Page 36 of A Curvy Girl’s Hurricane Survival Guide

“I’ll go,” I offer.

I’m not sure I want to get answers to my many burning questions, but I don’t think I can keep myself from asking.

“Yeah, that’s probably better. I don’t think I’m her favorite person right now.” Crispi says quickly before leaving me to chase down Cai.

Cai hasn’t gotten far. She’s stumbling, hands out in front of her, on her way to the kitchen. I don’t say anything, but I hand her the flashlight.

“Thanks,” she says. “Sorry.”

“For what?” I’m not being polite. I really need to know what she is apologizing for.

She looks embarrassed for a moment. “You know, just like freaking out and stuff. I guess I’m on edge.”

I nod, hoping she’ll continue. I’m willing her to keep going. I want her to tell me she was just saying those things to maintain the pretense. That she doesn’t care about the text. Or that the text was a goodbye one. She says none of those things.

Instead, she holds up her phone and says, “So I guess this is done.”

“Do you have any rice? Like uncooked?”

She tilts her head and looks at me quizzically. “With the way my family eats it, I’m surprised we don’t have a silo of it out back.”

She leads me to the kitchen, opens a lower cabinet, and pulls out a huge Tupperware as tall as her hip, with wheels and a scooper on top. “Ok, here’s rice,” she says. “Now what?”

Five minutes later, we have the cellphone in a bowl covered with rice.

“That’s it?” She asks, looking at it closely as if expecting it to do something magical in front of her that she might miss if she blinks.

“Now we wait for the rice gremlins to accept our offering of water and fix it for us.”

Cai looks over at me skeptically. “Ha ha,” she says, not amused.

I smile. I think I’m funny anyway. “Given time, the rice will dry out the moisture. It should be fine, but it takes a few hours.”

She grunts in understanding and goes back to watching the rice.

“Do you want to tell me about the text?” I ask because it is obvious she won’t offer the information freely.

“God no!” She says and stands up straight. “I don’t want to think about or talk about that text.”

I don’t know if this should give me hope or make me push harder. Why won’t she just tell me?

She shakes out her hands and then runs them through her tousled hair. “Can we do or talk about anything else for now?”

My mind jumps to her silhouette I saw earlier. That is the only thing I want to focus on if talking about that text isn’t an option.

The storm lets out a conciliatory bellow, sensing the turmoil inside me. Between the well-timed closet blackout and the wind playing the soundtrack of my soul, I am beginning to think that the hurricane is on my side.

Rule #15

WARNING: LINES MAY BECOME BLURRED IN THE DARK

SONNY

Cai leads the way back to her room, cradling the bowl with her rice-submerged phone like it’s a newborn baby.

Every few steps, the house gives a low, ominous rattle that makes my shoulders tighten.

Cai glances at me, completely unfazed. “That’s normal,” she explains. “The eye should be passing over us soon. It’ll feel peaceful, eerily so even. If we time it right, maybe we can go outside to see it.”