And then the lights go out entirely. The hallway is lit by the blue light of cell phones. Some students are laughing and making jokes, but I hear a few quiet sobs.
Panic claws at my chest. I wish I could see outside, but the whole purpose of having us here in this hallway is that there are no windows. I pull my knees in to my chest and duck my head in between my legs, not really caring much that I’m in a dress.
Freddie traces patterns into the bare skin of my back, just like he did when Hattie was in the hospital.
Every time I close my eyes, all I can imagine is going home to a slab of concrete and a missing sister. I was so stupid to think I could ever protect her. That I could ever create a real, lasting life for us in that dilapidated trailer.
Above and all around us, the walls and ceiling begin to shake like a freight train is running through the hallway. Ruthie curls into a ball under my jacket at my side, and Igrip her hand tightly. Freddie takes off his jacket and holds it over all three of us. I hold on to his leg with my free hand. Dust and drywall falls around us. There’s screaming and crying. It echoes until I can’t tell which howling is louder: the people or the storm.
Wherever Mrs. Treviño has gone, she’s not bothering to comfort us anymore. In the face of Mother Nature, there is no sympathy. She doesn’t care if you’re poor or straight or gay or a guy or a girl. She only cares if you are in her path.
I can’t tell how long we’re sitting there for. It could be two minutes or it could be thirty. But eventually the world stops shaking and everyone slowly quiets. As if we’re all playing dead, waiting for the storm to move on to her next victims.
“Are you okay?” Freddie asks. “Are you both okay?”
I nod as he drapes his jacket over my shoulders. I shine my cell phone light on Adam and Sophia. “Are you guys all right?”
They both nod, but I can see they’re both in about as much shock as everyone else.
“I need to go,” I say. “I need to leave.”
“Is everyone all right?” Mrs. Treviño calls. A bright flashlight flicks on at the end of the hallway. “We’ve got to do a head count before anyone can leave.”
And that causes an immediate uproar from everyone, including me.
“The louder you are,” she shouts, “the more difficult this will be and the longer it will take.”
On the other side of the hallway, I hear someone say,“My dad says everything south of the tracks is wiped.”
My heart plummets into my stomach. I pull my cell phone out again. “I don’t have any bars. Does anyone have any bars?”
“I’ve got nothing,” says Freddie.
“Me neither,” confirms Ruthie. “Oh, wait. Hang on. Here’s something from Saul. It says to call him.”
She tries over and over, but nothing.
I wait in agony for I don’t know how long until finally my phone is struck with several notifications at once. I read them all in rapid succession. “Holy shit. Holy shit.” I stand and run past the chaperone at the end of the hallway. Freddie and Ruthie are close behind.
“Ramona!” calls Freddie. “Slow down! You don’t have a way to get anywhere without me.”
“You three!” shouts someone behind us, but no one has time to chase us down as we bolt through the exit.
“We gotta go,” I shout as I frantically search the parking lot for Agnes’s Cadillac. I turn to them both. “Hattie’s having the baby early. I need to get to the hospital. She’s having an emergency C-section.”
FORTY-THREE
In the dark of night, it’s difficult to see any damage outside, but somehow, I can sense it.
Freddie clicks Agnes’s key chain, and I follow the flashing headlights to the last row of the parking lot, where the three of us find a downed tree resting on the hood of the Cadillac.
“Shit,” says Freddie.
I turn to him. “We can move it.”
And we do. The tree isn’t all that big. It leaves a dent in the hood, but after some grunting we’re able to roll it off onto the grass in front of the car.
We all pile in. The streets are eerily quiet except for a few police cars and ambulances speeding down the roads with their lights all lit up and sirens singing.
