|illustration by NOAA from Unsplash|
Megan doesn't even bother to pull off the road. My ballsy friend parks in the westbound lane of Highway 57, right in front of the barricade. We duck under the police tape and walk as close as we dare to the crumbled brick and twisted metal remains of Mason Academy, the small private school we were supposed to graduate from next June.
The air smells hot, charred, like the stand of blackened trees bordering the now mangled electrical substation. Mr. Henry's brand new barn can't be more than a hundred yards from the debris field, standing there completely unharmed. It's amazing what was hit and what's left intact, like some petulant giant stomped down the road, destroying only the structures that lay in its path.
"Mother of shit," Megan mumbles. "This is just..."
She nudges the corner of a mud-caked textbook with her foot and my chest goes tight.
Tighter.
When Dad told me our school was hit, I pictured a tornado sucking up part of the roof—and maybe having its way with the iconic blue and yellow bleachers on the Home side of our football field. But this is decimation.
"I thought I'd be happy to see it this way," Megan says. "Does that make me an ass?"
"You don't look happy."
She turns to face me. Her dark eyebrows knit together. "Are you crying?"
"No," I say, but the corners of my eyes are stinging.
"Thea, stop it. You're gonna make me cry."
I swipe a finger under each eye and dry them on my t-shirt. "We should leave before someone comes."
"I'm surprised we're the only ones here," she says, taking a 360-degree survey, arms lifted, palms open to the sun.
I point to the fresh flower wreath lying across the collapsed flagpole. It marks the spot where they found Billy Daniels' body—almost a mile from the Quick Mart, where he was working yesterday morning when the storm hit.
Megan squats in front of the lonely tribute, reaches out but then curls her fingers in, draws her hand back. I fold my arms across my chest. It's ninety degrees and I have goose bumps.
"We should have brought something," I say, barely getting the words out. I didn't know Billy but he has a family—a sister younger than me—and I want them to know someone cares.
"We will. We'll raid my mom's flower garden and come back."
"Let's do it now."
A car engine revs, making my heart jump. Megan springs up, cursing. A familiar white truck is parked next to her car. "Did you call him?" she asks.
"No." Calling Glenn is a waste of energy.
He climbs out of the cab and walks toward us, footsteps heavy, shoulders low.
"How did you find me?" I call out.
"Your mom told me who you were with. Wasn't hard to guess where."
I duck back under the police tape, ease into open arms. His kiss is brief but hungry, like the one on my front porch yesterday after he listened to the panicked messages I left on his voicemail. When I pull back, a few strands of my hair catch in the pale scruff on his unshaven jaw. He liberates them with a gentle hand, tucks them behind my ear and his eyebrows lower with some thought he'll never express.
"Why did you come find me?" I ask.
"I'm driving to Chesapeake for generators. Want to keep me company?" His eyes shift to Megan. "Plenty of room for both of you."
YOU ARE READING
Goodbye Yellow Brick Road ✔︎
Teen FictionWhen seventeen-year-old Thea Allen's small-town private school is destroyed by a tornado, her mother seizes the opportunity to expose her to new experiences and new people. Translation: Mom wants to put hundreds of miles between Thea and her forever...
