The Hurricane (3 page)

“The party’ll just move inside if it rains. Besides, I hear
the storm is dying down and moving more south. It’ll probably hit Florida and
cross over into the gulf.”

“Shit always hits Florida, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah. I think God shaped it like a penis on purpose just so
he could have fun kicking it repeatedly.”

“Haha.”

“So, are you going to the party?”

Daniel stopped at the curb. He saw his sister in a cluster
of freshman girls a dozen feet away. They were giggling amongst themselves,
staring at their phones, a few of them holding theirs up to take pictures or
videos of the others.

“I dunno,” Daniel said. “It’s not really my scene.”

“We don’t
have
a scene,” Roby said. “But you should
come. I’d like you to meet Jada. Jeremy will be cool with it.”

“Okay. Maybe. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow if I don’t see
you online tonight.”

“Sounds good,” Roby said. He waved before heading through
the long file of idling cars and toward the cluster of grumbling buses beyond.

Daniel was helping set the tray tables out when his mom
pulled up the driveway. It was seven fifteen. He could set his watch to her
coming home two hours late, right on the dot. She did it every single evening
and always apologized for “being late,” even though she couldn’t have been more
consistently punctual if she’d been German and a train.

Carlton shuffled through the room—his tie off and shirt
untucked—and portioned out a
Friday’s
frozen skillet
sensation-or-something-other onto four plates. Zola staggered around, one thumb
texting, the other hand clutching silverware. Once Daniel had the last tray set
up, he took the bundle of utensils from his sister and had his usual nightly
mental debate over which side the fork and knife went on.

“Fork on the left,” Carlton said as he slopped a pile of
braised-something and julienned-something-else out of a steaming bag and onto a
plate.

Daniel grabbed the remote and started searching through the
DVR’s list of last-week’s shows as the burglar alarm chimed his mother’s
entrance. The door flew open in the middle of a conversation, his mother
explaining to someone else that they were doing something wrong. Daniel chose
“House,” his mother’s favorite, and fast-forwarded to the opening scene. He
paused it there and went to help with drinks while Zola laughed at something on
her phone, shaking her head in bemusement.

In the kitchen, his mother’s cellphone snapped shut,
followed immediately by loud and perfunctory kisses. A purse jangled to a heap
on the counter. A jacket was tossed over the back of a chair. Someone
complained about their feet, another mentioned a sore back. His mother
apologized for being late.

“Are we ready to eat?” she asked. “Wrap that up,” she told
Zola, suddenly impatient with other people using their phones.

The four of them filed into the living room, and Daniel
handed the remote to Carlton, who would writhe as if in pain at anyone else’s
incompetent attempts to skip commercials in the least optimum way possible.

“House,” he said, looking at the frozen image on the screen.

Daniel’s mom squinted at the TV. “Is it one we haven’t
seen?”

“Can I eat in my room?” Zola asked.

“No you can not,” their mother said. “Your friends do not
want to watch you eat on their webcams while you talk with your mouth full.”
She jabbed her fork at the TV. “Now sit and enjoy your food while we have some
family time.”

“Hunter said he had a group project for school, so he’s
ordering pizza at a classmate’s house,” Carlton said. He aimed the remote at
the TV while their mom swiveled her head around to confirm for herself that her
eldest child wasn’t in the room.

“Group project? The first week of school?”

“He’s in college, now,” Carlton reminded her.

“Community,” Daniel reminded them both.

His mom shot him a look. The TV lurched into motion, showing
a young girl laboring the final hundred yards of a marathon, her face contorted
in a mask of discomfort, sweat coming off her in sheets.

“She’s not the one,” Zola and Daniel said in unison.

They glanced over at each other and smiled.

The camera panned to a cup of proffered water, grabbed at on
the run and sloshed on the girl’s head. Then the scene cut to a young man in
the crowd, clapping and egging her on.

“
He’s
the one,” their mother said, laughing.

Sure enough, as the ribbon parted across the young woman’s
chest, her friend in the crowd collapsed, clutching his own. Forks tinked on
plates, and the four of them laughed. The spectator crumbled into a heap just
as the theme music and opening credits began.

Daniel dove into his food while Carlton worked his magic on
the commercials. He didn’t need to see the rest of the show, anyway; it would
only be slightly less formulaic than the transparent intro. He was more excited
to get family time over with and get upstairs to see who was online before
passing out for the night.

While Daniel and the town of Beaufort slept, two hurricanes
gathered steam. One was Anna, the first named storm of the annual hurricane
season. She slowly took shape North of the Bahamas, her malformed eye finally
winking open, her lungs filling with the powerful warmth of the Gulf Stream.

The other brewing storm was the pervasive digital one
sparking at all times through the air. It was the dozens of conflicting weather
reports, the several track projections, the weather channels and hurricane
centers. The paradox of the digital age was that this plethora of information
made it more difficult to hear. With so much available to the consumer, it was
easier than ever to tune out
all
of it.

Weather warnings and urgent updates still scrolled along at
the bottom of network television shows, but these were recorded on DVRs. They
wouldn’t be seen until it was too late. Nothing was “live” anymore. Community
service warnings had transformed into recorded history, reminding viewers of
weather that had already blown through. When a flood warning appeared, it
merely explained the previous week’s heavy rains.

“Oh, look, that’s about the storm we had last week.”

“So
that’s
why American Idol didn’t record the other
day. I’m telling you, we’ve got to switch to cable.”

“I wish they’d take these stupid messages off. I can’t see
the bloody score!”

Car radios still beeped with that awful broadcast from the
emergency warning system (only a test, of course), but ears were tuned to
iPods, ripped CDs, and satellite radio. The storm brewing off the East coast
was literally drowned out by the storm that hung invisible in the air at all times.
And amid this virtual sea of information, storms could jog their paths ever so
slightly and do so unnoticed. Probability cones might creep, experts might
jabber, poncho-packing reporters might cancel hotel reservations and make new
ones, but it would be a full day, maybe two, before anyone else noticed. There
were more important things to tune into: like Jeremy Stevens’s party, who was
going, and what to wear.

By Friday afternoon, as projected course cones crept
northward and experts explained how a front moving across the Midwest was
deflecting Anna more than expected, Daniel was standing by the car pickup area
giving into his best friend’s demands and agreeing to go to the party.

“So you’ll come?” Roby looked doubtful.

“I said I would.”

“Do you need a ride? I could see if Jada will stop by and
get you.”

Daniel waved his friend off. “Don’t worry about it.
Carlton’s taking his car into the shop after he drops us off at home, but
Hunter said he’d give me a lift with mom’s car. It’s on the way to his girlfriend’s
house.”

Roby reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone, which
must’ve been vibrating. He glanced at the screen and started typing a response,
somehow able to converse with Daniel at the same time.

“Is your brother still seeing that oriental chick?”

“Her name’s Chen. And that’s offensive.”

Roby glanced up from his text message. “What?
Chick?”

“Oriental. Rugs are oriental. People are Asian. Think of the
continent they live on.”

“Whatever. What’s racist is naming your Asian child ‘Chen.’
That’s asking for trouble.”

Daniel slapped Roby on the back. “My racist Jewish friend. I
love it.”

“Now
that’s
racist.”

“Whatever. Hey, my ride’s here and your bus isn’t gonna wait
for you.” Daniel waved to his sister and hitched his backpack up. As he walked
toward Carlton’s car, he heard Roby calling out after him:

“Okay, but I’d better see you there tonight!”

••••

Daniel spent the afternoon pacing around the house, waiting
on his brother to get ready. Hunter’s inability to get anywhere on time meant
Daniel was fashionably late to the party, but was sweating and anxious by the
time he arrived.

Jeremy Stevens lived on a cul-de-sac, which was already
lined two deep with cars when they arrived. Daniel cracked the passenger door
of his mother’s Taurus, and thuds of bass music rattled from Jeremy’s house to
compete with the roar of Hunter’s heavy metal.

“Be right here at midnight!” Hunter yelled over the noise. A
shrieking bout of laughter erupted from a cluster of girls and somehow pierced
the mix of music.

“I’ll call you if I find a ride,” Daniel yelled back. He
gave his brother a thumbs-up, which won a pair of rolled eyes. His bother
started pulling away in the Taurus before Daniel had a chance to slam the door.
The car’s acceleration did it for him.

“Who’s that?” someone in the yard yelled at him. “No
randos!”

Daniel turned to the house to see silhouettes scattered
across the front yard, embers glowing as smokers inhaled. An empty grocery bag
buzzed past on a stiff breeze. Daniel looked to the sky behind him and realized
it was much darker than it should’ve been. The feeder bands were already
reaching overhead, blotting out the waning rays of the summer’s late setting
sun. The last Daniel had heard, the storm was moving a bit more north, starting
the habitual hysteria in Charleston that had become an annual event ever since
Hugo crushed the peninsula two decades ago.

“I think it’s that creeper,” someone else said, their voice
drifting along with the music.

Daniel ignored the smattering of kids in the yard. He weaved
his way down a driveway stuffed with cars and headed for the side door. A
handful of kids were in one of the cars, bright orange dots flaring out with
inhalations, then dying down in a cloud of smoke. Coughing broke out, followed
by laughter.

The garage door was open, a crowd spilling out of it. Daniel
made his way through. A kid he somewhat recognized from school sat behind a
card table, selling red plastic cups for ten bucks. A keg in the corner of the
garage couldn’t have been getting more attention if it had on a mini skirt.
Daniel waved the kid off and squeezed his way inside.

Around the line of girls snaking back from what Daniel
assumed was a bathroom, he caught a glimpse of Jeremy Stevens directing
traffic. Daniel went the other way, into the dining room where two wannabe DJs
had their turntables set up. Wires snaked everywhere; two egg crates full of
LPs sat on chairs to either side, and both boys held their headphones to their
ears, nodding their heads off beat to what could only be different tunes than
the one playing. Speakers stacked in one corner rattled the windows with great
puffs of bass. Daniel could feel his shirt flutter against his chest as he
walked by. It was too loud to even think in the room. He pushed his way through
as quick as he could.

In the next room, Daniel stumbled onto a videogame
tournament of some sort. An extra TV had been set up, and eight boys sprawled
across sofas and chairs with an equal number of dead-bored girlfriends. Both
TVs were broken into four squares, each square with its own gun bobbing in the
center, chasing after something to kill. Somebody knocked over a plastic cup
full of beer, which led to more screaming and cursing. A girl squealed and
clutched her dress.

“Daniel!”

A hand slapped down on his shoulder; Daniel turned to see
Roby grinning at him, a plastic red cup in his hand.

“You drinking?”

“Jada’s driving,” Roby said.

Daniel looked around. “Where is she?”

“Bathroom. Hey, Amanda Hicks is here.”

Daniel felt his temperature rise. Amanda Hicks was the first
girl he’d ever kissed. Or she, at least, had kissed him. Or something. She was
a wolf in sheep’s clothing, a vixen who could disappear around school, then
leap out while you’re waiting on the bus one day and swirl her tongue in your
mouth. Daniel was equal parts frightened by and in love with her.

“You want a cup?” Roby waved the yeasty scent of cheap beer
in Daniel’s face.

“Nah. I told my mom I wouldn’t.”

“Me too,” Roby said, his voice rattling around in his raised
cup. He took a long swig, then wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Hey, maybe the
three of us will go swimming later.”

Daniel peeked through the living room and out to the
partially lit deck. Each time the sliding glass doors opened, they let in the
sounds of laughter, of girls squealing, and water splashing.

“I didn’t bring my trunks, and besides, we’re supposed to
get all kinds of rain from that storm.”

Roby rolled his eyes. “You’re in a pool, asshole. You’re
already wet. Hey, here’s Jada.”

Daniel looked over his shoulder to see a girl heading their
way, a coy smile on her face. Jada was beautiful. Daniel nearly blurted it out
loud, he was so surprised. She wasn’t gorgeous, not like a model, she was too
short for that. But when he pictured a girl dating his friend Roby, he imagined
someone overweight with bad skin and thick glasses. Jada was none of those
things.