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Show Twisters . . . 88 than me. How could he even think that? "Why us, then7 Grand Island, Nebraska, the All-American City. Why our neighborhood?" "There were tornadoes spinning down all over," I reminded him, "didn't you hear what that policewoman said?" He leaned back against the wall and pressed his lips together. I guess I was making him mad. I leaned back, too, and sucked on the edge of my 7-Up can. But was it any different . . . what I_'d been thinking? We both knew about tornadoes, about storm cells and squall lines and all that. Then why had I been thinking the same way as Arthur7 Only with me it was Ryan. It wasn't some stupid bull-roarer, it was all those times I'd wished Ryan out of existence. I'd been sick of him from the day he was born. I squeezed my can flat with both hands, pushing the air out of my lungs at the same time. I had almost left him in his crib to die. I had come that close! If anyone was being punished with a tornado, I was. Not Arthur and his old bull-roarer. I was the one who resented a helpless baby, my own flesh and blood. In spite of the heat in there, goose bumps fingered my scalp, I wondered how I could have felt that way about Ryan. "Arthur," I spoke up, determined to straighten him out, "that tornado wasn't anybody's fault." "Don't you think I know that?" "But you just said-" "I know what I said." He got to his feet. "C'mon, let's pick our spots before Stacey comes back. She's a real bed hog." |
