gestures to the cameraman on his left, never taking his eyes off Hallie. “Ask him. If he confirms I’m an executive producer, you have dinner with me. If not,
I
have dinner with
you
.”
“Ha-ha, very funny, Alex,” Hallie says, her voice flat. “But I think I’d rather hang out at that pig farm in the next county over.”
“Probably Alex’s mom is over there,” Mason chimes in. Next to me, Max guffaws so loudly that the camera lens finds us, and I look at the floor, mortified to be anywhere near their footage.
“It’s true,” the cameraman says as he pans away from us, finally, and back to Alex. “Alex Atkins is an executive producer at the Weather Network.”
“Good for him, then,” Hallie says. “But I’d still rather hang out at the pig farm.”
Alex ignores her and refocuses on Stephen and Ethan. “So deal or no deal, boys? Polly if we chase more twisters or get close enough to lose our shirts in an updraft, and the network if you do. What do you say?”
I can almost feel the dilemma tangling my brother’s brain. If next season they could have Polly
and
the network on them, they’d be the new A-listers of chasing. They might have better equipment too—after all, who knows what the network might give them, especially considering the Escalades parked at the next motel over.
But if they lost, they’d lose
big
. The cameras wouldn’t be such a hard defeat, since they never really had them in the first place. But losing Polly? They’d forfeit their edge, the technology that could set them apart. Losing Polly could mean losing
everything
.
Stephen raises an eyebrow at Ethan. “What do you think?” he says.
Ethan takes a breath, and right then, I know. This is going to be like the time Mom told him that he couldn’t get all B’s on his report card and, the next semester, he brought home all A’s. This is going to be like the time Tommy Letrowski boasted he could hold his hand over a candle for five seconds, and Ethan said he could do it for fifteen, and even though his flesh bubbled and smelled like charred barbecue, he didn’t once move it.
“We should do it,” Ethan says. “We got this.”
“All right,” Stephen agrees.
“Oh, just one more thing,” Alex says, before anyone can shake on the bet. “I think we should ensure the chase teams stay as intact as possible for the bet. If anyone from one of the teams goes AWOL, so to speak, that team forfeits automatically. Deal?”
I look at Max, who shrugs, clearly as confused as I am. Stephen’s hands clench, like he wants to grab Alex’s jugular and start squeezing at any moment.
“Fine,” Ethan says quickly. “Whatever.” He extends his hand. Alex grins and shakes it. Alex offers his hand to Stephen, who pauses long enough to have everyone shifting uncomfortably. Finally, they shake.
“Gonna be a hell of a season,” Alex says, heading for the door.
The cameras are still rolling when they leave the room.
Rather than watch the Twister Blisters and their TV crew file out, I put my back to the scene, my insides heavy. That felt . . . gross. Like I was watching a corrupt deal go down in a back alley or something. It was also completely confusing. I have no idea what the part about the teams remaining intact meant.
Max elbows me. “If you’re worried about the bet, don’t sweat it. Alex has been spending more time lately fixing his hair than plotting storm courses. It means we’re missing tornadoes.”
“Really?”
“Really. And Alex might be a Weather Network executive producer, but that doesn’t mean the Twister Blisters are the only game in town. I heard one of the guys in our group saying the network’s considering covering the Hail Yeahs too.
This season
.”
“Thanks,” I say to Max. He’s trying to be encouraging, which is sweet of him. Not to mention Max’s face is open and kind, and right then I think it’s too bad he’s interning for the Twister Blisters and not the Torbros.
We both get to our
I
have dinner with
you
.”
“Ha-ha, very funny, Alex,” Hallie says, her voice flat. “But I think I’d rather hang out at that pig farm in the next county over.”
“Probably Alex’s mom is over there,” Mason chimes in. Next to me, Max guffaws so loudly that the camera lens finds us, and I look at the floor, mortified to be anywhere near their footage.
“It’s true,” the cameraman says as he pans away from us, finally, and back to Alex. “Alex Atkins is an executive producer at the Weather Network.”
“Good for him, then,” Hallie says. “But I’d still rather hang out at the pig farm.”
Alex ignores her and refocuses on Stephen and Ethan. “So deal or no deal, boys? Polly if we chase more twisters or get close enough to lose our shirts in an updraft, and the network if you do. What do you say?”
I can almost feel the dilemma tangling my brother’s brain. If next season they could have Polly
and
the network on them, they’d be the new A-listers of chasing. They might have better equipment too—after all, who knows what the network might give them, especially considering the Escalades parked at the next motel over.
But if they lost, they’d lose
big
. The cameras wouldn’t be such a hard defeat, since they never really had them in the first place. But losing Polly? They’d forfeit their edge, the technology that could set them apart. Losing Polly could mean losing
everything
.
Stephen raises an eyebrow at Ethan. “What do you think?” he says.
Ethan takes a breath, and right then, I know. This is going to be like the time Mom told him that he couldn’t get all B’s on his report card and, the next semester, he brought home all A’s. This is going to be like the time Tommy Letrowski boasted he could hold his hand over a candle for five seconds, and Ethan said he could do it for fifteen, and even though his flesh bubbled and smelled like charred barbecue, he didn’t once move it.
“We should do it,” Ethan says. “We got this.”
“All right,” Stephen agrees.
“Oh, just one more thing,” Alex says, before anyone can shake on the bet. “I think we should ensure the chase teams stay as intact as possible for the bet. If anyone from one of the teams goes AWOL, so to speak, that team forfeits automatically. Deal?”
I look at Max, who shrugs, clearly as confused as I am. Stephen’s hands clench, like he wants to grab Alex’s jugular and start squeezing at any moment.
“Fine,” Ethan says quickly. “Whatever.” He extends his hand. Alex grins and shakes it. Alex offers his hand to Stephen, who pauses long enough to have everyone shifting uncomfortably. Finally, they shake.
“Gonna be a hell of a season,” Alex says, heading for the door.
The cameras are still rolling when they leave the room.
Rather than watch the Twister Blisters and their TV crew file out, I put my back to the scene, my insides heavy. That felt . . . gross. Like I was watching a corrupt deal go down in a back alley or something. It was also completely confusing. I have no idea what the part about the teams remaining intact meant.
Max elbows me. “If you’re worried about the bet, don’t sweat it. Alex has been spending more time lately fixing his hair than plotting storm courses. It means we’re missing tornadoes.”
“Really?”
“Really. And Alex might be a Weather Network executive producer, but that doesn’t mean the Twister Blisters are the only game in town. I heard one of the guys in our group saying the network’s considering covering the Hail Yeahs too.
This season
.”
“Thanks,” I say to Max. He’s trying to be encouraging, which is sweet of him. Not to mention Max’s face is open and kind, and right then I think it’s too bad he’s interning for the Twister Blisters and not the Torbros.
We both get to our
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