Storm (Swipe Series)

was even known for his volunteer work over at the Markless huddles just outside of town, back before all those misers for some reason decided to forfeit any leniency and started causing trouble this past fall.
    It didn’t matter that Lahoma itself was a small, sleepy stretch of streets, too far out in the middle of the American State to beconsidered even a suburb of any of the three urban centers. It didn’t matter that it was only just slightly too big to be considered a ghost town. And it didn’t matter that in the last few months, everything in this measly place had begun to fall apart. The fact was, within his small pond, Connor Goody Two-Shoes was growing up to be a very big fish.
    But still none of that had prepared Lahoma for the honor bestowed upon it last September, when the general-in-chief of the then-American Union (now American State, one half of the great G.U.) arrived himself to recognize how truly superlative Connor was by awarding him the first-ever General’s Award for Marked Excellence, Promise, and the American Dream.
    “That award was supposed to make you a hero ,” Sally said sarcastically. “And you think it’s ‘not that big a deal’? There are kids in this town who’d give anything just to hold it.”
    Connor didn’t turn away from the game board. There was something very much the matter with Sally, that was clear, but it was no excuse for her to take whatever it was out on him. “You know what, Sally? You want it? Go ahead—it’s yours. Take it home with you, if you’d like. I’d just as soon never see the cheap thing again.” Just talking about it—even in the privacy of his own basement and in the company of his closest friends—made Connor blush with a horrible guilt.
    “Well, it’s anything but cheap,” Sally piled on. She was mad. And she loved the sudden sense that she was making Connor madder. “The whole thing’s made of platinum. Marked money can’t even buy something as nice as that trophy.”
    “Your move,” Connor said forcefully.
    But Sally wouldn’t let it go.
    “Hey, man, what’s your problem? Is Connor Goody Two-Shoes really so wonderfully modest that he’d sooner disrespect a General’s Award than admit he’s a rising star? I mean, I’m just so sorry for you and your inconveniently perfect life . . .”
    Connor shook his head. He was hot with shame. But what could he say? He couldn’t say anything about his life. He couldn’t say that the whole General’s Award honor was just a big sham, no more than an elaborate excuse for Lamson to travel to Lahoma and talk with Connor’s parents without raising suspicion. He couldn’t say that he himself wasn’t even worthy of knowing that much; that he’d found it all out only after being held at gunpoint just for looking into it. And he certainly couldn’t say what Lamson’s big meeting with the Goodmans was actually all about.
    So instead he just said, “You’re right, Sally. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I was being self-centered. And it was belittling of me to try to help you win our stupid, miserly game of Mark-opoly, just to cheer you up from this horrible, disgusting, foul mood you so clearly seem to have fallen into.” He walked over to the trophy and picked it up. “You happy now? I’ll put this in my room the second we’re done down here. A moment that I’d welcome, by the way—anytime now.”
    Sally folded her arms across her chest. “Leave me alone, Connor.”
    “Just tell us what’s wrong!”
    There was a long pause. Sally sighed. “My dad was laid off today,” she said flatly. “We’re gonna have to sell the house.”
    “Oh Cylis ,” Steve cursed.
    “Yeah.”
    Connor put down the trophy. He turned off the tablescreen. Mark-opoly could wait.
    “It just keeps getting worse and worse,” she continued. “Without the mill, there just isn’t enough work in this town.”
    “We still have the mill,” Connor reassured.
    “In what way? Connor, Lahoma hasn’t made it rain in months! There’s nothing to do over there. My dad was in charge of handling shipments. What kind of shipments are there to handle when we haven’t launched all winter? Those silver iodide canisters are piling up in a warehouse! They don’t need him there for that . How long can they possibly pay a guy for twiddling his thumbs?”
    Connor was silent. The fact was, Sally’s family wasn’t the first to be hurt by the technical problems at Lahoma’s weather mill this past winter.