by Amy Sparling
I need a miracle.
Chapter 4
I walk into the weirdest scene on Wednesday morning. Well, it’s actually around noon because I slept late after staying up with Ella to plan her party. Still, it’s weird to see my sister and my mom both sitting on the couch watching the same TV show. They are very different people. My sister is all about The Walking Dead, Stranger Things, and those dumb girly shows set in high school.
My mom only watches HGTV and workout videos.
Yet here they are, eyes glued to the TV, mouths agape as they watch something together.
“What’s on?” I ask, walking into the living room and turning to face the TV. Surprisingly, it’s just the news. “What happened?” I ask.
“The hurricane,” Mom says, as if that explains everything. I look at Dakota but she’s still focusing on the TV. I take a seat between them and listen to the news anchor.
Apparently the meteorologists who are in charge of predicting the path of the hurricanes were wrong. Now the storm is looking like it’s going to turn southwest and bypass New Orleans completely. I watch as the radar dot moves and repeats itself, the little red line on the screen indicating where they think it’s going to go. There’s a cone on the end of the line that shows all the areas that will be impacted by the hurricane. All the biggest damage is done in the center of it where the storm is the strongest, but as far as three hundred miles out will still get a pretty heavy thunderstorm.
“Wow,” I say, watching with just as much fascination as my mom and sister. “Is it just me or does that look like it’s coming right toward us?”
“It’s not just you,” Mom says.
On the TV, the weatherman points to Houston on the map. “At this point, voluntary evacuations are in progress, especially for people near the coast,” he says.
“That sucks for those people,” I say, getting up and heading into the kitchen to make some cereal.
“Should we be worried?” Dakota asks our mom.
“No,” I say from the kitchen. “We’re two hours north of the coast so we’re fine. Plus, they’re probably wrong again and the thing won’t even come near us.”
“I don’t know…” Mom says. It seems like she wants to go on, but she doesn’t.
I shrug and make a bowl of cereal. Growing up in Texas means I’ve seen a lot of hurricanes. They’re mostly all bark and very little bite, even though there have been a couple semi bad ones in my life. Still, the only time you should worry is when the town calls for a mandatory evacuation. That hasn’t happened since I was a little kid.
After breakfast, I head upstairs to the rec room. I pass Mom, who’s talking to dad on the phone about the hurricane. I hear her tell him he should come home from work early.
In the rec room, I do some cardio on the treadmill and then hit the weight bench, my music blasting as loud as my family will allow it. I get a few good reps in, and I’m feeling somehow stronger than when I was doing football drills every single day in school.
I take off my shirt to wipe the sweat from my face, and catch sight of myself in the mirror on the back of the rec room door. Just to be flirty, I flex and take a picture and send it to Ella.
She calls me a few minutes later.
“Hey, babe,” I say. “There’s more where that came from.”
“Huh?” she says. There’s noise in the background, like maybe she’s outside.
“The picture,” I say.
“What picture?”
“The one I just sent you.”
“Oh, sorry,” she says. “I didn’t check your message before I called.”
My reflection in the mirror turns concerned. “Is everything okay?”
“Have you seen the news about the hurricane?”
“Yep,” I say. “Apparently it’s not even going to hit New Orleans now.” I figure she’s going to complain about how her parents are wasting their time.
“Yeah, now it’s coming to us.”
“I don’t think it’ll be that big of a deal, baby.”
She sighs. “You sure? My parents just called me and they want me to go stock up on supplies and shit.”
“Wow, really? It doesn’t seem that bad.”
“They want me to get several cases of water and food, and they told me to ask you if you could help me put the plywood over the windows. There’s enough of it in the garage for each window, and the landlord said he can’t do it himself because he’s out of town.”
“Sure, baby, I can help you.” She sounds a little freaked out, so I make sure I sound calm. “Don’t worry. It’s fine. We’ll probably just get a bad storm.”
“Yeah, probably, but that totally screws up my party.”
“We’ll just have the party inside,” I say.
She groans. “No one will want that. My house is too small. And people won’t want to drive in the rain. Why is everything turning out so stupid?”
She seems way more stressed than usual, especially over a party. Ella doesn’t even like parties. “We can have it at my place?” I offer. “There’s the rec room with pool and foosball and stuff. I’m sure my mom will even look the other way at the junk food and we’ll hide the beer from her.”
She considers this for a moment. “I guess that could maybe work.”
I smile. “Good. We’ll text everyone and tell them it’s been moved to my house.”
Ella snorts. “They could use my old driveway for parking space.”
We’re both quiet for a minute, and I know we’re both thinking about how shitty it is that her old house is gone. Things would have been so amazing if that tornado never would have happened. I’d have my girl right next door and I could see her all the time.
Then I realize there’s only a twenty minute drive stopping me from seeing her now. “Mind if I come over?” I ask.
“I would love that,” she says, her voice sounding lighter than it has been this whole conversation.
“Great. I have to shower first, but then I’ll head over.”
“I just looked at your picture message … maybe you should come over just like that.”
Her voice gets all sexy and it turns me on in two seconds flat. “I can definitely do that,” I say, my voice low. I’m already picturing getting lost in Ella’s soft embrace and I haven’t even left the house yet.
There’s a knock on the rec room door, and my mom calls my name, immediately killing my boner.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” I tell Ella, and get off the phone. I open the door and see my mom looking weirdly stressed out. “What’s up?” I ask.
“We need to get ready,” she says. “Patio furniture needs to be packed up, shutters closed, food, water—everything.”
She’s talking so fast I can’t make sense of it. “Mom, what are you talking about?”
She rubs her fingers across the bridge of her nose. “I hope your father gets here soon, he just left work—”
“Mom,” I say, loud enough to get her attention. “What is it?”
She frowns, her lips forming tight lines. “We have to go. They just issued a mandatory evacuation order.”
Chapter 5
The shopping list my mom just texted me is basically a clone of what the news has been telling everyone to stock up on in preparation of the hurricane. Water, non-perishable food, batteries for flashlights, games or puzzles to keep busy if the power stays off too long, ice for coolers, etc. I didn’t need her to text me this list. I’ve grown up in Texas, and I’ve seen the hurricane warnings every single year when hurricane season rolls around. I know the drill. The thing is, up until now, the drill didn’t matter much because my parents were here taking care of it. Now it’s just me.
The only good news is that the landlord called my parents again and said not to worry about the plywood for the windows, because he’ll get home in time to do it himself. So that’s one thing on my list that I can cross off. I text Ethan and tell him not to come over just yet because I have to run to the store first.
April texts me as I�
�m getting my shoes on before I head to the grocery store. It’s just a few picture messages, instead of words.
The first one is a picture of the grocery store aisle that sells water. It’s almost completely gone, and there’s a store employee on a forklift with a pallet of water right there in the middle of the aisle. I guess he’s reloading from the stock they have in the back. The second photo shows the bread aisle, totally empty except for a few expensive fancy brands of bread that no one ever wants. The third photo is of the check out lines, and I can see that all twelve of them are packed, with probably twenty people in each line waiting to be checked out.
I drop to the couch as I take in the magnitude of her photos. Another text from her comes in.
April: This is insane. There’s like no supplies left at all. Mom wants to try a store further away.
I look at my shopping list and then back to my phone. Dammit. There’s no reason for me to go now, especially since the shelves are already empty. I head into the kitchen and open the fridge, taking mental inventory of the contents. We have a few bottles of water, lots of soda and tea. In the pantry, I find an unopened case of bottled water, and enough food to last me a few days. I’m probably fine since it’s only me, and not a huge family who has to hunker down here until the storm passes.
With a sigh of relief, I text April back.
Me: That’s crazy! I have enough stuff at home so I’m just going to stay here and avoid the stores.
I don’t bother telling my parents that I’m not following their advice because I don’t want them to worry. Funny how they went running into the face of danger to help out, and they ended up leaving where the danger is supposed to hit. I go back to the kitchen and turn on the news to see where exactly this hurricane is supposed to land. If we’re just on the outskirts of it then my party can still happen. We’ll just party indoors at Ethan’s house to avoid the rain.
I have to mess with the antenna on our TV stand for a while until the local news station comes in clearly. Finally, it stops being blurry and I turn up the volume. The news is showing footage of the local grocery stores and how they’re emptying out. I snort. People are so annoying when it comes to hurricanes. They freak out and buy way too much stuff. I kick off my shoes and lay back on the couch, waiting for the weather report to come on. I’m anxious and excited for this party on Friday and I really hope we don’t have to call it off. April and I have put in way too much planning for it to all be for nothing. This will be my last fun night wit Ethan, and I need to make it count.
My phone blares out a high pitched wail. I jump, not expecting to hear such a sharp warning sound from my phone. It’s never made this sound before. I look at the screen and see EXTREME WEATHER ALERT pop up on the home screen. But at the same time, the news on the TV makes a warning beep as well.
A blue banner scrolls across the bottom of the TV screen, warning about extreme weather and mandatory evacuations. Above it, our local news anchors sit at their desks. They talk about how the hurricane has switched course unexpectedly and is now headed for Texas, instead of Louisiana. They say there’s now voluntary evacuations for some areas and mandatory orders for others. I glance back down at the scrolling marquee, which is listing counties and cities that have to be evacuated. Most of them are closer to the coast, which makes sense.
I bolt up straight when the next word scrolls across the screen: Hockley.
Is quint my eyes and lean closer to the TV, because even though the reception is clear and my vision is perfect, I am certain I saw it wrong.
There’s no way it’s saying Hockley, Texas is in a mandatory evacuation zone. But it is.
My mouth falls open as my town scrolls across the screen again. I look down at my phone and read the full text of the weather alert. It also has my town’s name. And my zip code. And the words: MANDATORY EVACTUATION.
What the hell am I supposed to do now?
I am temporarily frozen with indecision. Just a few months ago, I heard the wail of an emergency siren at school and had to shelter in place in the hallways while a tornado ravaged my house and my town. Now, a hurricane is coming for us. I breathe out slowly, my heart still pounding despite the calming gesture. At least my parents are safe in another state.
At least that’s a good thing.
My phone rings, and I’m relieved to see Ethan’s name on the screen. He’ll know what to do.
“Hey,” I say, breathlessly even though I’m just sitting here. Being told the government is making you evacuate takes a lot out of a person. “What the hell are we supposed to do?” I ask.
“It’s okay,” Ethan says, his voice calm. “My parents just reserved a hotel room suite with three bedrooms in De Sota. There’s room for you to come with us.”
I don’t know much about De Sota, Texas, but I have seen it on the map when I looked up the route to my new college in Dallas. It’s far enough north of here that it’ll be out of harm’s way when the hurricane hits. I breathe a little easier now. Ethan’s parents can afford the hotel cost, even if I can’t. Even if my parents can’t.
“Okay, that’s good.” I glance at the TV screen where the news anchors are now dishing out advice for prepping your house before a hurricane. Ironically, I don’t really care about this house. It’s not like we own it, and the person who does own it has insurance.
Ethan continues, “Pack up your stuff, and we’ll be leaving in about half an hour. I have to take in the yard furniture and help board up the windows and stuff. Do you want me to come get you?”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “I’ll drive myself to the hotel.”
“Ella,” Ethan says hesitantly. “Wouldn’t you rather ride with me? It’s a three hour trip. It’ll be boring alone.”
I shake my head again even though he can’t see me. My dad lost his truck in the tornado and this stupid Corolla is all he has left. I’m not leaving it here so the hurricane can throw a tree through the windshield. “I’ll drive myself, but I’ll follow behind you.”
“Okay,” he says, but he doesn’t sound too happy about it.
My phone beeps. Mom is calling me. “I gotta go, my mom is calling,” I say.
“Pack up and meet me at my house ASAP,” Ethan says. “Love you.”
“Love you,” I say, and then I switch over to Mom’s call. Even though I’m freaked out, I force myself to remain calm so she won’t worry. “Hey, Mom!”
Okay, maybe that was a little too cheerful.
“Honey, have you seen the news? They called for a mandatory evacuation for Hockley. Now, don’t worry, it’ll be fine. I just talked to Mrs. Poe and she wants you to go with them to their hotel up near Dallas.”
“I know, Mom,” I say. “I just talked to Ethan.”
“Okay. Good.” Mom takes a deep breath. “Just stay with the Poes. They’ll know what to do. I love you, sweetie.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
I put my phone on the charger and then rush around my room, packing up my suitcase with what little belongings I have. I pretty much throw in all of my clothes, my makeup, and a few trinkets. Besides all of the brand new dorm room stuff, my entire life fits inside of my suitcase. I guess that tornado made sure it would be easy for me to pack up the next time Mother Nature decided to inflict her wrath on me.
I make my way through the house, turning off lights and locking the backdoor. In my parent’s room, I grab their stash of cash that’s hidden in Dad’s sock drawer. They told me about the cash, and said it’s for emergencies if I ever needed it. I figure I might as well take it in case some looters stay behind after the evacuation and rob empty houses. I open the drawer and reach for the cash. There’s only four twenty dollar bills in here. My chest tightens. I guess things are worse than I thought. Now I really regret letting Mom buy all the college dorm stuff for me.
I take one last glance around my parent’s room, but don’t see anything to take with me. In the kitchen, I take some bottled water and snacks for the road, and then I throw it all in my car.
My knees are wobbly as I drive. This whole thing feels so surreal. I look around at the houses I pass. People are boarding up windows, loading up cars. I wonder if everything will be fine when we come back home, or if it’ll be like one of those disasters I’ve only seen on television. In my life, we’ve evacuated for a few hurricanes, but only ever came back home to downed power lines and tree branches on the roads. Nothing major. I tell myself this will be one of those times. I have nothing to worry about, except the cancellation of my party.
Somehow, even though I know it’s stupid, that actually hurts pretty bad. I was counting on this party and now it’s over.
But at least I’ll get to spend a few days in a hotel with Ethan. We’ll hang out at the pool and sneak off at night and make the most of our last few days together.
The back roads are a little busier than usual, but I get to Ethan’s in about half an hour. His dad is helping him board up the windows, and they’re doing the last one when I pull into the driveway. All the porch decorations have been brought into the garage. Like the news said, if you leave something outside, it becomes a flying projectile when the wind hits it.
Ethan wipes his hands on his jeans and jogs up to me. “Hey,” he says with a little smile. He kisses me on the forehead and the warmth of his touch sends a little tingle down to my toes.
I wish we could stay like this forever, but, well, there’s evacuating to do.
The Poes are all packed up and ready to go. Mrs. Poe asks me three times if I wouldn’t rather just ride with Ethan in his big huge truck instead of drive myself, but I’m insistent that I want to keep my car. I can’t let anything happen to it, because we don’t have full coverage insurance and my parents can’t afford a new car with that eighty bucks they kept hidden in their sock drawer.
Dakota wants to ride with Ethan or me, but her parents make her ride with them. I promise her we can call each other and keep in touch on the drive, and Ethan says it’s only three hours so she should just read a book or take a nap.