Storm (Swipe Series)

head out from around the door frame. She waved a little. “Hey, Connor,” she said.
    “Hi, Sally.”

    The tablescreen was on and the game was ready to go, but it’d been nearly an hour and nobody had made a move. Instead, they just chatted, about nothing in particular.
    “You know,” Sally said. “Steve and I . . . Connor, we’re worried about you.”
    “Thanks.” Connor smiled.
    “No, man,” Steve said. “You can’t just shrug it off anymore. We’re here to help you, one way or another.”
    Sally leaned in and laid her hand on Connor’s wrist. “We couldn’t help but notice that your grades are slipping,” she said. “Steve saw the tests you’ve been bringing home this week.”
    “They were just lying around the room,” Steve apologized. “I didn’t mean to pry . . .”
    Connor shrugged.
    “We thought,” Sally said gently. “We thought tonight we could, you know . . . help you with your homework, maybe? I’ve already taken a look at it . . . and Steve too . . . and we thought, you know, maybe we could walk you through it. Make sure you don’t fall too far behind . . .”
    Connor chuckled softly. “Sally,” he said. “There’s no point.”
    “No—there is!” Sally said encouragingly. “There is, there is! That’s the whole thing here, Connor. That’s what we’re trying to tell you—it does still matter! Your life still matters—very, very much!”
    Inside, Connor was screaming. This was a nightmare, being treated this way. Pitifully. Like he was a child.
    It had been like this ever since his parents’ funeral. And not just Sally and Steve either. Everyone in Lahoma was walking on eggshells around him. They all hated his parents, he knew. But they were also all hyperaware of Connor’s great-big-awful tragedy, and the sympathy and attention they were giving him as a result was suffocating. Insulting. Like he was some stray dog just barely cute enough to be worth Lahoma’s table scraps.
    Exploiting it now was necessary, Connor knew. It was part of the plan. And as difficult as it was not to lash out about it, the fact was, right now, he had these two right where he needed them. Suck up your pride, Connor. It was time to make his move.
    “I just feel . . . ,” he said, trying to cry a little. “Ever since theydied . . . ever since the truth came out . . . about what they were doing . . . about how awful it was . . . I just feel . . .” He paused for effect. Sally squeezed his wrist comfortingly. Steve leaned in and turned his head, as if to display more prominently the ear that was so dutifully listening.
    “It’s okay,” he said. “You can tell us.”
    “I just feel like I have nothing to look forward to,” Connor blurted out. “I have no family. I have no future. I have no place in this town . . .”
    “Of course you do!” Sally said. “Don’t be silly! The weather mill is reopening in just a week—that’s a huge thing to look forward to! Everyone will forget all about this stuff with your parents after that.”
    “But no one’s talking about it,” Connor said. “Around me, everyone just pretends like it’s not even happening.” Connor sniffled and took a moment to catch his breath. “Hey, you know, what if . . . ,” he began. Sally and Steve hung off his every word. “What if we found some way to honor the mill’s reopening?”
    “Like a celebration?” Sally asked. “Like a big party?”
    “Yeah . . . ,” Connor said. “Like, if only there were some way to get the town all together. So we can appreciate the mill’s reopening. So we could move on . . .” He sniffled.
    “We could have a big picnic!” Sally said. “We could have food, and games, and raffles, and . . . and we could get the whole town to come!”
    “A last-day-of-sunshine picnic!” Steve added. “One last hurrah before the rains come. Something to celebrate the first cloud seeding of the season—in style.”
    “In style ,” Sally said.
    “That might be good,” Connor said. “That might be just thething to make me finally feel forgiven, you know? Proof that we’ve moved on from this episode, as a town.”
    “As a community ,” Steve said. “A community with you in it.”
    “At the center of it!”
    “The winner of the General’s Award!”
    “Prize of Lahoma!”
    “Connor Goodman!”
    Connor was smiling now, big and toothy and wet from all the crying. “You’d do that?” he asked. “You’d really set that up . . . for me?”
    “Of course we would!”