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    Eye of the Storm
    Eye of the Storm
    Eye of the Storm
    Ebook283 pages4 hours

    Eye of the Storm

    By Kate Messner

    4/5

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    About this ebook

    In the not-too-distant future, huge tornadoes and monster storms have become a part of everyday life. Sent to spend the summer in the heart of storm country with her meteorological engineer father, Jaden Meggs is surprised at the strides her father's company StormSafe, has made with custom shelters that keep her family safe in even the worst of storms. At her exclusive summer science camp, Eye On Tomorrow, Jaden meets Alex, a boy whose passion for science matches hers. Together, they discover that her father's company is steering storms away from the expensive neighborhoods and toward the organic farming communities that are in competition with his bio-engineered food company, NatureMade. Jaden must confront her father, but when she does, she uncovers a terrifying family secret and must call on both her scientific knowledge and her faith to save the people she loves most from one of her father's monster storms.
    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBloomsbury Publishing
    Release dateMar 13, 2012
    ISBN9780802723895
    Eye of the Storm
    Author

    Kate Messner

    Kate Messner is an award-winning author whose many books for kids have been selected as Best Books by the New York Times, Junior Library Guild, IndieBound, and Bank Street College of Education. She lives on Lake Champlain with her family.

    Read more from Kate Messner

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    Reviews for Eye of the Storm

    4/5

    27 ratings9 reviews

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    • 5/5
      A girl's father is hiding a secret along with a group of people from everyone. His daughter investigates with her friends to uncover the truth behind all the bad weather. A plan is uncovered, a tornado created with the power to destroy everything in it's path, heading toward farms and the outside. This all takes place in the future where storms are rising frequently.
    • 4/5
      Eye of the Storm was an interesting take on a future (not too far from now) in which climate change has created conditions that are so ripe for horrible storms and tornadoes that people no longer feel safe being outside without knowing they can run to a nearby storm shelter, of which multiple ones have been built so that one is always close by. Jaden, the main character of the story, is sent to visit with her father and his new wife while her mother (a scientist) goes away for the summer to study poison dart frogs. Jaden's father is a scientist working to find ways to diminish or break apart storms before they can form into killer tornadoes, or so she thinks. He lives in a community called Placid Meadows with all the latest scientific gadgets and genetically modified food so that strawberries are perfect in shape and no longer have those annoying seeds that get caught in people's teeth. Placid Meadows has a guarantee that it will never be hit by storms, something that Jaden is confused and mystified by, especially after she sees a storm approaching the neighbourhood with her own eyes, only to see it turn away and move in another direction once it hit the perimeter of the the housing complex. Jaden's father, in addition to his work on trying to learn how to diminish monster tornadoes at his company StormSafe, has investors for creating a second Placid Meadows housing complex, and has been buying up local farms for the land to make it happen. He also creates a science camp called Eye on Tomorrow for the best and brightest students interested in learning about weather science, cloning and genetically modified food. As part of a deal with the community where the camp is based, local kids have been allowed to attend if they have the interest and aptitude and Jaden quickly makes friends with a girl in her neighbourhood, as well as two local boys who are the sons of farmers in the area. Through Jaden and her friends and family, the reader is able to look at a variety of important issues from more than one side.As Jaden and her friends begin investigating the science behind storm manipulationat Eye on Tomorrow, they discover that not everything is as it seems, and Jaden is forced to face some complicated truths about power, money, family and friendship.An enjoyable read and an fascinating take on a near future with some possible consequences of not doing enough to stop global warming, and maybe doing more scientifically in other areas than is best.
    • 3/5
      Uneven pacing mars this science fiction adventure.
    • 5/5
      This book was awesome!!! It was so thrilling before the tornados went up and when the kids were waiting for the tornado to go away. The emotional changes and opinion changes were awersome as well, and finally it was surprising to find Grandma Athena alive.
    • 4/5
      Your story deserves a lot of audience; you can publish it on Novel Star Mobile App
    • 4/5
      Middle grade dystopias are generally much lighter fare, not just in reading level. They tend to be less violent, less terrifying. Eye of the Storm definitely fits this mold, but is no less interesting for that. Don't think it's too sweet and fluffy; there are definitely a couple of intense scenes.

      Jaden's father is the worst. I mean, seriously. He doesn't seem to make an effort with his family (either Jaden or his new wife and baby) at all. Whenever he has a bad day at work, which seems to be a lot, he blusters at them. He spends most of his time in his locked office, rather than with his family. It had been years since he spent any real time with Jaden, because he was researching in Russia, and yet now that she's there he only holds brief conversations with her. That's it. Plus, he doesn't do anything to make his wife happy; she loves dancing, and even though there are small amateur groups they could see live locally, he won't take her. What a completely awful man.

      I loved that the central idea for the dystopia was one that I had not encountered before. The weather has gone bonkers in many, but this one focused specifically on tornadoes, although acknowledging that in other parts of the world cyclones and typhoons were just as much of a problem. After the huge storms in Japan this past year and Katrina's crazy damage to New Orleans, it's terrifying to consider what it would be like if storms like these only got more powerful and now went everywhere. Of course, it's also impossible for me to read this without constantly replaying the movie Twister in my head, haha.

      Also cool is that Messner added some other scientific developments into the dystopian elements of the story. For example, along with building communities that are safe from tornadoes, Jaden's dad's company StormSafe also develops genetically engineered food. While this is in no way the focus, I think these little tidbits of other developments really set the atmosphere for where the world was headed.

      Eye of the Storm is a good, swift dystopian read for younger (or older) readers. Especially recommended to those who enjoy stories about really clever kids, such as The Mysterious Benedict Society.
    • 3/5
      Jaden is excited to be spending the summer with her father, but also nervous: he's assured both her and her mom that she'll be perfectly safe from the tornadoes that have become a part of everyday life all across the country, but being told that is different from really understanding how that could be possible. She's nervous about being away from her mom for the whole summer, and away from her home, which could be destroyed if a storm comes while they're not there. But mostly, she's excited: this is a chance to really spend time with her dad and get to know him again, and share their passion for science while Jaden attends the Eye on Tomorrow summer science camp that her dad founded. Her dad has been researching storm dissipation, and that's where Jaden's interests lie, too--and so do Alex's, the boy Jaden partners with in their camp research. Unfortunately, their research turns up some troubling data about the work Jaden's dad has been doing, and Jaden will have to decide if her loyalties lie with her father, or with the science that could save thousands of lives.

      Post-apocalyptic in that we've somehow trashed the planet to the extent that tornadoes form all the time, everywhere across the US and Europe. Entire swaths of land are destroyed each time tornadoes rip through. Farms are destroyed, which doesn't matter much thanks to DNAture produce, perfectly engineered to remove seeds, bitterness, asymmetry, and all those other terrible things that are the reasons kids won't eat vegetables. (Spoiler alert: farm food is totally delicious; DNAture stuff, not so much. Picture the difference between fresh, local, wild strawberries and supermarket, California-sourced strawberries in January, times about a zillion.) Dystopian in that Jaden's father has built himself a little town that is somehow impervious to bad weather, and has pretty tight surveillance over student researchers just in case they come a little too close to finding the truth about the town.

      Upper elementary/middle school appeal, particularly good for science-minded girls who don't generally see themselves represented in books very often. Comparisons to Calpurnia Tate will be thick on the ground, as well as to the movie Twister. And, I dunno, something having to do with real estate development?

      From ARC generously provided by the author. (Thanks!)
    • 4/5
      Jaden is spending the summer with her father while she attends a science camp. Jaden, following in her father’s footsteps, is interested in the weather – in particular she wants to find a way to stop the terrible storms that occur as a result of climate change. Jaden makes friends at the camp and together they discover a dark secret about the storms.This is an exciting story set in a not-too-distant future where storms frequently destroy buildings and kill people. It is well-researched and presents scientific information in the context of a gripping story featuring believable characters. Recommended for boys and girls aged 10 and up. Would make a great class read-aloud.
    • 4/5
      Jaden is the daughter of Stephen Meggs, the renowned scientist who has created a StormSafe community that guarantees protection from the monster storms and tornadoes that are ravaging the entire earth due to climate change. Jaden should feel lucky for the chance to live with her father in the StormSafe community for a summer and attend Eye on Tomorrow, a prestigious science camp for young people. However, unexpected discoveries in the process of working on storm dissipation models with her new friends Alex and Risha make Jaden suspicious of what her father is really working on for his research. The truth is shocking and horrifying, but is there anything that Jaden and her friends can do to stop innocent people from being hurt by the storms?Kate Messner is a queen when it comes to middle-grade contemporary literature, but her take on MG dystopian does not disappoint. EYE OF THE STORM is a relevant story that contains the meticulous research and believable characters that are trademarks of Messner’s writing.It’s hard to read EYE OF THE STORM today and not think of the frightening tornadoes that have recently hit the US. It makes the premise all the more believable, the book all the more a great read for kids. Messner blends meteorological science seamlessly into a fast-paced plot, and the book’s message—that if we don’t start doing something about today’s global warming, then the future will be grim indeed—is quite clear. It’s the best way to give kids an important lesson: cool science tossed into an exciting story, the moral easily extrapolated from the all-too-possible setting.Some things that did frustrate me a little with EYE OF THE STORM were how polarized the adults were, and how dramatic the plot and narration got at times. EYE OF THE STORM felt very much like an “adults did bad things, and now it’s up to us kids to fix the problem” tale, which to me felt like the too conveniently easy way to drive the story’s message home to readers. The last half or third of the book felt like an endless event of friends screaming life-or-death orders/suggestions to one another, storms tearing up things, and glass shattering. Think a scene from the movie Twister, only played out over the course of 100 or so pages. The marathon demands on my heartbeat were rather exhausting and perhaps, I think, not that necessary.Nevertheless, EYE OF THE STORM is sure to delight its intended audience of middle-grade and juvenile readers. This is one I’d definitely put in schools, libraries, and gift boxes. Relevant, well-written, and exciting, Kate Messner’s latest book deserves to be read.

    Book preview

    Eye of the Storm - Kate Messner

    Messner

    Chapter 1

    There are no words to describe this sound.

    In the old days, they said tornadoes sounded like freight trains. I’ve seen video archives of survivors being interviewed, all out of breath. They describe an approaching rumble and then a roar. Wind pouring out of the sky. Buildings shaking. And finally, the train rumbling off, fading away as the storm lumbers on.

    But that was then.

    There are no words for the sound of what is happening now.

    A thick, dark shadow is snaking down from the cloud that followed us from the airport. It’s wider and stronger than anything those people in the video archives had ever seen. Bigger than anything they could have imagined.

    It is headed straight for us.

    No worries, Jaden, Dad says, but both our DataSlates are wailing with high-pitched storm alerts. His eyes dart to the rearview mirror as he pulls the HV into a safety lot.

    I’ve heard about these huge roadside shelters, but we don’t have them at home in Vermont. The one time Mom and I got caught out with a storm coming, we just knocked on somebody’s door. It goes without saying in New England: on storm days, you let anybody who needs help into your safe room.

    But in this part of Oklahoma, there are fewer houses now, hardly any doors to knock on. This huge concrete structure is the first building we’ve seen for miles. It’s almost full, but Dad maneuvers into one of the last spaces. We’ll be fine here.

    Good timing, I guess. My voice shakes, even though I try to pretend it’s no big deal; Mom warned me the storms would be more frequent here, but I never thought I’d see one before we even got to Dad’s house.

    That good timing’s no accident. Dad leans back in his seat and picks up his DataSlate. The glow of the screen lights his face an eerie blue, even as the sky outside grows darker. When StormSafe got the government contract to build these lots, we put one every fifteen miles on major roads so you’d never be more than a few minutes from safety.

    That’s how much warning you get when a storm’s coming?

    Give or take.

    They’re like the Revolutionary War–era taverns I learned about in my online history course, spaced fifteen miles apart because that’s how far a traveler could ride in a day. Here we are, 275 years later, driving hydrogen vehicles instead of horses, and we’re back to needing shelter every fifteen miles.

    Lightning flashes outside. I tug my backpack from the floor into my lap and run the strap between my fingers, over and over, so I can concentrate on that instead of the pounding in my chest. I can’t freak out. Not on my first day with Dad in four years. He lives for storms like this.

    A plastic chair tumbles, legs over arms over legs, past the entrance we came in.

    This is turning into a good one. Dad cranks the volume on his DataSlate so we can hear the regional news feed over the screaming wind. If they mention the storm, we’ll know it’s big. Normally, they send out the DataSlate alerts that replaced the old tornado sirens and leave it at that. Mom said when she was growing up, her town got on national news once when a tornado wiped out half a mobile home park. National news!

    Now the news feeds only report the biggest of the big, the true monsters. It sounds like this could be one of them.

    The National Storm Center confirms a tornado warning for all of eastern Logan County, the voice on the DataSlate says. NSC meteorologists say the system that developed this afternoon has spawned three separate tornadoes—the latest, a possible NF-6. Residents are advised to get to safe rooms immediately.

    NF-6? I swallow hard. We have our share of storms back home—who doesn’t?—but the worst I’ve seen was the NF-4 that ripped the roof off Mom’s environmental science lab at the University of Vermont.

    Could be. Dad leans to see past me, out the shelter door. The tornado doesn’t even have its funnel shape anymore; the thick, jerking rope has swelled into a churning blur of brown-black wind.

    It’s rain-wrapped! Dad shouts over the roaring. Tough to see how big it’s grown. But at least it’s not a Niner! That’s weather-geek slang for an NF-9, the second highest rating on the new scale they developed a decade ago when it became clear the storms had outgrown the old Enhanced Fujita Scale that went from one to five. When I was a baby, EF-5 was the worst a tornado could be. The New Fujita Scale goes up to ten, though nobody’s ever seen a ten touch down. What would they call it? A Tenner?

    The lights flicker, and I grip the door handle.

    Relax, Jaden. Dad punches me lightly on the arm, and it sets something off inside me. All the swallowed-up storm jitters rise in my throat, and I want to scream. Instead, I swallow that, too, and my eyes fill with tears.

    I’ve been on the ground all of two hours, and I’m not used to it here. None of it feels like home.

    Not the desolate brown flatness of the land.

    Not the stark concrete gray of the shelters.

    And not the storms. Especially not storms like this.

    Dad should know that.

    Maybe he’d understand how I feel, understand me, if he hadn’t spent the past four years in Russia, doing weather experiments that weren’t allowed in the United States. Maybe he’d ask how I’m doing now that—

    Jaden, look! He holds up his DataSlate and turns the radar screen my way. This hook echo is incredible!

    He points to the blob on the screen. It’s churning, growing, hungry enough to swallow half of Oklahoma. A curled-up green extension sticks out one side of the storm, like a witch’s finger calling us in.

    I know what he wants me to say. He wants me to ooh and ahh and talk about the rotation like we used to when I was little and I’d sit on his lap, and he’d laugh because I knew how to read a satellite map before I was five. He wants me to be WeatherGirl, the nickname he gave me before he left, before he and Mom split up, before the storms got this bad, before everything. He wants me to say how awesome it is, how fantastic and powerful. How amazing.

    But it’s not. It is terrifying and loud, pounding the concrete shelter we’re hiding in with uprooted hackberry shrubs and tree trunks and God knows what else. I grab the door and hold on.

    Relax, Jaden. This is no big deal around here. You’re safe. I designed this shelter model myself. StormSafe tested these things under conditions that were far more—

    He’s trying to comfort me, but he is screaming, screaming over the storm he says is no big deal. So I scream back.

    "Dad, stop!" I put my head down on the dashboard and press my hands into my eyes, but I still can’t escape from the sound. Forget the passing freight train. This is like being inside the engine of the train, inside the throat of some ancient Greek monster that’s roared down out of the sky. It’s throwing recycling bins and branches, torn-off roof tiles so frantic and flapping they look like huge tortured birds, all flying past the entrance to the lot. I scream again, Just stop! Stop! And I don’t know if I’m screaming at Dad or the storm or both. But neither responds.

    Finally, I sit up and open my eyes. Dad is ignoring the weather outside, staring at me. He closes the radar image—the storm looks even bigger in the glimpse I catch before it’s sucked into a folder on his screen—and pulls up his StormSafe corporate log-in page. He turns the slate away from me as if I’d be able to see or remember his stupid password in the middle of this and pokes at the onscreen keys. Relax, he says. It’s weakening now.

    I squeeze my eyes closed against the pounding, against the attack from the wind and debris, and I don’t answer him. But as if by magic, the roar of that monster-from-the-sky fades back into something more like an old-fashioned freight train and then dissolves altogether.

    I don’t open my eyes.

    I sit, listening to the train rumble off. I squeeze my eyes shut tighter and think.

    This was not a storm. It was a monster.

    This is not home.

    And this is not the same father I used to have, the one who tucked me into bed, singing songs about the wind.

    That father took me out for ice cream on a summer night four years ago. He ordered rainbow sprinkles on his cone, right along with me, and he told me why he had to go on another trip. Why he wasn’t coming home anytime soon. Why he needed to open a new StormSafe headquarters in a country that would allow him to do his research. And he left.

    This father who has come back to me … I open one eye a crack. His fingers fly over the DataSlate. His eyes focus on the scrolling columns of numbers, laser-intense. Fierce.

    He feels like someone I don’t even know.

    Chapter 2

    No matter how bad things get in Logan County, no matter how the clouds swirl, how the radar screens light up, I’ll be safe in Placid Meadows.

    Perfectly, one hundred percent safe.

    That’s what Dad promised Mom, how he convinced her to send me here, to the heart of the storm belt, for the summer. And his new, self-sufficient StormSafe community does sound impressive. Safety. Higher water and kilowatt allowances, thanks to Placid Meadows’ private solar and wind energy reserves. Eye on Tomorrow Science Camp, the state-of-the-art program Dad’s corporation runs for the best and brightest young minds in the world. Dad said it went without saying that I was one of them and sent me admissions papers, but I still wanted to take the official entrance exam. When I answered the last question on my DataSlate and pressed the SUBMIT button, the score that appeared on the screen put me in the top five percent of applicants. I couldn’t argue that I didn’t belong there.

    Plus Mom had her own research project waiting in the shadow of an active Costa Rican volcano. Not to be outdone by my father’s adoration of storms, Mom’s had her own love affair … with frogs. While Dad’s been studying the effects of global warming on storm formation, she’s been researching its impact on wildlife in sensitive ecosystems, particularly rain forest amphibians like the poison dart frog. Mom’s wanted to take this trip for years but had nobody I could stay with until now.

    This must be WeatherGirl! As we pull up to the Placid Meadows gate, a beanpole of a man leans down into the HV window.

    Dad nods in my direction. This is indeed my daughter Jaden, the infamous WeatherGirl. My stomach’s still tangled from the storm, but I smile; nobody’s called me that in four years, and even though I’m a total science geek, I’m surprised Dad still thinks about me that way. Surprised, and I guess a little pleased.

    Hi, Jaden. I’m Lou. He points to the shiny silver name tag on his navy blue uniform. There’s a StormSafe emblem above his name. Does everybody here work for Dad? Any update on the expansion, Dr. Meggs?

    Unfortunately, no, Dad says. Looks like Phase Two is going to be delayed a bit.

    What’s Phase Two? I ask.

    "Phase One of Placid Meadows is full, and we have two dozen families waitlisted, so we’re going to expand the development. If we can get the land we need."

    Lou chuckles. Those farmers getting you down?

    Dad isn’t smiling anymore. "Honestly, why someone would be crazy enough to stay here to run a dying farm is beyond me. And why anybody would turn down an offer that’s five times what the property is worth … Dad shakes his head, then looks at the dashboard clock. I’d better get Jaden home." He lifts two fingers from the steering wheel in a wave.

    When he drives through the Placid Meadows gate, it’s like driving from Kansas into the Land of Oz.

    From the minute I stepped off the plane, Oklahoma has been a place of charcoal skies and yellow-gray clouds. It’s like Florida when the hurricanes started getting bigger; no one lives here anymore unless they’re too attached to family farms or they can’t afford to leave. The oil wells were abandoned a decade ago when the international fossil fuels ban took effect. The sprawling cattle ranches are ghost towns. It’s a state abandoned, except for a few farms, storm-torn mobile home parks, and corrections department energy farms, where convicted criminals ride generator-cycles outside in the daytime and sleep in StormSafe bunkers at night. It’s a black-and-white world, with shades of brown.

    But Placid Meadows blooms in full, all-of-a-sudden color.

    A billowing garden of bright flowers divides the street. In the middle is a fat boulder with a bronze plaque affixed to it. WELCOME TO PLACID MEADOWS, A STORMSAFE COMMUNITY, it says in calm, loopy cursive. All around, the garden bursts with reds and pinks and fuchsias. Tall purples tip their heads, and spreading silver-blues creep along the curb.

    It’s beautiful. I lower my window to breathe in all that brightness, and for the first time since I said good-bye to Mom at the airport in Burlington, I almost feel calm.

    Dad pulls over and smiles, and his face relaxes into something I almost recognize from the Dad I had before. Isn’t it the most gorgeous garden you’ve ever seen?

    I nod, but this new glimpse of Dad is more interesting than the plants now. The DataSlate man from the car seems to have been sucked into a folder deep inside him. Now he looks like someone who might order rainbow sprinkles on an ice cream cone again someday. Between that and the flowers, I feel my heart lift. Maybe this summer will be all right.

    The flowers are so perfect. I lean out my window.

    Of course they are. Everything we plant is DNA-ture; it’s the best. He puts the HV back in gear. We better go. Mirielle’s making an early dinner.

    Mirielle. The stepmom I’ve only seen on my DataSlate videophone, and always with my new half sister, Remi, in her arms.

    Dad pulls away from the garden, farther into the development.

    The street is lined with StormSafe houses, concrete structures tinted mauve, slate blue, and sea green. They have windows, which surprises me a little; they must be made of glass that’s engineered not to shatter under pressure. And there are bigger buildings, without windows.

    Are those houses, too? I ask.

    Nope—that one’s the community warehouse. Dad nods toward a big brick-colored structure as we pass. DNA-ture delivers food orders once a week so we don’t need to go out to the regional grocery store.

    No wonder the farms Dad mentioned to Lou aren’t doing so well.

    Dad points out my window. Here’s the entertainment dome.

    He slows down as we pass a building that looks like the big skating rink at home. The electronic sign outside has a schedule of showings. Movies. Sporting events. Ballet and theater streamed in live from the National Arts Center in New York. And something called Museum Night, with Natural History: Jurassic Period on Tuesday and American History 1900–2050 on Thursday.

    What’s Museum Night? I ask as Dad pulls away.

    He smiles a little. Do you remember when you were really small—I think you were three—when we took you to closing ceremonies for the American Museum of Natural History in New York City?

    Kind of. I remember walking through a room with huge dinosaurs and another one with all kinds of rocks and gems. And Mom was crying. Mostly, I remember Mom being sad.

    Dad nods. It broke her heart when the government decided most of the major museums needed to close so artifacts could be protected in underground bunkers until the storm crisis is resolved. But this place—he looks in the rearview mirror—is the museum of the future. It’s all holograms, so it changes every night. What did it say for this week?

    Jurassic and American History.

    Great shows; you should go, Dad says. You walk a path through the dome, and you’ll see dinosaurs approaching. The T-Rex looks like it’s about to eat you for dinner. He chuckles. They’re just holograms, so they don’t bite, but they’re realistic. American History is fascinating, too. You meet history makers of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries—Martin Luther King, Steve Jobs, Al Gore—and former presidents, too. I think they have Barack Obama and Grace Farley in this show.

    Interesting, I say, and it is. But then I have another flash of memory from the museum’s closing night—the feel of a cool, rough dinosaur tail under my hand when I ducked under the velvet rope to touch it, even though the signs said not to. It felt real, like it might come alive and roar any second. A hologram could never feel like that.

    We turn a corner, and Dad slows down. That’s Risha Patel, the girl I told you about on our video-call last week.

    The girl looks about my age. Her long black hair has a bright green streak along one side. She must have a BeatBud in her ear because she’s bobbing her head back and forth to something fast and playing imaginary drums in the air, right above the handlebars of her bicycle as she rides along, hands-free.

    Dad speeds up again, but I turn in my seat and stare.

    She is riding a bike.

    Nobody rides bikes anymore at home. The storms churn up so fast, there’s not a kid in our neighborhood who’s allowed to ride more than halfway down the block, so why bother? Amelia was the last of my friends to give hers up. She held out right through last summer and never cared how ridiculous she looked riding up and down the street, back and forth, alone. When we laughed, she told us that in her mind, she was going all over town, through the woods past the big tree house where our moms used to camp out when they were little, branches brushing her cheeks as she flew down the trails. But at the end of the summer, we got our StormSafe Mall and Teen Center, and even Amelia figured that was better than imaginary trails. The recycling crew picked up her bike at the beginning of October.

    Was this girl imagining faraway places, too?

    Does she live right around here? I ask Dad.

    He shakes his head. The Patels live on the other side of the development. Closer to the Eye on Tomorrow campus.

    Wow. I scan the horizon. The storm we just saw has already barreled off, but there are more clouds churning in the west. She’s far from home for a storm day.

    Dad laughs. I see it’s going to take you a while to get used to being a StormSafe kid. He slows down and pulls into the driveway of an adobe-colored concrete box. It’s different here. He presses a button on the dashboard, and a dome-shaped mouth yawns open on one wall. He pulls the HV forward into what must be the StormSafe version of a garage. Three bicycles are lined up inside, one in my favorite color, electric blue.

    We ride bikes all over the place here. In fact, he says, nodding to the fleet along the wall, it was supposed to be a surprise, but the blue one’s yours. You’ll love having that freedom again.

    "But … how can that be safe? I know the houses are safer here, but if you’re outside … I mean, the storms are even worse than at home, so—"

    How many times do I have to tell you? Dad shakes his head, smiling. While you are inside the gates of Placid Meadows, you are safe. Totally and completely safe.

    He presses another button on the dashboard. The garage door rumbles again, and behind us, the mouth on this safe, safe house slides shut.

    Chapter 3

    When Dad opens the kitchen door, French disco music bursts out to meet us. Mirielle is twirling around the room barefoot in a long flowered skirt and lemon-yellow tank top. Remi is six months old now and swaddled in a big, every-colored scarf slung around Mirielle’s neck like she is part of the outfit.

    Mirielle presses a button to send the potatoes down for peeling and—Oh!—almost twirls into me on her way back for the carrots. Jaden, you’re here! She leans in to kiss my cheek. I smell Remi’s head—soap and baby. Mirielle turns to Dad. Did you get caught in the storm? I hate when you have to go out there. She says it as if out there and in here are totally different planets.

    I know, love. Dad steps up to the biometric panel on the refrigerator. He presses a finger to the reflective glass and taps impatiently, waiting for it to identify him by his print. "We spent about ten minutes in a

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