Hurricane Kiss by Deborah Blumenthal Page A

suggesting we drive back into the center of the storm? The hotels are all closed. What would we do, break in somewhere?”
    â€œI’m suggesting we think for ourselves,” I insist. “We could find a place to hole up. Something solid. The roads are totally open going back.” I see the look on his face. He never listens, never cares what I think.
    â€œExactly where would we go?”
    â€œA shelter or something. I’ll find a place. It beats sitting in the middle of a jam-packed highway like a target.”
    â€œOr something?” he repeats, like I’m crazy. “The traffic will pick up; it’ll start to move. At least we’re going in the right direction.”
    I stare at my dad, my fists tightening. “Just look at what’s ahead of you on the highway. You’re a prisoner. You don’t have a chance. Why is it so hard to admit you’re wrong?”

Chapter 8
    JILLIAN
    River pops pills, throws knives, and yells at the sky. I eat myself up inside with fear because time is running out. Which one of us is crazy? Which one is sane? Which one of us knows the right thing to do?
    Monster storm. Monster storm. I keep replaying the nightmare. Why did I have it? What did it mean—assuming dreams give you insights and aren’t just a jumble of your fears, the wreckage left behind from the storms in different chapters of your life.
    I go back to the day my dad left. I couldn’t breathe as I stared at him through my bedroom window and watched him get into the car and drive away, leaving us to get along on our own.
    But why did I dream it? Was it a warning about what was to come? Would I be orphaned again, this time by Danielle? Would I keep losing my way and be powerless to do anything about it?
    It wouldn’t be the first time someone dreamed what was later going to come true. It wouldn’t be the first time the future would have the power to affect the past, as crazy as that sounded. I ended up telling Kelly.
    â€œIt’s because you’re not from here and this is new to you,” she said. “We’re used to tornados and hurricanes and—” She waved it away. “We take it in stride because we get hit with crazy weather all the time, so we just ride it out.”
    â€œRide it out?”
    â€œShit happens here,” she said, “get used to it.” She laughed. “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.”
    Kelly was probably right. I tried to distract myself by keeping busy. As soon as I got home from school, I went swimming. If I was worn out, I’d crash when my head hit the pillow. Exhaustion would drive the nightmare away.
    Our pool is nothing fancy, just a big rectangle, half of it surrounded with plants with blue flowers that are bigger than snow cones. In the summer it’s my oasis of coolness and calm. While I was doing laps, I remembered something that happened before River disappeared from school. It was just a few months after he moved in next door. It was November, but it was still warm enough to swim.
    I wanted to work at the town pool for the summer instead of interning and being stuck inside an office all day, so I was determined to pass the lifeguard test. There were four parts to it. The first was to swim two hundred yards in four minutes or less. I measured off the distance, basically two-and-a-half laps in our pool. I was in the zone. In my fantasy I was an Olympic contender, training for the competition. I was so lost in my daydreams that I didn’t realize anyone else was around. Then I looked up.
    It was like seeing a mirage, ripples of heat distorting my vision. River was standing at the edge of the pool watching me, the late afternoon sun bathing him in a golden light. There was something surreal about seeing him still as a statue, unruly curls framing his face, red board shorts slung low on his hips.
    â€œYou scared me!” I tried to catch my breath, pushing the wet hair away