Hugh Howey - The Hurricane

“A Zune, eh?” Anna picked up his music player and squinted at it, then looked up and squinted even harder at Daniel, like she was looking past some glaring flaw to see if she still approved of him.

“I woulda pegged you as an iPod kinda guy.”

The way she said it made it sound as if she might’ve disapproved even further of that.

“What do you use?” Daniel asked.

“I don’t really do music,” she said. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and stared at Daniel. He saw for the first time that her eyes were green. He memorized that in case there was ever a quiz between them, some marital dispute about how little he truly knew her.

She turned away and reached inside the small house. “Looks like you two are done.” She unplugged the two devices on the shelves and moved them to a separate waiting area.

“Are those yours?” he asked.

She shook her head. Her hair was so fine, it laid so silky flat on her head, that Daniel could see the shape of her skull beneath. He admired the way the back of her head curved out like a bowl and swept back to her neck, which was half exposed by the parting curtain of brown locks. Her skull seemed loaded with brilliant nerve endings, like Daniel could just cup it in his hand and feel the electrical shocks zap his palm.

“They belong to the Michelsons across the street,” she said, turning to face him. “My dad has a cell phone, but he hasn’t even tried to turn it on.” She held out a palm and curled her fingers. “Lemme see your chargers.”

Daniel handed them over one at a time. Anna took the time to check the back of each, reading out the wattage and nodding.

“What were you saying about studies?” Daniel asked. “Is your dad making you do schoolwork?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “School might be closed for you, but mine’s still standing.” She glanced up at the brick face of her house.

“You’re homeschooled ?” Daniel asked.

Anna frowned. “You say that like I belong to some kind of satanic cult.”

Daniel laughed. “I’m sorry. It’s not that, it’s just that I was wondering why I’ve never seen you around school.”

“Oh.” She studied the last power brick. “Four point two watts,” she said, “so you have a total of just under seventeen.”

“Is that bad?” He couldn’t believe he was crouched down so close to her, that they were just talking , like they’d always known each other.

“It’s fine. I think the panel and inverter can handle around twenty.” She looked up at the sky, which was scattered with only the barest of gossamer-thin cirrus clouds. “I’d say these’ll be done by lunchtime or a little later.” Daniel handed her the cellphones and Zune one at a time, and Anna inserted the plugs that fit each one.

“So I should come back around then?” Daniel pictured coming over and grabbing the devices without her help. The thought depressed him. He looked across the street at another house full of people he didn’t know. He thought it was likely that a good-looking boy lived there who was also homeschooled and was Anna’s boyfriend. He felt the dangerous urge to ask her if she was seeing anyone—

“Come back at noon,” she said. She stood up and rested her hands on her hips. Daniel fumbled with the zippers on his backpack, then slung the now-light sack over his shoulder. “If you want, you can eat lunch with us,” she said. “It’s nothing special. We’re just having some salad to use up the tomatoes and cukes that survived the storm.” She frowned. “Of course, you don’t have to, you can always just pick up your things whenever—”

“Of course,” Daniel said. “I’d love to.” He nodded. “Noon.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a salad, much less as an entire meal, but it sounded like the most appetizing thing in the world right then.

Anna smiled. She held out her hand. Daniel grabbed it and felt her pump his arm up and down. “See you then,” she said.

Daniel practically skipped home, his hand and cheeks burning. The sweat from the humid Beaufort air stuck his shirt to his chest and back, but hardly bothered him. The awkward goodbye, the way Anna’s perfect eyes had darted about while waiting for him to accept her invitation, the handshake: Daniel was thrilled with the stiffness of it all. It was like every stuttering encounter he’d ever had with the opposite sex, but this time it had been mutual! She was almost as awkward as he was.

He ran past one of the brush piles and breathed in the air of injured timber and tree sap. He was pretty sure he was in love. His legs felt at once light and powerful with it, as if he could run a marathon. His brain tingled with the newness, the feeling of being let in to some august and exclusive club. He suddenly knew what so many others must’ve known for much longer. He could feel his hatred and envy of Roby dissipate. Even as he no longer cared about the storm’s aftermath or the loss of power, he desperately wished for some temporary line of communication, some way to tell his best friend that he was no longer a loser for not having a girlfriend and that Roby was lucky to have someone as well.

“Oh my god,” Daniel said to himself, slowing to a walk. “I’m losing my fucking mind.”

Some girl had invited him to share some salad for lunch, and now he was wondering if it would be better, for their future family, to have a boy first or a girl first. There were good arguments for both ways. An older brother could look after his sister, or he could torment her. Daniel was moving right past losing his virginity to wondering what kind of parent he’d be.

“I’m a fucking idiot,” he said to himself.

The deflated sensation intensified as he entered his cul-de-sac and saw his father hoisting a massive limb before letting it flop down on top of the growing debris pile. Daniel used the bottom of his shirt to wipe the sweat from his forehead. As he started up the driveway, he scanned the yard for his sister, but didn’t see her anywhere. His mom was also absent. Carlton had moved off to another tree with the chainsaw; the last tree had become nothing more than a dashed outline of its former self, a line of sawdust marching down the row of jumbled logs. Daniel waved at Carlton as he peered up at him through his safety goggles. His stepdad pointed in a tall arch as if over the house, signifying perhaps that the rest of his family was in the back yard.

Daniel dropped his book bag by the garage and hurried around to the back of the house. Yet another pile of twisted limbs lay jumbled at the end of the drive. His mother and sister were just beyond it, talking to one another, their gloves off.

“Am I interrupting?”

Daniel walked slowly in their direction. Zola turned her back. His mom wiped at her eyes and shook her head.

“You guys need any help back here?”

“We’re fine,” his mom said, which was the opposite of how they looked.

“How long is he gonna stay?” Daniel asked, taking a guess at what was upsetting them.

“He says he has a friend in Charleston he can stay with,” Daniel’s mom said. “So just until the phones work or he can get a ride some other way.”

“And we’re gonna make him sleep in the toolshed until then?”

“He’s not staying in the house,” Zola said, her voice as broken up as the tree out front. She kept her back turned; her hands went to her face. Their mom stepped closer and put an arm around her shoulders. She looked back toward Daniel.

“I think there’s more for you to do in the front yard.”

Daniel let out a sigh. He hated being excluded, but he thought he understood their wanting to be alone. “He says he’s quit drinking,” Daniel told them. It felt like a feeble attempt. His mom glowered at him over her shoulder, her brow wrinkled and lips drawn tight. Daniel turned and headed back around the house, his elation from a few minutes prior completely and utterly smashed.