“You were so close,” Sang says, shaking his head. “The storm bent to you, almost like it wanted you to control it.”
“And what good did it do? I wasn’t strong enough.”
“What you did out there was extraordinary,” Sang says.
“It doesn’t matter. Getting close didn’t do a damn thing,” I say.
I jump when there’s a frantic knock on my door. I nod at Sang, and he opens it.
“Oh, I’m so happy to see you both,” Mrs. Temperly says, her words so fast I can barely decipher them. She clutches her chest, and I notice my messenger bag hanging from her shoulder. She drops it on the ground and pulls out her cell phone.
“They’re okay,” she says to whoever is on the other end of the line. “Yes, they’re both here. Will do.”
There haven’t been this many people in my cabin since I moved here, and it feels wrong, like the tiny room knows I’m supposed to be isolating myself. If Mrs. Temperly, Sang, and I were to stand side by side and stretch out our arms, we would span the entire cabin.
I ask Sang to open the windows.
Mrs. Temperly ends the call and puts on her best guidance counselor look. Her bright-blond bun is messy on top of her head, and some of her pink lipstick has migrated down to her chin.
“You were both unaccounted for in the basement. Where were you?” Her pale skin is flushed, and she fans herself with a stack of papers she takes from my desk.
I’m too tired to lie. “I tried to dissipate the storm.”
Mrs. Temperly covers her mouth with her hand.
“What happened?” she asks as her eyes find the gash on my forehead and my swollen ankle.
“It obviously didn’t work, and we had to take cover in Spring House. I rolled my ankle, and I was cut by some glass when the windows blew out.”
“And you?” she asks, turning to Sang.
“An arbor fell on me.”
“Apparently, it happens all the time,” I say.
Sang tries to keep a straight face, but the corners of his mouth pull up, giving him away. A dimple appears on either side of his mouth, and he clears his throat.
“Clara, we should get you to the nurse for that ankle,” says Mrs. Temperly. “You’ll need to go to the hospital if it’s broken.”
I nod.
“Sang, if you’re feeling up to it, would you check in with Mr. Donovan in the gymnasium? He wants to do a preliminary survey of the damage before the debrief.”
“Sure thing,” he says.
I want to thank him. For staying to make sure I wasn’t depleted. For holding his hand to my forehead. For blocking me from the arbor.
But more than anything, I want to thank him for letting me make my own decision. Letting me decide if I wanted to try to stop the storm or not.
“It was nice meeting you, Clara,” he says, and I have to laugh. What a ridiculous thing to say after being chased by a tornado together.
He leaves before I have a chance to respond.
Mrs. Temperly looks frazzled and exhausted. She fans her face with the papers once more, then sets them back on my desk. “Neither of you should have been out there in the first place. What were you thinking?”
“I had to try.”
Mrs. Temperly sighs, but her eyes soften. “I’m going to call Mr. Donovan and see if we can get a cart out here to take you to the nurse’s office.”
“Thank you.” I pause before asking the question that’s lodged in my mind. Part of me wants to know, and the other part is terrified. I swallow hard. I’m going to find out eventually, so I ask.
“Mrs. Temperly? Have there been any reports on the storm yet? Do we know if it moved beyond our campus?”
Mrs. Temperly sits down in my desk chair and looks at me. Her gaze drops to the floor, and for a moment I think she might cry. She’s a summer, so that wouldn’t be out of character, but it still causes my insides to tighten into knots.
“The tornado only traveled four miles beyond campus.”
I sink back in my bed, and relief washes over me. But Mrs. Temperly continues.
“There are two reported fatalities so far. Neither from Eastern. At least one witch was depleted during the storm.” She pauses and looks at me, sending a shiver down my spine. “But Mr. Hart hasn’t checked in with us yet. He’s the only person on campus who is unaccounted for.”
“What do you mean he’s unaccounted for? I saw him right before the storm, and he said he was on his way to the assembly hall.”
“I’m sure he’ll check in. He probably got caught up trying to secure some part of the farm. You know how he is. For now, let’s get that ankle taken care of.”
My breath stops when she mentions the farm. That’s where I pushed the tornado to give Sang and me time to run. If Mr. Hart was on the farm, I sent it right to him.
Mrs. Temperly must notice the look on my face because she pats my shoulder and says, “It’s still early, and the campus is a bit chaotic. Give him some time.”
I nod, and Mrs. Temperly goes outside to find a cart. But uneasiness spreads through my body and stirs in my stomach.
I’m taken to the nurse’s office. My ankle is wrapped, and I’m sent back to my cabin.
Mr. Hart never checks in.
Chapter Eight
“The only thing harder than gaining control is giving it up.”
—A Season for Everything
Mr. Hart was looking for Nox when the tornado touched down. It turns out he did go to the assembly hall, and someone told him they saw me running out, looking for my cat. Mr. Hart was on the farm, and when I pushed the tornado back, it swept across the field and picked up a plow. The airborne plow struck Mr. Hart, crushing his skull on impact.
He wasn’t out there
