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Show Twisters . . . 29 "Do we have to go downstairs?" I asked again. "Not yet, Danny. We'll keep listening to the TV." Arthur spoke up: "Tornadoes move from southwest to northeast, remember?" I remembered. Our science class had taken a field trip in April to visit the weather service out at the airport. The meteorologist had shown us how they get the hook echo on radar, how they post a watch, all that technical stuff. Arthur made arm motions toward a plant hanging in the corner of the room. "It'll head off that way someplace." His expert opinion should have made me feel better, but it didn't. He helped himself to another cracker, then settled back into the sofa cushions. He_ wasn't worried. Mom's forehead puckered as she walked away. I knew what was on her mind. We were both wishing Dad was home. We watched TV another few minutes, but I couldn't get into it like before. Not that I was scared exactly. I'd been through dozens of tornado watches in my life and nothing ever happened, though a barn roof got rearranged over in Clay Center one year. Every spring, practically, we have to "hit for the cellar," as Grandpa puts it. But when a tornado watch changes to a warning , and when the siren starts . . . well . . . that'6 when things aren't so mellow anymore. "Shouldn't you call your mother, Arthur?" Mom said to him after trying the phone again, "I'm not sure she'd want you to stay here tonight," "Oh Mom!" I groaned. (There I was, thinking the sun rose and set on me.) "Wait, I'd better call Goldie first," she said. "Someone should |