Gale
“Idon’t want to be part of this.”
My sister ignored me. Roe, Jazz, and Maggie, occupying the couch and lounge chair respectively, said nothing. Everyone was too caught up in themselves to care about my feelings. Why shouldn’t they be? Nothing had gone as planned the previous day.
Besides, my protest was twenty-four hours too late.
After an hour-long negotiation over terms, it was a done deal.
Returning home from the city yesterday afternoon, we’d gone our separate ways, agreeing to meet in Dad’s basement—my basement—the following day to discuss a plan moving forward.
I suspected Olivia had organized it this way, so I couldn’t back down or miss it on purpose.
I’d needed her last night, but she’d abandoned me, making excuses that she had to go home and put in a few hours of work.
She worked remotely as a data entry clerk for a major construction company out of Dallas.
I begged her to call when she had a free minute.
When I didn’t hear from her by midnight, I figured she was avoiding a confrontation.
Olivia was my best friend and strongest advocate, but she was also pushy and demanding when it suited her. This show opportunity trumped my feelings.
I didn’t sleep and wound up in the field behind the house, taking pictures of a starlit sky, a colony of bats racing across the moon, and the haunting silhouettes of trees on the horizon. The crickets and owls kept me company, and I longed to get in the Jeep and drive.
My pant legs were soaked through in minutes, but I marched on. When the sun broke, I photographed the rising dawn, mesmerized by a thick blanket of radiation fog that covered the field before it quickly burned off as the day warmed.
Instead of the usual peace I found in isolation and photography, I jittered with restless energy. I had walked miles beyond our property line, winding up on a remote country road in the middle of nowhere, and no less anxious.
Peace and calm had never been mine.
The whole CineVision Entertainment deal was a living, breathing nightmare.
One I had literally signed up for, albeit against my will.
Pen in hand and with a dozen eyes on me, I’d scrawled my name on the contract with no objection, same as everyone else, even as screaming protests battered the inside of my brain.
I was the lemming, willingly following his fellow compatriots off the cliff to his death. Jonah, compelled to preach in Nineveh despite wishing I could run clear in the opposite direction, get eaten by a whale, and never look back.
What was the alternative? Abandon Olivia and her team, and risk disqualifying them? Let CineVision’s CEO build a team that somehow involved me and practical strangers, including Ozrik, the guy who made my stomach twist in a not-so-unpleasant way?
No. Absolutely not.
I didn’t want to chase tornadoes, and I certainly didn’t want to be on a show where my life would be dissected by strangers. Where I’d have to spend time in the presence of Elk City’s bad boy heartthrob.
I had gone to Oklahoma City for Olivia. For moral support.
Nothing more. I wanted to take pictures of landscapes and flora, meditate, journal, and continue my quest to rediscover God in nature.
I wanted to be alone. Was that too much to ask?
Maybe one day I would find a suitable career, something that called to me like the priesthood had once done before everything fell apart.
Caving to peer pressure when the alternative was voicing my opinion to a restless, potentially judgmental crowd was easier. Safer. It was what I’d been doing for years. Keeping peace to my own detriment. Crying on the inside while smiling to the world and acting like everything was okay.
It was not and never would be okay.
I didn’t want to be an outlier, but I hadn’t yet figured out how to fit in.
As a result, I was now an official contestant on a reality television show, fighting to earn a spot as a tornado chaser.
A competition of all things. Me, the kid who had actively avoided organized sports and clubs and cliques at all costs growing up.
The guy who went out of his way to go unnoticed.
Who hid in the library and under the bleachers.
I was not cut out for this.
The chatter in the basement surrounded videoing.
After much discussion, Charles and Dennis had agreed to a trial run, allowing each group full control of videography, provided we sent everything unedited and recorded the surrounding parts of a chase.
The preliminaries, individual accounts, and a wrap-up when we got home.
They didn’t seem pleased, but it was a compromise they’d submitted to. Maybe the only one.
“What might it take to guarantee I get voted off?” I wondered out loud from my spot near the stone hearth in front of the electric fireplace. It wasn’t cold enough to have it on, but I shivered nonetheless with suppressed nerves.
Olivia, who sat beside me, scowled. “The goal is to not get voted off.”
“Your goal, maybe. I don’t want to do this. In fact, I don’t know how to do this. I’m not a chaser.”
“You’re so fucking whiny. We hear you, Gale. Too bad. Suck it up.” Jazz’s caustic glare made me shrink.
In other words, they were sick of my complaints. CineVision wanted five people for Stormz Rising. The goal was to get all five of us in the top slots. Without me, they would end up with someone from Ozrik’s team, and no one wanted to wind up blended.
“We have to play our cards right if we want to stick together,” Roe said. “It means winning over the audience since they’re the ones voting. We need a well-thought-out plan.”
“Simple.” Jazz cracked his knuckles. “We make Twisted Fates look bad every chance we get.”
“No.” Olivia tugged the elastic free from her braid and ran her fingers through it. “We aren’t playing dirty. It’s not my style.”
“It’s not our style.” Maggie adjusted herself on the lounger. Her entire focus was on a tablet balanced in her lap.
“Should we be recording this?” Roe asked.
Olivia re-braided her hair. “Not yet. I want to get these kinks straightened out first since we can’t edit footage.
The last thing we need is a nasty remark about Twisted Fates to slip in and then have them use it.
We want to maintain our positive reputation.
Our following is already solid. We’re doing something right.
People like us. We’re personable and relatable.
Our audience is engaged. It’s expanding.
There’s no reason to believe that our popularity won’t translate from a social media platform to a proper show, provided we stay likable.
If we change who we are, we might lose their vote. ”
“Olivia’s right. Check this out.” Maggie spun the tablet to face us.
One of Twisted Fates’ YouTube videos filled the screen.
“I’ve been watching their channel all night.
Know your enemy and all that. Honestly, Roe’s and my videography skills are as solid and clean as anything Noah is producing.
The way we engage with one another is way friendlier compared to them.
They bicker and fight a lot. They’re… crass, and—”
“People like that aspect,” Jazz said. “The grittiness makes them real. Relatable.”
“It’s their thing, but it’s not ours,” Olivia said. “The question is, how do we ensure our team remains together in the end?”
“I hate to say it, but they have experience on their side.” Roe had taken possession of the tablet and frowned as he watched the video unfold. “Plus, they’re handsome bastards, and I say that as a bona fide straight man.”
Maggie smothered a smile.
Olivia rolled her eyes. “Ozrik isn’t that good-looking.”
“It’s not just him.” Roe turned the tablet to display a still of the other members.
Jazz snatched the screen from Roe. “Who fucking cares? They’re also a bunch of egotistical assholes who can suck my dick.”
Of all Olivia’s Wind Riders, I liked Jazz the least. He was outspoken and argumentative. Something about him made me profoundly uncomfortable.
My sister took the tablet from Jazz and watched the video play. “Roe has a point, and not the part about them being good-looking. Ozrik’s group has one glaring advantage that has everything to do with their experience.”
“What?” Jazz’s tone remained bitter.
Olivia didn’t immediately respond and dragged her finger along the bar under the video, advancing to a later part of the episode.
She sat close enough that I had a clear view of the screen when she pushed play.
Bad boy, heartthrob Ozrik appeared in the center of the frame.
The sound was off, but his mouth moved as he spoke to the camera and pointed at a distinct helical vortex over his shoulder.
His wavy hair whipped around his face. A feverish, cutting smile creased his eyes.
He wore a fitted white tank top, but despite how it stuck to his frame, the fabric rippled in the wind.
I traced the distinct line of his shoulders to the cut ridges of his collarbones, where I noticed a ball-chain necklace, partly tucked under his shirt.
The dark hair on his forearms stood out, even against his naturally tanned skin.
The distressing light of the storm highlighted the curve of his biceps.
Ozrik flirted with the camera and his audience in a way Olivia would never do, and it was somehow…
seductive. Considering my education—four years of intense atmospheric study—I should have been more enthralled by the system forming in the background, but it was the passionate man in front of the camera who stole my attention.
An inferno radiated under my skin while tiny bubbles of carbonation fizzed and popped in my lower belly.
My fingers numbed even as my palms grew clammy.
I darted my gaze away and slammed the door on the treacherous thoughts trying to infiltrate my brain.
My body had a mind of its own. For years, it had betrayed me, reacting when I desperately wished it wouldn’t.
The desirous pull, urging me to entertain the lustful thoughts, was more than I could take most days.
Lately, I’d been secretly giving them freedom, devising fantasies to keep me company on lonely nights.
“Advantage?” My voice croaked. “What advantage do they have? I don’t understand.”
Based on the glum faces of Olivia’s team, I seemed to be the only one who hadn’t connected the dots.
“They take bigger risks.” Roe took the tablet from Olivia.
“No.” Jazz shuffled over to view the part my sister had highlighted.
“It’s not about risks. Look at where they are.
We’ve never gone that close to a tornado.
Fuck me. They’re practically beside it. We think we’re hot shit when we park a mile off.
These guys…” Jazz huffed derisively as though it explained what he didn’t say.
“We could get closer, but we don’t have the same vehicle they do, so it’s riskier.” Maggie confiscated the tablet and offered it to me.
I didn’t want to have it. I didn’t want to look at Ozrik’s devilish smile again, especially with so many people watching. With such weak self-control, anything might show on my face. The fires of hell already burned my cheeks.
But, God help me, my hand had a mind of its own, and I accepted the tablet from Maggie.
Deep down, I harbored an irresistible desire to commit Ozrik’s features to memory so I might conjure them later when I was alone. My fantasy could use a proper hero.
Lead me not into temptation… Alas, I was drawn by the hand of the devil himself.
Yes, Jazz, he is that good-looking.
I stared at the screen as Ozrik and his cameraman ran down a dirt-packed country road.
The wind roared around them. Ozrik looked so wild and free.
So alive. Untouched by the turmoil of life.
He shouted something and laughed, and I pretended I could hear it.
Another guy from his team appeared. Vern.
Vern did landscaping for the city. I’d seen him around.
I didn’t know him personally, but I knew of him.
I fought the urge to raise the volume. Instead, I privately noted which video Maggie had selected so I could return to it later and watch it through from beginning to end.
Hear Ozrik’s laughter. Feed off his energy.
Pretend, for a moment, I had the courage to be who I was meant to be. The confidence to let go and fall.
Olivia’s voice was a distant hum. I vaguely registered her words.
Although I understood the team’s dilemma, I was too distracted to care.
It wasn’t my problem. As much as I loved my sister, if we failed, so be it.
I didn’t want to do this anyway. If I had known this was how it would turn out, I never would have let Cormac follow through.
“It won’t matter how great our chemistry or how personable we are with our audience,” Olivia said to her friends.
“People want up close and personal. They want to think they can reach out and touch the vortex. Feel its power. They want to believe we’re in real danger.
If we keep a distance and hand in our typical footage and Twisted Fates hands in their far superior footage, and CineVision has to compile it for a thirty-minute show slot, who do you think will get more airtime?
Less time means fewer opportunities to win over an audience and a much higher chance of getting voted off.
If people don’t remember us, they won’t vote for us. ”
“So, we get closer,” Jazz said. “It’s risky.”
“It’s also a guessing game,” Roe said. “Mother Nature doesn’t exactly give us a blueprint of where she plans to drop a tornado.”
“Except, she kind of does,” Maggie added. “We’ve played it safe to this point.”
Ozrik on the screen lifted his face to the sky. Wonder and awe radiated from his eyes as he absorbed the show. He and his buddy conversed with the person behind the camera. Another chaser appeared in the frame. Elliott? He was the one who missed the meeting.
The three radiated excitement. The forming vortex was nearly above them.
The photographer in me wanted to stop time and capture the moment.
I wanted to eject Vern and Elliott from the frame and take a wide-angle shot of the only person that mattered.
Ozrik and the storm were a confluence of beauty, and I couldn’t look away.
It was as though one couldn’t exist without the other.
As though they fed each other, growing more powerful with each passing second.
As though they belonged to one another.
Only when Olivia said, “Gale can do it,” did I snap to attention, realizing I’d long ago stopped listening to the conversation.
I glanced up from the tablet, heart pounding, flushed with embarrassment and shame, and burning with lust. “I can do what?”
“You can read the sky better than we can,” Maggie said. “We want to be where the tornado lands. You can be the navigator.”