Predictive Text
The first instance of it happening was an accident. And he didn’t even realize it until the next day.
The first instance of it happening was an accident. And he didn’t even realize it until the next day.
It was the end of the last day before fall break at St. Michael’s High School, and Andy Cohen was outside in the brisk cool autumn air of suburban Indianapolis, starting to feel a bit cold, and a bit annoyed that he was still stuck at school when everyone else had left. And he was about to text his cousin Jack to see where he was at—Jack was supposed to be giving him a ride home today, since Mom was busy taking Jessie to her doctor appointment at the new specialist she was seeing. This was the one, Mom said, who was going to be able to finally help figure out what was wrong with his little sister, figure out some way to help her. To get the family back to normal. But Andy didn’t have high hopes for any normalcy any time soon. Because Mom had said the same thing about the last doctor that Jessie had seen, and the one before that. And the one before that.
But still—he’d prayed that Jessie would get better, just like Mom had asked him to do. And part of him actually thought it would work this time. But for right now, he mostly just wanted to get home. Chad, Drew, and Brian were waiting for him to log on so that they could practice the new max level raid in Champions of Norrath. But freaking Jack was taking forever! What’d he get in a wreck on the way? Andy thought he might have better luck just walking home. It was only about an hour walk and he’d done it a few times before. He knew that if he cut through the yards in the Yellow River neighborhood, he could probably make it in about forty minutes.
But it was a bit cold today and those dark clouds overhead gave him an ominous feeling in his gut. And he wanted nothing more than to be home—not out in the middle of an hour long walk. It felt like there could be a tornado, but he couldn’t remember those happening this late in the year. But he’d been through many tornados—well, tornado warnings, not literal tornados—over the years. It was perfectly normal to endure probably two or three tornado drills at school each year. Not practice ones either, but full on tornado drills; as in: there is a tornado somewhere not too far, and it might destroy the school. At those times, they have all of the kids line up in the hallways, you get in a crouched down position, with your head between your knees, and you put your hands over your neck. Ominous stuff for a kid to go through, Andy had thought. And now dark clouds just had a way of always making him feel ominous.
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