net swishes with his three-point shot, and the players on the bench go absolutely nuts. Tory’s signature smirk crawls up into his cheek as he turns, and for a brief moment our eyes meet and I get an overwhelming sense that he’s showing off . . . for me.
The complete dominance doesn’t last forever, and by the time the first quarter ends, we’re only up by six. With my focus back where it should be, I stand and take advantage of the short break between quarters, tagging along with Lola to search for something sweet at the snack bar. I give her money while she stands in line and then rush to the dimly lit restroom, happy to find it completely empty.
It’s here, in the last stall of the gym lobby women’s restroom, that the first hint of something ominous finds my ears. I only recognize it because of the nightmares I’ve had most of my life. The deep moan that the wind makes—as though it’s alive, when a thunderstorm like this one crawls along the Indiana landscape—is undeniable. The forecast said rain, and it’s December, so this sound is unexpected—unwelcome. The last tornado to touch down remotely near Allensville in December happened eleven years ago.
It sounded just like this.
I finish my business quickly, rushing my hands under the sink water, and kicking open the door with a flourish that cracks the handle against the wall outside. My pulse is thumping throughout my entire body, but the beat is loudest in my head. It’s annoying because right now, more than any time ever in my life, I need to hear. My ears are the one sense I can count on against the dark sky outside.
I pop open the side door and breathe in the moisture, the air thick with dirt and destruction. A rumble echoes along the ground, different from thunder. This sound can be felt; the earth is being moved by nature, and the beast is coming for us.
“Tornado!” I scream over my shoulder, disobeying all the rules of calm civility I’ve been taught through every storm drill we’ve practiced at this school. That shit is out the window, because that wind is picking up, and the whistle is getting steadier—louder.
Lola is the first to react, dropping the pretzel and cheese she just spent a few bucks on before rushing over to see what I’m seeing.
“She’s right! Shelter!” Her voice crackles with panic. My voice disappears.
The next few seconds happen in blinks. I’m rushing toward the middle of the gym. Players are pushing, and whistles are blowing.
“Hey!” One of the referees grabs my arm, but his grip loosens the second more shouts echo my initial warning. His admonition quickly turns into crisis management as he motions me toward the double doors on the other end of the gym. His whistles morph into the kind that guide people where to go, and order in this chaos still feels achievable.
And then the lights flicker.
That’s when the screaming begins, somewhere along my route to the school’s storm shelter, a large, concrete corridor with zero windows and emergency lights buried in the walls. A blur of purple jerseys, the ones worn by the Vanguard team, surrounds me as their team runs past to safety, and a stray elbow cracks my nose with enough force that I’m instantly dizzy and on my ass.
The hit was hard enough that I might have passed out if it weren’t for the straight-up terror coursing through my veins. I manage to stumble to my knees when I’m instantly swept up in someone’s arms.
“I’m bleeding,” I mutter, my hand awkwardly assessing my nose. I expect a gush, but miraculously it’s only a few spots on my palm.
“You’re okay,” the familiar voice says.
My hand flattens against the chest of my rescuer, over the emblazoned number 2, damp with sweat with a wildly kicking heart underneath. I look up enough to see Tory’s worried eyes scanning for a way in. Too many people cram into one opening, and the lights have completely gone out. The backups will kick on, but not right away.
Tory bypasses the crowd still pushing to enter the tight hallway, running with me against his chest toward the men’s locker room. He pushes it open with his foot and weaves around rows of lockers and tiled walls until we’re in the center of the cluster of showers. He sets me down in front of a main pipe, and I wrap my hands and legs around it on instinct.