was his and Wayne’s.

  Brae whimpered. He still had the bandanna in his mouth, so the sound came out muffled.

  “You’re teaching Brae that trick all wrong,” said Nopie.

  “Huh?” said Henry.

  “That trick. You’re trying to teach him to open a present, right?”

  “Maybe—”

  “The command has to be clear.”

  “It was clear—”

  “Uh-uh. Just pointing at the bandanna is confusing—”

  “What do you know about training a dog?” Henry’s voice seemed to echo off the moon. “You don’t even have a dog—”

  “I trained my grandpa’s corgi to count,” said Nopie.

  “A corgi’s not a dog,” said Henry. “A corgi’s a pig that eats dog food.”

  Brae whimpered again.

  “Hey, cool it, Henry,” said Wayne. “Brae thinks you just insulted dogs everywhere—”

  “Watch,” said Nopie. “This is how you should teach him. Squeeze your hand into a fist—”

  “Like this?” Henry stepped toward Nopie, both fists in front of his face.

  “Whoa, chill, Henry,” said Wayne.

  “I’ll show you.” Nopie turned to Brae. “Drop it,” he said.

  Brae dropped the bandanna.

  “Don’t tell my dog what to do,” said Henry.

  “Good boy,” said Nopie.

  Brae wagged his tail.

  “Shut up, Nopie!” yelled Henry. And then he pushed Nopie hard, and Nopie fell backward onto the ground. He jumped onto Nopie’s chest and pinned him to the ground. He felt Wayne’s hands under his armpits, pulling him up. He stumbled to his feet, elbowing Wayne back.

  No one spoke after that. Nopie looked from Henry to Wayne, the whites of his eyes shining in the moonlight. He shook his head once, a small erasing gesture, Henry thought, and then tilted his head up toward the night sky. Nopie turned on his headlamp, a circle of light talking to the circle of the moon. He stood up.

  “Nopie—” said Henry.

  “Have a good night,” Nopie said, rubbing the top of Brae’s head.

  Henry and Wayne watched him disappear into the darkness.

  “You sure let him have it,” said Wayne.

  Henry looked down at his hands in disbelief.

  “I don’t know what happened,” Henry whispered. He looked down at his hands. They didn’t seem like they belonged to him. The moonlight made them seem larger than they were. Maybe they actually were larger. Like Wayne’s size. He’d never pushed someone like that before.

  “I can’t believe you did that.” Wayne wouldn’t let it go.

  Henry couldn’t believe it either. Henry’s face flushed with shame. He shoved his hands into his pockets.

  Wayne pulled something out of his pocket. “Here,” he said, “it seems like you could use this now.”

  “What is it?” said Henry. But he knew.

  “The marble. Here, take it.” Wayne held the marble out to Henry.

  The marble felt ice cold in Henry’s hand. “I don’t want it anymore,” he said.

  “What do you mean, you don’t want it anymore?”

  “I’m done.”

  “But this is what we do. We pass it back and forth—”

  “Didn’t you hear me? I’m done. I’m done with this good-luck crap.” Chills ran through Henry’s body. Like the wind was blowing across his bones instead of across his skin.

  Brae picked up the bandanna and dropped it in front of Henry’s feet. He sat, between Henry and Wayne, and looked from one to the other.

  Wayne rubbed the circle on Brae’s head. “Henry—so what if Nopie was right about the trick—it’s okay, you know—maybe it’s okay if he helps you teach Brae—” Brae stuck his nose into Wayne’s palm.

  “You have no idea what you’re talking about!” Henry’s chest felt hot. His eyes felt hot. “I’m done with this marble.” He felt like a broken blender, buzzing inside, overheating, unable to stop. “If you don’t want it, let’s just throw it off the edge of the mountain.”

  “Jeezum Crow, Henry. This isn’t the way we do it. We pass it back and forth for luck. I’m not going to give it back to you, you know,” said Wayne. “Even if you want it, I’m not going to give it back.”

  “I don’t want it. It doesn’t work. It’s crap.” Henry shivered. “It’s too cold up here to sleep. We need to go down the trail a bit.” Henry picked up his sleeping bag.

  “That wasn’t the plan,” said Wayne.

  Henry walked close to Wayne. “We’re changing the plan. We’re changing a lot of things. Like this?” Henry held the marble up between them. “I don’t need it.” Standing there, eyes blazing in the night sky, Wayne did seem huge. “You don’t need it either.”

  “You’re wrong,” sai
d Wayne. He grabbed the marble and walked away, like he was going to walk right off the face of the mountain, but then he turned around and came back. He picked up the sleeping bag and stuffed it into his backpack. “You’re dead wrong.”

  chapter 80

  ZAVION AND HENRY

  Henry told Zavion the whole story.

  “We didn’t talk much after that. And then we woke up and had the race and—” Henry squeezed his eyes shut. “I shouldn’t have tried to win,” Henry said, the words tumbling out. “I didn’t have the marble. I wasn’t supposed to win. It should have been like it always was. Wayne in front of me. Then I would have seen—then I could have stopped—” He scrambled up and stumbled over to the edge of the trail.

  Zavion walked over to join Henry. Brae did too. The three of them stood at the edge of the cliff. The drop was steep, about fifteen feet to the ground. They stared over the rocky edge onto the top of a small tree, two jagged boulders, and dirt below.

  Henry turned to face Zavion. “It was my fault. I said the marble was crap. I didn’t take it. I should have taken it—that was the rule—”

  Zavion stared at Henry. His face was soaked with rain, but fear was still visible underneath all that wet. Zavion saw it clearly on Henry’s face. He knew that fear. All of a sudden he remembered what Ms. Cyn had said to him the evening he left Baton Rouge.

  —

  “You two are twins, you know.”

  Zavion laughed. “You’re kidding, right? Henry’s white and I’m black. He’s short and I’m tall. He’s wide and I’m skinny. He’s from the North and I’m from the South.”

  He’s from a mountain and I’m from a hurricane.

  “He is sad…,” said Ms. Cyn, “And you…are sad. Do you see that, Zavion?”

  Zavion squinted through the kitchen window. Henry was sitting on the grass tickling Osprey. Tiger flew up and down, landing on Henry’s knee, then Osprey’s shoulder.

  “Henry has the same sad blue thing you have,” said Ms. Cyn, “and the same scared gray thing.” She turned Zavion to face her. “If you can feel it in yourself, you can feel it in him.”