SIX Quincy
Eight forty-five in the morning, and the temperature is already unforgiving.
The heat index pushed into the triple digits this week, and there’s no relief in sight.
The air is thick. The humidity is thicker, and I wipe a bead of sweat from my forehead with the back of my hand.
Standing under the scorching sun and wrestling with my tripod could be filed under dumb shit drunk frat bros do at a tailgate, yet I’m here.
Prepared to wait and see if I can capture anything exciting on camera after Doppler radar indicated the potential for tornadic activity in the storms working their way across the state.
The ice-cold water bottle sitting in the cooler in my front seat is going to be a well-earned reward.
I give my setup a long look, pausing to tilt my phone half a degree to the left for a wider shot of the surrounding landscape.
After seven years of creating videos I share on the internet, I know the tall grass and open space behind me is the perfect backdrop.
Viewers love to go into the action. It makes it feel like they’re here with me, owners of a captivating story to share.
I’ve built my brand on looking at data and historical statistics, but there’s something special about chasing a storm.
About putting yourself out in the elements, not knowing what’s going to happen next.
I don’t do it nearly enough, sticking to my home office over the outdoors most days, but I’m changing my tune this summer.
I need to. This is a big moment in my career, and I don’t want to miss out on things because I’m staring at my computer rather than what’s happening right in front of me.
A wall cloud appears in the distance and I grin, excitement wisping through me. The sight of nature working its magic always makes my heart rate spike, and I’m practically bouncing up and down when I glance at the radar one more time.
Ready to start my live stream, I tap a few buttons on my phone, waiting for the connection to catch up in an area with shitty service and no Wi-Fi.
“Good morning, everyone.” I wave and with a smile, tuck away the loose pieces of hair escaping from my ponytail.
“Thanks for tuning in, chasers. If you’re new here, I’m Quincy, and I’m happy you’re joining me.
The tropics are currently quiet after Alice fizzled out in the Atlantic last week.
Tropical Storm Brandon is no threat to land, so I thought we’d take a field trip.
” I gesture over my shoulder, a gust of wind rippling in the air. “Welcome to my favorite office.”
Three thousand people are already watching, the number climbing as I keep rolling.
“A line of thunderstorms is coming in from the west, and these storms occasionally produce tornadoes. With the possibility of rotation in the atmosphere, it was a no-brainer to come out here and see what we could find.” I point to the clouds, the area where the sky is turning angry.
My blood hums. “Supercells are different from squall lines, as they are more discrete. They also require more wind shear to form than regular thunderstorms. If we’re lucky, we might have a developing supercell here, which means …
” I pause for dramatic effect with a grin. “Tornadoes.”
I’m talking too fast. Being too enthusiastic by using my hands and forgetting to look at the camera. It always happens when I ramble about the things I’m most excited about, and I pause for a breath.
“Over my right shoulder, you’ll notice how dark the sky is at the leading edge of the thunderstorm.
On the left side, you can make out what could be a condensation funnel thanks to rotating air.
If there is a downward rush of air on the backside of the storm—a phenomenon we like to call rear flank downdraft—the funnel cloud will elongate, touch the ground, and become—”
Loud, blaring music cuts me off. The chorus of an AC/DC song pulses in my temple before the tune abruptly ends. A car door opens, then slams shut. I whip my head around at the noise.
I expect to find a group of teenagers making their way out here to goof off. I’m off the beaten path, in the perfect spot to get into some trouble without an adult finding out, but I don’t see any kids ditching school.
The only other person in a ten-mile radius is Sebastian, and he’s walking toward me.
His left hand is shoved in his shorts pocket. His shirt shows off his necklace glimmering in the fading sunlight, the hint of chest hair below the collar. The wide grin he’s wearing makes me pinch the bridge of my nose, already exhausted.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I say. “Sorry, folks. We have a party crasher.”
“Monroe.” There’s a small square object attached to his chest. A tripod in his right hand and a microphone looped around his wrist. “Are you chasing this cell too?”
“What else would I be doing?”
“Reflecting? Contemplating the meaning of life? Deciding which model has the better reliability to forecast hurricane intensity: the Euro or the GFS?”
“The Euro. Hands down.”
“Funny.” Sebastian sets the tripod on the ground and attaches his microphone to the front of his shirt. “I was going to say the GFS.”
“Of course you would.”
“Want to argue about it?”
“Why are you here? Please don’t tell me you put a tracker on my car.”
“Now who’s the one with an inflated ego?” His smile curves up on the right side of his mouth, and he flips his hat backward. I want to knock it off his head out of spite. “You should be flattered, Pres. Of all the fields to chase a storm, I walked into yours. That’s what we call fate.”
I roll my eyes and divert my attention to my phone.
I’m hoping the break in weather commentary hasn’t driven too many viewers away, but I’m shocked to find the number is higher than before.
Comments are flooding in, remarks from oh my god, who is THAT?
and listen to them! Banter as foreplay is one of my favorite things!
Followed by wait, is that Sebastian Dunn?
My two worlds are colliding this is WILD.
“How about we draw a line in the dirt? The left side is mine. The right side is yours.” I point to a tall tree with weeds around it. It’s one of the only ones nearby, its low-hanging branches rotting near the roots. “That’s a good place for you to shoot.”
“Too far away. I wouldn’t be able to give you shit from over there, and you know how much I enjoy annoying you.” Sebastian pulls his phone from his front pocket and sets it in the holder on his tripod. “Truth or Dare, Monroe?”
“I’m in the middle of a—”
“Show. Yeah. I figured that out when I saw you talking to yourself. Give me a little bit of credit. Hello, chasers.” I have no clue how he knows what I call my viewers, but there’s no time to ask.
He’s too busy leaning over. Crowding my space so he can wave to the camera.
Standing so close to the screen, his face takes up too much of the frame.
A swarm of heart emojis come in when he laughs and rubs the back of his neck.
Boyish, sheepish, as he looks back my way. “It’s an easy question. Want to play?”
Irritation flashes through me, a bolt of lightning in a summer storm.
The sooner I answer him, the sooner he’ll get out of my hair.
And I need him out of my hair.
The sky is turning menacing. The air is shifting to still and calm, an early sign a tornado might be forming nearby, and I don’t want to waste any precious seconds on him when I could be capturing footage.
“Truth,” I blurt, not trusting any dare he might try to give me.
“Are you scared?” There’s a taunt in the question. A challenge in his dark eyes when he steps closer, shoulder brushing mine. “Tornadoes are unpredictable. This could get dangerous.”
“All weather is unpredictable. You’d know that if you used actual science to explain what causes heat domes instead of relying on the song of the day your viewers pick.”
“Look at you paying attention to me.” It’s a murmur, soft and smooth enough to be a caress. Arrogance practically rolls off him, a wave I refuse to indulge in. “Is that why you were always staring at me in AP Physics? To figure out my scientific process?”
“I was staring at you hoping you’d disappear. I haven’t gotten my wish yet. No, I’m not scared.” I squint at him. His throat bobs around a swallow, skin tinged pink and that dimple carved out on his cheek. “Truth or Dare, Dunn?”
“Truth, obviously. I’m so happy I got you to play.”
“Are you scared?”
“Nah.” Sebastian taps the device strapped to his chest. I’m realizing it’s a GoPro, small enough for him to move freely without having to hold it.
It’s genius, and I can’t believe he’s influencing me to buy one.
I wonder if he has a discount code. “Danger is a side effect of this job, and when I accepted that, I started to enjoy the thrill of the chase a hell of a lot more than before. We have a finite amount of time on this planet. If I go out doing what I love, then it’ll have been a good life. How many people can say that?”
His answer makes me pause. There’s a twist of something sharp, something knowing, in the center of my chest.
He’s not wrong.
Most meteorologists spend their time assessing weather impacts from their concrete office buildings or a storm shelter in their basement.
A select few of us go into the danger head-on, and it comes with risks. Besides the storm itself, there are other factors: flying debris, downed power lines, and falling tree branches. Idiot drivers—mostly fellow storm chasers—who are too busy watching the sky than the roads ahead of them.
If only people knew we’re so much more than influencers seeking fame and clout. We put our life on the line, and that’s worth more than likes and views.
“That’s a good argument,” I say, voice feeble. Throat tight. It’s a side I haven’t seen from him before. Deep, aware. “I guess you’re right.”
“She’s agreeing with me, folks.” Sebastian beams at the camera. Puts a hand over his heart and flutters his eyelashes. “This might be the start of a beautiful friendship.”