by Jen Malone
Sandpiper Beach Hurricane Evacuation Manual, page 3
The following are suggested items to bring
with you to a storm shelter. Please bring only
essentials and limit your belongings to:
• personal toiletries
• pillows, blankets, and other bedding
(cots will be provided)
• nonperishable food items to snack on
• change of clothes
• baby supplies, if applicable
• medications
• cash
• battery-operated radio and flashlight
• important documents such as birth or marriage
certificates, insurance policies, and social security cards
• board games, cards, or other forms of entertainment
Lauren
angst noun -
a feeling of being worried or nervous; anxiety about a situation
Use in a sentence:
This hurricane is causing RSVP—and Alexandra Worthington—a lot of angst.
Sandpiper Beach Middle School looks just like those places you see on TV that have been turned into shelters from natural disasters. Cots marching in lines down the gym, volunteers running around all over, and tables set up everywhere with people playing cards, talking on their phones, or doing work on tablets and laptops.
Except it’s not on TV. It’s real.
I’d say it’s no big deal, but honestly . . . I’m a little scared. Instead of waking up to go to school for English and science this morning, I woke up to go to school with my mom, bags of our stuff, and the entire population of the island. (Which is only 4,042 people, but when everyone’s stuffed into SBMS, it looks more like the population of New York City.) Plus, it’s weird to see the gym—a place I normally avoid like the plague because I have a genuine fear of basketballs and volleyballs and pretty much anything that requires me to be the least bit coordinated—turned into a giant motel. Usually we have enough warning that Mom takes me and my brothers to our aunt Leticia’s in High Point, while Dad sticks around for marina emergencies. But not this time. This storm came up so fast.
“When will Dad and Zach get here?” I ask Mom as she’s surveying the cots. They went out at first light to finish nailing boards on the windows of the marina office and to help customers prepare their boats to survive the storm.
“Soon, honey, I promise. Your dad’s been through this before, and he won’t stay out longer than it’s safe.” She squeezes my hand, and then points to five free cots in the very back. “How about there?”
I nod, and we go dump our stuff on the beds. Even though I’ll probably end up moving my cot closer to my friends.
“What about Bubby?” I ask as I unpack my phone charger, my science book, a notebook, and some blank index cards. “We should’ve gone to pick her up.”
“I called earlier, and the senior center is bringing everyone here on buses. They’ll be here soon. Are you studying?” Mom looks at me as if it’s completely unheard of to make flash cards for your upcoming science test in a hurricane shelter.
“Of course.”
She shakes her head, but I can tell she’s smiling just a little. My heart soars. After the whole golf cart/police incident, I’ve been working overtime to get my grades back to normal and to prove to my parents that I’m still the same old Lauren. I was just sidetracked, is all, and now I’m 100 percent dedicated to my future. Unlike Zach, who just got his ACT score back. It’s actually not bad—he could’ve gotten into Raleigh State like Josh if he bothered to have decent grades. But when your GPA is something like 1.5, it’s kind of hard to convince colleges to take a chance on you.
Mom drifts off to watch the meteorologists on the TV set up in the corner. I’ve managed to tune out the constant chatter and babies crying and occasional laughter and actually have a good stack of flash cards going when Becca’s face pops up in front of my notes.
“Lauren! What are you doing, crazypants? Who studies when there’s a hurricane outside?” Her braces gleam in the fluorescent lights of the gym.
“There’s no hurricane yet, just some wind,” I inform her as I gently push her head away so I can see my notes again.
“We’re going to see what’s for lunch,” Sadie says from behind Becca.
Vi makes a face. “Do you think it’s the same food we get for school lunch? Last time I was here, it was.” Both Vi and Becca have done the school-shelter thing before, but it’s been a couple of years since the last time we had a hurricane headed this way.
“I bet it’s something better this time. Like those turkey-and-pear sandwiches from Pipin’ Hot Cafe. And cupcakes from Marks’.” Becca’s smile disappears as she runs a tongue over her teeth.
“I can’t believe they still hurt.” I feel kind of bad for Becca. And at the same time very thankful that I inherited already-straight teeth from my mom.
“A little, but they’re getting better,” she says. “Hey, maybe there’s soup!”
“Okay. Let me just finish this card.” I scratch out the last few words in a definition of osmosis. Then I tuck the flash cards into my pocket.
“Oh no. No, no, no. You’re not bringing that to lunch.” Becca tries to pull the cards out of my pocket, but I swat her hand away.
“Let her bring them,” Sadie says. “But at lunch we have to discuss a backup plan for the wedding.”
At the mention of the word “wedding,” my stomach gets all tangled up. Because, honestly, I don’t see how it’s going to happen if we’re all stuck here. I mean, the rehearsal was supposed to be at six o’clock tonight—three hours before the hurricane is predicted to make landfall. I don’t think we’re going to be rehearsing much of anything tonight, except maybe how to study when the power goes out.
“Do you think there will . . . ,” Vi starts to say as we make our way through the cots and people toward the gym door. She glances at Sadie as if she’s almost afraid to say any more. “I mean, can it happen tomorrow? If we’re all here and there’s a hurricane coming overnight?”
We pass the knot of people standing around the TV and stop as a unit when we hear the newscast. “The storm has reached sustained winds of seventy-five miles per hour and is now a Category One hurricane. The National Weather Service has declared a hurricane warning for the coasts of North and South Carolina. Don’t fool around with this storm, people. Get to a shelter immediately. Hurricane Susannah is due to make landfall somewhere in the Wilmington area around nine o’clock this evening. . . .”
Sadie’s biting her lip, and I can tell she’s trying hard not to cry. All this work, putting up with Miss Worthington, and it might be for nothing. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and squeeze. She gives me a tentative smile.
“It’ll be okay,” she says in a wobbly voice.
“Abso-posi-lutely,” Becca adds. “RSVP doesn’t give up that easily. We’ve taken on Linney Marks and her devious fashion show plans and a mob of boy-crazy eight-year-old girls. We’ll figure something out.”
I catch Mom’s eye and point to the door. She nods and goes back to watching the news.
“Come on,” I say decisively. “Let’s get some food, and then maybe we can come up with a contingency plan.”
“A what?” Vi asks as she pushes open the door.
“Contingency. A provision for an unforeseen event.”
“Huh?” Becca says.
“Never mind. A backup plan.” We head down the hall from the gym in the middle of the school toward the lobby and the main entrance. The entryway is full of tables set up with volunteers—including Vi’s dad, who organized the whole thing—to check people in. I hate to think of why the town wants to check people in. I mean, the only reason for keeping track of who shows up here is to account for missing people if the hurricane wipes out Sandpiper Beach. Which pulls up images of my house filling with water—all of Dad’s boat knickknacks and my It’s All Academic and spelling-bee trophies and Mom’s china floating around inside. Our house is
one of the oldest ones on the island, which means it was built without pilings. It just sits flat on the ground like a normal inland house, waiting to get flooded. Or worse, the wind blows so hard the house just disintegrates, and we have nothing left. Everything we have, gone. Just like that.
“Lauren?” Vi asks. “Are you okay?”
I swallow. “Yeah. It’s just a little scary, you know. This hurricane.”
She nods. “I know. Meemaw’s house is right on the beach.” Front row, meaning front lines for the hurricane.
I glance at my friends, who all look a little freaked out. Sadie’s house is just across from the cove at the end of the island, and Becca’s is right smack in the middle, not too far from the square.
Becca gives a nervous laugh. “Let’s go eat and talk about Lauren’s convict plan.”
“Contingency,” I correct her.
“Whatever. I’m starving.” She leads the way out of the lobby, with its giant Pirate Pelican looking down on us all, into the cafeteria.
I bring up the rear, after standing on my tiptoes to peek out the front doors’ windows. It looks the same outside as it did when Mom and I got here. Windy, no rain.
In the cafeteria, we collect food (lasagna, which is exactly what was on the menu for school lunch today) and gather at our usual table near the wall. It’s weird seeing so many adults and little kids here. Even Ms. Snyder, my math teacher, is sitting near the door with her husband and three children. I wave at Anna Wright and some other people from It’s All Academic.
“If I’d known this was going to be regular old school lunch,” Vi says as she picks at her lasagna, “I would’ve packed something like I usually do. I have some leftover tortellini and Alfredo sauce in the fridge at home that’s calling my name right now.”
Becca’s chewing very, very carefully, and Sadie just pushes her food around on her plate.
“Has anyone seen Miss Worthington?” I ask. I almost expect her to appear out of nowhere, demanding that we set up a wedding right here in the school cafeteria, complete with exotic flowers from Central American rain forests and neon lighting straight from Vegas.
“Not yet,” Sadie says.
“When she gets here, I think we need to hide,” Vi says. “The sports-equipment closet is big enough for us all.”
I kind of want to agree with Vi. Who wants to be stuck in a confined space with Alexandra Worthington breathing down our necks constantly?
“That’s crazy,” Becca says.
“No, she’s crazy,” Vi replies. “There are mats in there we could sleep on. Think of how peaceful it would be. Plus, we wouldn’t have to hear Linney.”
Linney’s voice is echoing above all the other chatter in the cafeteria, complaining about how her mother wouldn’t let her take more than one suitcase full of stuff to the shelter, and she had to leave behind her hair dryer and the dress she’d already bought for the winter mixer in December. And she’s saying all this to Lance, who’s stuck holding both his tray of food and hers. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere than here. Like, even facing down a hurricane on the pier right now.
Vi rolls her eyes.
“So, ideas, anyone?” I say, trying to distract Vi. “About the wedding, I mean? Just in case we can’t have it this weekend.”
We throw around a few thoughts, most of which I’m pretty sure Miss Worthington will hate and which will take weeks to put together. And that means weeks more of dealing with Miss Worthington, when we all thought our nightmare with her would be over after tomorrow.
We’re just finishing up when Sadie’s phone beeps. She looks at it, and then holds it out so we can all read the text.
Sadie-babe, Ikey and I are going to ride out this storm at his house. Come by in 15 and bring those favors. I want to make sure you used the dusky pink teacups instead of the rose pink.
“I’m sorry, what?” I blink at that text as if the words are going to change.
“She’s lost it,” Vi says.
“Don’t answer her,” Becca says.
“We have to say something.” Sadie’s turned her phone back around and is staring at the screen.
“Tell her that if she has even a shred of sense, she’ll get her butt down here now.” I push my tray aside and hold out my hand. “I’ll tell her.”
“No,” Sadie says. “We’re not making her mad.”
“It’s saving her life. I don’t care if she’s mad.”
“Fine, I’ll suggest it to her. Nicely.” Sadie’s quiet while she types. “Okay, how’s this? ‘We are at the middleschool shelter and not allowed to leave. Please come here. It’s not safe on the beach.’ ”
“I think you should add ‘you cray-cray’ to the end of that,” Becca advises.
“Um, no.” Sadie hits send.
“Hey, is that your dad?” Vi points somewhere past my shoulder.
I turn and spot Dad and Zach making their way through the crowd to the line for lunch. I jump up and race toward them, barreling into Dad, who’s soaking wet. I guess it’s started raining.
“You’re here!” I say, my voice muffled by his Sandpiper Beach Marina polo shirt.
“Of course we’re here,” he says, running a hand down my hair as I squeeze the breath out of him.
“Oof,” Zach says when I let go of Dad and launch myself at my brother.
“I was worried about you,” I say when I finally let go.
“You didn’t need to worry,” Dad says. “We’re all here and safe now.”
“Except Bubby,” I tell her. “Sandpiper Active Senior Living was supposed to send everyone in on buses.”
“They’ll be here soon, I’m sure,” Dad says, but his smile is pinched at the corners.
“Miss Worthington just texted back,” Vi informs me when I return to our table. “She doesn’t understand why we can’t leave the shelter and come to Ike’s.”
“And she’s not coming here. Totes cray-cray, I told you,” Becca adds. She passes me a pretty white-and-yellow-frosted cupcake. “Here, Mrs. Marks came by handing these out. Something about how they were for a birthday party today and she didn’t want them to go to waste.” Becca looks at the cupcake with sad eyes. “They make my teeth hurt.”
I peel the wrapper away and polish off the cupcake in a few bites. I figure it’s best to get rid of it so Becca doesn’t have to look at it longer than necessary. Plus, it’s really good.
“So, what did you say to Miss Worthington?” I ask Sadie after I swallow the last bite of cupcakey goodness.
She frowns. “Pretty much the same thing I said before. Then I told her my mom was making me turn off my phone to save the battery in case the power goes out. I feel bad lying to her.”
“Way better than, like, putting up with all her loconess all night,” Becca says.
I agree with Becca, but right now I’m actually worried about Miss Worthington and Ike fending off the hurricane in his beach house. It’s front row, too, like Vi’s house. “Do you think we should tell someone?” I ask my friends. “Like the police? Just so they know they’re out there in case . . .” I can’t finish the sentence.
Sadie nods. “Let’s go find an officer.”
“I think I saw Officer Davis at the door,” Vi says. “He was telling people they can’t bring in their pets.” She chews on her lip, and I know she’s thinking of her cat, Buster, at the animal shelter up in Wilmington.
“He’s gonna be fine,” Becca says. “He knows he’s coming back home. Cats are smart like that, you know?”
Vi gives her a slight smile as we all get up to deposit our trays and go back to the lobby. When we get there, Sadie spots Officer Davis at the door with Becca’s parents, talking to newcomers carrying in suitcases and bags of stuff. We push our way through the people to reach him.
Just as Sadie is telling him about Miss Worthington, a few volunteers, including Vi’s dad and Sadie’s mom, prop the front doors to the school open. Wind races in, rustling the papers on the check-in table and sending little droplets of rain
in to sting our faces. I hold a hand up in front of my face, and then I spot a school bus parked in the circular drive out front.
I recognize Lance’s dad and older brother helping people off the bus. Elderly people. My heart jumps. This is the bus from Sandpiper Active Senior Living! Which means that Bubby’s here. As volunteers guide the seniors in toward the check-in table, I stand on my tiptoes to look for Bubby.
Old Mrs. Crenshaw, who was the town librarian forever and ever until Miss Suzie took over, is the last one off. The driver pulls the door closed and the bus lurches forward. I squeeze past my friends to reach Lance’s dad.
“Mr. Travis, is there another bus from Sandpiper Active Senior Living coming?” I ask him.
He shakes his head. “They got all the residents onto this one, and the staff is coming over in their own vehicles.”
“Are you sure?”
“Pretty positive. How come?”
“My bubby should’ve been on that bus.” My heart is pumping into overdrive as I realize what’s going on. Bubby’s not here.
She’s missing.
• • •
It’s been two hours since the bus from Sandpiper Active Senior Living rolled in, and Bubby’s still not here. No one knows where she is. I’ve sent her texts, Mom and Dad have called her, and nothing. No answer. We’ve asked every staff person who’s come through the doors, and we get the same story.
“She left about noon with her scooter to go find Mr. Wheeler,” they all say. “He’d gone out for a walk to the water to see the waves and was supposed to have been back. She refused to leave without him, and we’re not a nursing home, so we couldn’t force her to stay.”
Dad alerted Officer Davis, who radioed Officer Rodriguez. He was going to search for them after he finished checking on Miss Worthington and Ike. Dad keeps pacing the lobby and threatening to look for them himself, but Mom’s insisting he stay here. “Putting yourself in danger won’t do anyone any good,” she says. “Officer Rodriguez will find them.”
Meanwhile the wind’s been picking up, the rain is coming down even harder, and the meteorologists on TV are saying the storm might reach speeds of a hundred miles an hour, which would turn the hurricane into a Category 2. But they aren’t sure if it’ll come right at us or veer out toward sea. I don’t care—I want Bubby here, right now.