by Heidi Kling
“It’s okay, sweetie. It’s just a thunderstorm,” I said, but her face was soaked with tears. The sounds of the other girls’ cries were drowned out by the heavy thunder. Rain hammered against the window so hard, I was afraid the shutters might blow off their hinges. “We better move,” I said.
I slid down, Elli clinging to my neck. I yanked on the string and the light sparked once, pulsed and then fizzled out. Great. Following the whimpers, I stumbled across the floor, finding half of the kids huddled together on a lower bunk, looking scared to death. Meanwhile, the rest of the kids were slowly waking up wondering what all the fuss was about. They didn’t seem to be fazed by the storm at all.
Strange.
Then I realized my bare feet were wet. Water was leaking in from somewhere. “Crap,” I muttered.
I sat Elli down with the other kids and investigated the leak with my flashlight, which thank goodness was easy to find under my balled-up hoodie pillow. I pointed up at the ceiling, but aside from old water damage and mold it looked okay. Then I shone the light at the front door.
“Get some towels—uh, get some clothes.” The girls didn’t understand me, so I grabbed a bunch of my stuff—T-shirts, one sweatshirt, an already-damp striped towel—and shoved them into the crack of the front door, hoping to stop more water from pouring in.
There was a loud crash of thunder and the girls shrieked; it sounded like it was right outside the door. Lightning flashed across the dorm room again, the shutters flapping open and then slamming shut with the heavy wind. My barricade wasn’t working: the water was soaking right through the material. What was I supposed to do?
I bit my lip and made a decision.
“Okay. Everybody up. Move over and climb onto that bed; it’s farthest from the window and the safest place to wait out the storm.”
The huddled girls didn’t budge, so one at a time I picked them up and carried them across the room, setting them on the top bunk. Elli wouldn’t let go of me, so I was doing double duty, balancing two girls on my hips. The rain beat the roof like hail.
“Okay,” I said as I got the last girl on the top bunk. “You guys stay here.” I held up my hand for emphasis. “Stay. Here. I’m going to go find some help.” My dad said the storm might be bad, but I didn’t think he meant this bad.
Elli was still clinging to me, so I carefully unhooked her hands from around my neck and handed her my flashlight and my journal. “Here, you can look at these pictures. I promise I’ll be right back.”
She smiled a bit and nodded, flicking the light on and off.
Then, I slipped on my sneakers, and grabbing a towel to use as a tarp, I stepped out into the storm.
The lightning was so close, I hugged the side of the building as I went.
The wide path was ankle deep with water. My sneakers were drenched and the rain was hitting my face so hard it was like standing under a faucet on hyper-speed. I ducked my head and ran.
I could have gone looking for Vera, that would have been the most logical choice, but I wanted to find Dad, to make sure I was doing the right thing with the girls. But mostly I just wanted my dad.
So even though it was totally against the rules, I ran down the central path and then headed down the muddy trail toward the boys’ dorms, screaming into the streaking blackness, “Dad! Tom!”
Lightning shot across the sky as I stumbled through the mud—now as deep as a half-filled baby pool. “Dad!”
From outside, the boys’ dorms looked just like the girls’. I’m not sure what I was expecting, but I was surprised: white with blue roofs and basically falling apart. I heard terrified shrieks coming from a stocky building with a flapping blue door. Shadowy figures were scurrying in and out of the flap. They were using the sort of scoopers I saw in the buckets in the bathroom to bail the water off the floor. Ick. Then I saw who was doing the scooping.
“Sienna!” Dad yelled when he saw me. “What are you doing here? Are you okay? Are the girls okay?”
“Yeah!” I screamed. “They’re scared but okay.”
Dad handed his scooper to Tom and gave me a quick wet hug. “Good. Just go back to your dorm. It’s on higher ground than this one. Shut the door tight and shove anything you can find under the crack to keep the water out.”
“That’s what I did.”
“Great. And put the girls together on the highest bunk farthest away from the window.”
“I did that too.”
Dad’s answer was a kiss on the cheek. “Well done.”
I have to admit it was nice to hear. “What else should I do?”
“I’ll walk you back, and you should just keep the girls company and wait it out. If things get rougher, which I don’t think they will, go find an older girl to help you entertain the girls or move a few of them into the older girls’ dorms a few buildings down.”
Peeking inside the dorm, I noticed the youngest boys were huddled together on the top bunk. One of the boys’ heads was bleeding and he was holding an X-Men T-shirt to his hurt scalp. My Wolverine boy from the soccer game. Poor guy!
“What happened to him?” I asked.
“When the thunder cracked, he jumped and fell off his bunk and banged his head.”
“Ooh. Looks bad. Does he need stitches?”
“We don’t think so. Vera’s going for the first-aid kit to find a butterfly bandage.”
So Vera’s breaking rules too?
“Tom, I’ll be right back,” Dad said. “I’m just going to walk her ...”
I shook my head and squeezed Dad’s wrist. I saw how much work he had to do. I got here by myself. I didn’t need an escort back. “No, I’m fine, Dad, seriously. You stay here.”
Dad looked surprised, and I didn’t blame him. His wimpy fifteen-year-old daughter who usually couldn’t spend a night without screaming can handle a monsoon?
“If you’re sure ...” He glanced back at the Wolverine boy, who clearly needed more help than I did.
I nodded. I could do this. “Positive.”
I felt like I was body boarding through a giant wave. I didn’t know rain could be like that. Like the sky had burst. And then there were screams from the neighboring dorm. When I flung open the door, I found that more of the younger soccer boys I was playing with yesterday were standing in three inches of slushy water. Using soggy pieces of cardboard, they attempted to scoop rainwater out of their room.
A couple of the smaller boys were crying. An older one, barely older, maybe ten years old, was yelling commands that I didn’t understand.
“You guys need help?” I asked.
He looked up, startled, like his face was a flashing alarm: no girls allowed, but I was older, way older, and this was an emergency situation. If Vera could help Dad’s group, I could help this one. I pulled back my wet hair and twisted it into a tight knot before dropping to my hands and knees to start bailing water.
Four of us were crawling along the floor trying to sweep the water back outside the door, but it was useless. More water poured in, and wind whipped the door open and shut. I was about to give up and ask Dad to come over when I heard a voice above me ask, “Would you need help?”
Staring at the piece of cardboard that was falling apart in my hands, I nodded. “Yeah, thanks.”
“Do you not mean terima kasih?” the voice teased.
My head jerked up.
It was him.
And this time there was no place for him to disappear to. Or me, for that matter. I moved stray hairs out of my face, shivers running down my spine. This was not exactly how I wanted to meet up again, on my hands and knees, soaking wet.
White T-shirt sticking to his chest, water dripping from his hair, he looked HOT.
“You are happy to have come to my country now,” he said, a glint of humor in his eyes. “Such a warm Indonesian welcome, yes?”
“Oh, well. It’s fine,” I managed to squeak out. I struggled to stand but slipped on the soggy cardboard instead. He offered a rain-slick hand to help me up, and sudd
enly we were face-to-face. My hair tumbled loose, falling around my face. Oh God. My heart sped up and I hoped he didn’t think I’d done that on purpose, trying to look all movie star sexy or something. I tucked it behind my ears.
When he licked his bottom lip and smiled, I shivered in the wet heat, trying not to stare at the veins sticking out of his arms.
“Girls are not allowed,” he said.
Um. “Yeah, I know. I was looking for my dad, and I heard screams. I’ll go.”
His eyes rooted me to the flooded ground. “I was not wanting you to leave,” he said, holding a scooper like the one my dad had.
“Do you need help?” I asked.
“Thank you, but we do not need your help, rambut kuning. I am here now,” he said confidently. I was just about to ask what that phrase meant when a burst of wind opened and smacked the door shut again. The little girls were probably freaking out.
I should have left and gone back.
Right then.
But Dad said the worst part of the storm was over, so the girls were probably fine and this was my chance to talk to him. I didn’t want to leave just yet.
“Please. Let me help.”
He cocked his head. “Do not do this dirty work, then. You can please hold the door shut?”
Holding the door shut was definitely something I could do.
I stood with my back to the wood, holding out the wind and the rain. He started shoveling water, and when he was ready, he would signal me with a quick flick of his wrist and I’d open the door so he could sweep it out. Then I’d slam the door shut again.
Wordlessly we worked together, sinking into a comfortable rhythm. I was hyperaware of his every move: his arms shoveling, the slight tilt of his face, the furrow of his brow as he concentrated. When I looked down, I felt his eyes on me.
And then thunder cracked and he jumped. “Are you okay?” I asked, shaking a little too.
He stopped scooping. His fist was clenched so tight around the handle that I thought he might snap the plastic right in half. Knuckles bone white like they might burst through his skin, the veins in his forearm popped out even more than before.
He frowned. “The big wave washing over our village sounded like the thunder. Whenever the thunder comes, it is like the wave is coming again. For the small boys too. This is why they cry.” He gestured toward the little boys, who were shivering, huddled together on the upper bunks while a slightly older boy comforted them.
“That must have been so scary,” I said.
He nodded. “It was like living a most terrible dream.”
The door banged behind my back and I shoved my weight harder against it, the wind whistling through the rickety dorm. “How did you escape?”
He stared at me. “I had a motor. A scooter, you say? It was faster than the wave.”
I imagined him fleeing the tsunami on a motorcycle. Did he look over his shoulder and see the giant wall of water chasing after him? I rubbed the goose bumps on my arms.
“I’m so glad you’re okay.”
Then he grinned. A small, tender grin, a tiny dimple forming in his tan face. “For this moment, I am glad I am okay too.”
The thunder cracked again, and he flinched like someone had punched him. More water poured under the door. “This is not working,” he said, frustrated. At first I thought he meant me, talking with me. But then he glanced around the room, grabbed a stained mattress from a bottom bunk and pulled it across the floor. When he shoved it against the crack to keep more water from seeping in, I knew he hadn’t meant me.
Awkwardly I stepped back, not sure how to help anymore.
“Now something else can hold the rain out,” he said, his voice smiling. “Rather than our guest.”
So now we were trapped together.
In the middle of a thunderstorm.
Could be much worse.
He walked over to the little boys and patted their backs, saying something that must have been funny, because they smiled and one boy even laughed. Then they pointed at me and giggled. Not knowing what else to do, I waved at them. A little guy with curly hair and an eager grin waved back. “American!” He laughed.
“Yes, American.” I nodded, sort of embarrassed without knowing why.
“He wants to know if you know the SpongeBob with the Square Pants?”
“Sure. He’s on TV.”
“He wants me to tell you he has a T-shirt of the yellow cartoon. A volunteer gave to him.”
“Cool.”
“He says to tell you he thinks you are pretty and he likes your yellow hair. Rambut kuning. Yellow hair like the Sponge.” His eyes twinkled.
Rambut kuning.
Yellow hair.
It means yellow hair.
“Tell him thank you, I guess?”
Then I noticed three other kids goofing around on another top bunk, playing cards and laughing. I watched their faces when thunder cracked. Nothing. They just went on playing.
As if reading my mind, the drummer boy explained, “They are from Jakarta. They were not there for the tsunami, so for them, the thunder, the storm, it is nothing ... it happens here all the time. The flooding too. But for us, from Aceh, it means everything. It is like the wall of water is coming for us again.”
“PTSD ... ,” I said. “From the tsunami.”
“Apa?” He walked toward me and stood an inch or two closer to me than someone normally would. I caught my breath.
“PTSD is post-traumatic stress disorder. It’s like when something happens that reminds you of something bad that happened before, and you have a physical or psychological reaction to it ... like ...” I glanced down at his fist tellingly.
Like your knuckle bones popping through your skin when thunder breaks.
Like the little ones crying, thinking the tsunami is coming back for them.
Like my cold sweats and screams in the night.
“Yes.”
He knew what I meant. For the first time in my life I met someone who’d experienced some of the same things that I had. Someone who might understand me. Someone I could understand back.
He licked his bottom lip again, and I thought I might go mad if he kept doing that. And then suddenly, a shadow crossed his face and his expression changed. “You go out the window,” he said abruptly.
“Huh?” I didn’t like the sharp tug back to reality. Or the fact that he wanted to get rid of me so soon. Had I done something wrong?
“You must go back to check on the girls, and we cannot move the mattress to unblock the door.” He gestured to the window next to the top bunk. Outside, lightning flashed. That time, we both jerked at the thunder’s smash.
“Out that window?”
“Yes.” He nodded. “It’s okay. You are a brave girl.”
A brave girl? No one had called me that in a long, long time.
“Okay.” I shrugged. What other choice did I have? Besides, he thought I was brave, and I wasn’t going to be the one to change his mind.
He helped me onto the bunk and then he pushed hard on the shutters, forcing them open.
I waved good-bye to the SpongeBob fans and flipped one leg outside the window.
The concrete wall scratched my legs as he lowered me down, his hand wet and warm around mine. The water was almost knee high as I sank deep into it, my heart pounding along with the rain.
He landed beside me in the darkness at the same time a bolt of lightning ripped through the night. I practically dove into his arms.
“Oh, sorry,” I said, biting my lip. My hands fell to my sides.
“It is okay to be scared.”
My chest felt heavy like my heart had ballooned twice its size in that one moment.
It’s okay to be scared.
No one ever told me it was okay. They just told me to stop. Stop being afraid.
The boy looked at me from under long wet lashes. Waiting.
Neither of us stepping away as rain poured down around us. Instead I reached up and gently moved a wet pi
ece of hair off his forehead. I had to find out if I was right, if he was the boy peeking through my window this morning.
Even in the midnight shadows I could faintly make it out. A scar.
He winced a bit at my touch as I traced my fingertip across the deep line on his brow, until his hand moved mine away.
As if I’d already discovered too much.
Water poured down my face. I didn’t bother trying to wipe it away.
He waited a beat, a moment that felt like an eternity, before his gaze left mine. I shivered as his eyes, his fingers, his palm, slipped up my forearm, soft as velvet. And then slowly threaded back down as if they were weaving something magical.
I felt electricity. Real electricity. As real as the bolts ripping through the sky. I knew as he twined his fingers through mine that without a doubt, I was fully awake.
My mouth was near his ear, the curled edges of his hair grazing my lips, when I asked, “Why were you watching me sleep?”
“I wanted to see you,” he answered quickly, his voice husky and deep. “You were ... I do not know how to say it in English? Sleep-talking?”
Oh my God. I buried my face in my hands.
“Do not be sad about it. I have bad dreams too.”
I let him peel my fingers away from my eyes.
“You aren’t allowed in the girls’ section. What if you got caught?” I asked.
His whole body shrugged as if that was the most ridiculous question he’d ever heard. “Who could catch me?”
True. He did outrun a tsunami.
“Your name is Deni, isn’t it?”
“How do you know?” He raised his eyebrows the same smirky way he had at the welcome ceremony.
“My dad asked me to look for you. He wants to work with you. Get to know you.”
Even in the hot rain, his look gave me the chills. “And I want to get to know you,” he said.
Then lightning struck above us, followed by meddling thunder.
Deni flinched. “But now you must go.”
The last thing I wanted to do was leave.
My eyes must have argued too, because he leaned in close and said, “Do not worry. I will find you again.”
Then, just like that, he disappeared into sheets of rain and darkness.