You’re Invited Too (19 page)

Mom tugs Izzy over the back of the couch so she lands on top of us, then tickles her. “A list, huh? I don't know, Sades. I think we might have yet another party planner in the Pleffer family.”

The giggles from all three of us drown out the light wind that's starting to blow outside.

The following are suggested items to bring

with you to a storm shelter. Please bring only

essentials and limit your belongings to:

•
 personal toiletries

•
 pillows, blankets, and other bedding

(cots will be provided)

•
 nonperishable food items to snack on

•
 change of clothes

•
 baby supplies, if applicable

•
 medications

•
 cash

•
 battery-operated radio and flashlight

•
 important documents such as birth or marriage

certificates, insurance policies, and social security cards

•
 board games, cards, or other forms of entertainment

angst
noun -

a feeling of being worried or nervous; anxiety about a situation

Use in a sentence:

This hurricane is causing RSVP—and Alexandra Worthington—a lot of angst.

S
andpiper Beach Middle School looks just like those places you see on TV that have been turned into shelters from natural disasters. Cots marching in lines down the gym, volunteers running around all over, and tables set up everywhere with people playing cards, talking on their phones, or doing work on tablets and laptops.

Except it's not on TV. It's real.

I'd say it's no big deal, but honestly . . . I'm a little scared. Instead of waking up to go to school for English and science this morning, I woke up to go to school with my mom, bags of our stuff, and the entire population of the island. (Which is only 4,042 people, but when everyone's stuffed into SBMS, it looks more like the population of New York City.) Plus, it's weird to see the gym—a place I normally avoid like the plague because I have a genuine fear of basketballs and volleyballs and pretty much anything that requires me to be the least bit coordinated—turned into a giant motel. Usually we have enough warning that Mom takes me and my brothers to our aunt Leticia's in High Point, while Dad sticks around for marina emergencies. But not this time. This storm came up so
fast
.

“When will Dad and Zach get here?” I ask Mom as she's surveying the cots. They went out at first light to finish nailing boards on the windows of the marina office and to help customers prepare their boats to survive the storm.

“Soon, honey, I promise. Your dad's been through this before, and he won't stay out longer than it's safe.” She squeezes my hand, and then points to five free cots in the very back. “How about there?”

I nod, and we go dump our stuff on the beds. Even though I'll probably end up moving my cot closer to my friends.

“What about Bubby?” I ask as I unpack my phone charger, my science book, a notebook, and some blank index cards. “We should've gone to pick her up.”

“I called earlier, and the senior center is bringing everyone here on buses. They'll be here soon. Are you studying?” Mom looks at me as if it's completely unheard of to make flash cards for your upcoming science test in a hurricane shelter.

“Of course.”

She shakes her head, but I can tell she's smiling just a little. My heart soars. After the whole golf cart/police incident, I've been working overtime to get my grades back to normal and to prove to my parents that I'm still the same old Lauren. I was just sidetracked, is all, and now I'm 100 percent dedicated to my future. Unlike Zach, who just got his ACT score back. It's actually not bad—he could've gotten into Raleigh State like Josh if he bothered to have decent grades. But when your GPA is something like 1.5, it's kind of hard to convince colleges to take a chance on you.

Mom drifts off to watch the meteorologists on the TV set up in the corner. I've managed to tune out the constant chatter and babies crying and occasional laughter and actually have a good stack of flash cards going when Becca's face pops up in front of my notes.

“Lauren! What are you doing, crazypants? Who studies when there's a
hurricane
outside?” Her braces gleam in the fluorescent lights of the gym.

“There's no hurricane yet, just some wind,” I inform her as I gently push her head away so I can see my notes again.

“We're going to see what's for lunch,” Sadie says from behind Becca.

Vi makes a face. “Do you think it's the same food we get for school lunch? Last time I was here, it was.” Both Vi and Becca have done the school-shelter thing before, but it's been a couple of years since the last time we had a hurricane headed this way.

“I bet it's something better this time. Like those turkey-and-pear sandwiches from Pipin' Hot Cafe. And cupcakes from Marks'.” Becca's smile disappears as she runs a tongue over her teeth.

“I can't believe they still hurt.” I feel kind of bad for Becca. And at the same time very thankful that I inherited already-straight teeth from my mom.

“A little, but they're getting better,” she says. “Hey, maybe there's soup!”

“Okay. Let me just finish this card.” I scratch out the last few words in a definition of
osmosis
. Then I tuck the flash cards into my pocket.

“Oh no. No, no, no. You're not bringing that to lunch.” Becca tries to pull the cards out of my pocket, but I swat her hand away.

“Let her bring them,” Sadie says. “But at lunch we have to discuss a backup plan for the wedding.”

At the mention of the word “wedding,” my stomach gets all tangled up. Because, honestly, I don't see how it's going to happen if we're all stuck here. I mean, the rehearsal was supposed to be at six o'clock tonight—three hours before the hurricane is predicted to make landfall. I don't think we're going to be rehearsing much of anything tonight, except maybe how to study when the power goes out.

“Do you think there will . . . ,” Vi starts to say as we make our way through the cots and people toward the gym door. She glances at Sadie as if she's almost afraid to say any more. “I mean, can it happen tomorrow? If we're all here and there's a hurricane coming overnight?”

We pass the knot of people standing around the TV and stop as a unit when we hear the newscast. “The storm has reached sustained winds of seventy-five miles per hour and is now a Category One hurricane. The National Weather Service has declared a hurricane warning for the coasts of North and South Carolina. Don't fool around with this storm, people. Get to a shelter immediately. Hurricane Susannah is due to make landfall somewhere in the Wilmington area around nine o'clock this evening. . . .”

Sadie's biting her lip, and I can tell she's trying hard not to cry. All this work, putting up with Miss Worthington, and it might be for nothing. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and squeeze. She gives me a tentative smile.

“It'll be okay,” she says in a wobbly voice.

“Abso-posi-lutely,” Becca adds. “RSVP doesn't give up that easily. We've taken on Linney Marks and her devious fashion show plans
and
a mob of boy-crazy eight-year-old girls. We'll figure something out.”

I catch Mom's eye and point to the door. She nods and goes back to watching the news.

“Come on,” I say decisively. “Let's get some food, and then maybe we can come up with a contingency plan.”

“A what?” Vi asks as she pushes open the door.

“Contingency. A provision for an unforeseen event.”

“Huh?” Becca says.

“Never mind. A backup plan.” We head down the hall from the gym in the middle of the school toward the lobby and the main entrance. The entryway is full of tables set up with volunteers—including Vi's dad, who organized the whole thing—to check people in. I hate to think of
why
the town wants to check people in. I mean, the only reason for keeping track of who shows up here is to account for missing people if the hurricane wipes out Sandpiper Beach. Which pulls up images of my house filling with water—all of Dad's boat knickknacks and my It's All Academic and spelling-bee trophies and Mom's china floating around inside. Our house is one of the oldest ones on the island, which means it was built without pilings. It just sits flat on the ground like a normal inland house, waiting to get flooded. Or worse, the wind blows so hard the house just disintegrates, and we have nothing left. Everything we have, gone. Just like that.

“Lauren?” Vi asks. “Are you okay?”

I swallow. “Yeah. It's just a little scary, you know. This hurricane.”

She nods. “I know. Meemaw's house is right on the beach.” Front row, meaning front lines for the hurricane.

I glance at my friends, who all look a little freaked out. Sadie's house is just across from the cove at the end of the island, and Becca's is right smack in the middle, not too far from the square.

Becca gives a nervous laugh. “Let's go eat and talk about Lauren's convict plan.”

“Contingency,” I correct her.

“Whatever. I'm starving.” She leads the way out of the lobby, with its giant Pirate Pelican looking down on us all, into the cafeteria.

I bring up the rear, after standing on my tiptoes to peek out the front doors' windows. It looks the same outside as it did when Mom and I got here. Windy, no rain.

In the cafeteria, we collect food (lasagna, which is exactly what was on the menu for school lunch today) and gather at our usual table near the wall. It's weird seeing so many adults and little kids here. Even Ms. Snyder, my math teacher, is sitting near the door with her husband and three children. I wave at Anna Wright and some other people from It's All Academic.

“If I'd known this was going to be regular old school lunch,” Vi says as she picks at her lasagna, “I would've packed something like I usually do. I have some leftover tortellini and Alfredo sauce in the fridge at home that's calling my name right now.”

Becca's chewing very, very carefully, and Sadie just pushes her food around on her plate.

“Has anyone seen Miss Worthington?” I ask. I almost expect her to appear out of nowhere, demanding that we set up a wedding right here in the school cafeteria, complete with exotic flowers from Central American rain forests and neon lighting straight from Vegas.

“Not yet,” Sadie says.

“When she gets here, I think we need to hide,” Vi says. “The sports-equipment closet is big enough for us all.”

I kind of want to agree with Vi. Who wants to be stuck in a confined space with Alexandra Worthington breathing down our necks constantly?

“That's crazy,” Becca says.

“No,
she's
crazy,” Vi replies. “There are mats in there we could sleep on. Think of how peaceful it would be. Plus, we wouldn't have to hear Linney.”

Linney's voice is echoing above all the other chatter in the cafeteria, complaining about how her mother wouldn't let her take more than one suitcase full of stuff to the shelter, and she had to leave behind her hair dryer and the dress she'd already bought for the winter mixer in December. And she's saying all this to Lance, who's stuck holding both his tray of food and hers. He looks like he'd rather be anywhere than here. Like, even facing down a hurricane on the pier right now.

Vi rolls her eyes.

“So, ideas, anyone?” I say, trying to distract Vi. “About the wedding, I mean? Just in case we can't have it this weekend.”

We throw around a few thoughts, most of which I'm pretty sure Miss Worthington will hate and which will take weeks to put together. And that means weeks more of dealing with Miss Worthington, when we all thought our nightmare with her would be over after tomorrow.

We're just finishing up when Sadie's phone beeps. She looks at it, and then holds it out so we can all read the text.

Sadie-babe, Ikey and I are going to ride out this storm at his house. Come by in 15 and bring those favors. I want to make sure you used the dusky pink teacups instead of the rose pink.

“I'm sorry, what?” I blink at that text as if the words are going to change.

“She's lost it,” Vi says.

“Don't answer her,” Becca says.

“We
have
to say something.” Sadie's turned her phone back around and is staring at the screen.

“Tell her that if she has even a shred of sense, she'll get her butt down here now.” I push my tray aside and hold out my hand. “I'll tell her.”

“No,” Sadie says. “We're not making her mad.”

“It's saving her life. I don't care if she's mad.”