Gale #2
“Charles is looking for an introductory profile of each contestant. We’ll have a short, intimate conversation that will help viewers get to know who you are and what you’re all about.
Clips of it will be shown during the first episode.
I have a few easy questions. Nothing complicated.
We’ll keep it stress-free and do retakes only if necessary.
Charles would prefer we keep it unedited. ”
“Great.” Only it wasn’t great. In fact, it was the furthest thing from great.
“I hear you’re a touch camera shy.” Becca reached out and brushed wrinkles from my shirt. I tensed at the contact and shot my sister a dirty look.
Olivia shrugged, unfazed. “You are.”
Becca continued. “Do you want to go first? That way it’s done and over with, and you can stop fretting.”
I didn’t want a turn at all, but since that was no longer an option, I agreed.
Becca and Arty guided me out the sliding door onto the back deck before descending into the yard. Arty scanned, then suggested I sit on the wooden fence. “Landscape and sky in the background. It’s perfect.”
So that was where we went. As we crossed the yard, I sensed Dad watching.
We locked gazes, and he offered a reassuring nod as though urging me to recall everything he’d said.
Arty clipped a microphone to my shirt collar and fussed with my hair, moving my legs this way and that, telling me how to sit and reminding me not to slouch. Wasn’t this supposed to be raw and natural? Why was he fussing?
Becca rubbed her thumb over my brows, smoothing them in place before tipping my head left and right. It was invasive, but I told myself not to pull away.
“Clutch the beam and dangle your feet?” Arty suggested.
I obeyed, but he shook his head. “No. You’re too stiff. Try to relax. Maybe balance your heels on the lower rung.” He chewed the inside of his cheek as I complied, but he shook his head. “Turn a bit. That’s it. Chin up. You’re slouching again. Act normal, bud. It isn’t rocket science.”
What did normal mean exactly?
By the time Arty deemed me camera-ready, a giant pool of sweat had gathered in my armpits.
Was it visible? No one mentioned it, so I assumed not.
My stomach soured, and I regretted breakfast. If I threw up on camera, would they keep the clip and humiliate me on national television? With my luck? Probably.
On Arty’s suggestion, Becca leaned casually against the fence, peering up at me like we were involved in an intimate conversation, which was precisely the impression they were going for.
“Ready?” she asked.
“No. Can I hear the questions before we start? So I’m prepared.”
Becca patted my knee, hand lingering. “Better they come as a surprise. That way we get an authentic reaction.”
“Oh.” I wanted to shove her hand off my leg, but resisted. “Okay.”
Arty gave Becca the green light. Instead of launching directly into the interview, she scanned the field beyond the fence and tipped her face to the sky, inhaling the fresh country air and letting the nonexistent breeze dance across her cheeks.
“Such a gorgeous property you have here on the outskirts of Elk City. It’s refreshing. ”
I flashed my attention from Becca to Arty when she stopped talking. Was I supposed to engage? She hadn’t asked a question. Scrambling, I said, “It’s my father’s land.”
Becca smiled. “Do you like country living?”
“Yes.”
“Deep in tornado alley.”
I nodded.
“Perfect for what you do.”
I didn’t correct her.
“So… Gale Windrow, is that right?”
“Yes.”
“And how old are you, Gale?”
“Twenty-six.”
“You seem younger.”
My cheeks burned.
“Are you always this quiet?”
“I guess.” I wasn’t sure what she expected me to add.
“I’d like to hear about your role with the team. You have a degree in meteorology, isn’t that right?”
I sighed. “No. I have a degree in atmospheric science.”
“Oh. Isn’t that the same thing?”
“Not technically. Meteorology is a branch of atmospheric science primarily applied to short-term weather analysis and forecasting. My area is broader. We study climate change and aeronomy and examine how aerosol impacts or chemical changes drive these weather phenomena. It’s more research-focused.”
“Wow. I didn’t know that. It must come in handy when you’re hunting storms. So, let me ask. How many years of experience do you have chasing?”
“None.”
“Really?”
“This is my first season getting involved.”
“Interesting. What drove you to want to be a tornado chaser?”
“I don’t want to be a tornado chaser.”
My answer caused a hiccup in the interview. Becca’s composure slipped as she glanced at Arty, who rolled a hand, indicating we should keep going.
“I’m not sure I understand.” Becca emitted a strained titter. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”
I shrugged. “This is my sister’s passion.
The show is her endeavor. I assure you, I got dragged into it quite by accident.
In fact,” I turned to face the camera, something I’d been told explicitly not to do.
“I don’t want to be on this show. I don’t want to earn a place on Stormz Rising, so if all you viewers out there want to eliminate me, I would be eternally grateful. Please don’t vote for me.”
Arty lowered the camera. “Buddy, you can’t say that.”
“Why not?”
He looked at me like I was a dolt. “The point of the show is to not get voted off.”
“That’s what everybody keeps telling me, except I want no part of it.”
Seeming annoyed, Arty glared at Becca like it was her fault I was out of control and not following the script.
Becca’s tone went from professional to pacifying, much like Olivia’s had done every time I voiced my opinion. I was not a child. I did not need to be coddled.
Again, Becca touched my thigh, and it was an unwelcome intrusion. “Sweetie, why did you sign up if you don’t want to do it?”
Peer pressure, I wanted to say. Because I don’t know how to stand up to anyone, especially my sister.
“I… I don’t know,” I said instead. “It was a mistake. I make a lot of mistakes. My life is one big mistake.” Hearing my words, I winced. “Can you cut that part?” I asked Arty, only then realizing the camera hung at his side.
He looked at me like I was an imbecile. “Does it look like I’m recording?”
My cheeks burned. I lowered my gaze to my lap, wishing the interview was over.
“Look,” Becca said, rubbing my leg like she was calming a child. “We’ll take that part out, and I won’t ask that question again.”
“No.” I shifted away from her touch, all too aware of Arty’s mounting frustration. “Please leave it in. The part about voting me off. I want it in.”
Becca sighed, and the interview resumed. If I thought it couldn’t get worse, I was wrong.
She asked about my hobbies, and I happily talked about photography, my travels across several states, camping in the wilderness, and my as yet undefined position with Weather magazine.
My heart dared to calm, when…
“Our research tells us you joined the seminary before getting your degree in atmospheric science. That’s quite a shift. Does that mean you once wanted to be a priest? What changed your mind?”
A steady buzzing filled my head—taunting voices from the past that might never leave me. My skin felt too tight, and although it was likely my imagination, Arty’s gaze through the camera lens felt hostile.
He was recording. Everyone would see this. My throat dried.