Another Kind of Hurricane by Tamara Ellis Smith Read Free Book Online

out. His eyes darted around the strange room until he remembered where he was.
    He had no idea if it was morning or afternoon or night.
    And where was everyone else?
    —
    Zavion walked through the door that separated the living room from the kitchen. Ms. Cyn was in blue jeans and a t-shirt, herlong gray dreadlocks tied back in a scarf, standing in front of a big cutting board.
    “Do you need some help?” Zavion asked.
    She whipped around so fast her hair slapped her in the face.
    “Lordy, child!” she said. “You scared the living pee out of me!”
    One of her dreadlocks had stuck to a piece of dough that was on her face, just hanging there, like it was glued on.
    The skin around her eyes folded into wrinkle marks and she laughed.
    “Did you have a good nap? No one had the heart to wake you.”
    No
, thought Zavion. He didn’t think he’d ever sleep well again.
    “What time is it?” he said.
    “A little after two. You wanna take over making this bread?” Ms. Cyn asked. “Here’s a secret.” She leaned in toward Zavion. “I despise cooking.” She said the word
despise
like it was two words.
Deeee Spies
. “And if I’m going to let you be witness to the whole truth, Zavion, honey, I despise the very kitchen itself. There, I said it. Amen.”
    Zavion stood staring at the bread dough.
    “It doesn’t like me, but it won’t bite you,” she said. “Go on.”
    He wrapped his hands on either side of the dough. It was warm. He squeezed so it rose up.
    “Push on it,” said Ms. Cyn.
    It was stiff. Zavion got up onto his knees on the stool in front of him so he could put his whole body into it.
    “That’s right,” said Ms. Cyn. She stood behind him and put her hands on his hands. “Now turn it, fold it, and push again. It’s called kneading,” she said. “And look at that. You’re hired.”
    Push the dough, then turn it, fold it, and then push again.
    He grabbed the rhythm like it was a life preserver.
    “How many times do I knead it?” said Zavion.
    “You’ll feel it get more elastic,” said Ms. Cyn.
    “How many times?” he asked again.
    “Maybe forty or fifty times.”
    “Forty-five?”
    “Yes, child. Forty-five.” Ms. Cyn took Zavion’s shoulder and gently turned him toward her. “Do you know what you’re doing right there?” she said. Her eyes were shiny. Zavion shook his head. “You’re making gluten.”
    “What’s gluten?”
    “It’s a protein that keeps the bread from falling apart.” She looked like she was about to cry. “It also helps create little air pockets that let the dough rise on up.”
    Zavion liked the sound of that.
    Ms. Cyn shook her head and clapped her hands. “How’s that gash on your leg healing?” she said. “May I?” She knelt down and pulled up his pant leg. “Nicely. Good.”
    The kitchen door opened.
    Osprey walked in wearing high-heeled sandals, a scarf, and large, round sunglasses. She was holding on to a leash attached to a watering can.
    “Good morning to you! Good morning to you!”
she sang.
“Good morning, dear—”
She paused and pulled her sunglasses up onto her head.
“Good morning, dear new boy who I forget the name of! Good morning to you!”
    “Uh—it’s not morning,” Zavion said.
    “But that’s how the song goes.” Osprey pulled her sunglasses to the edge of her nose and stared at Zavion. “What’s your name again?”
    “Zavion.”
    “Well, Zavion, this is Flower.” She pointed to the watering can. “You have a pet?” said Osprey. She did a somersault on the kitchen floor. “A dog?”
    “No,” said Zavion.
    “I had a dog,” said Osprey. She spun in circles around Zavion’s stool. “I’m still teaching Flower how to do tricks, but my dog, Crow, he knew how to do all of them. He could roll over.He could sit with a piece of food on his nose and then flip it up in the air and eat it. He could play dead.” Osprey was making Zavion dizzy. “Now he’s dead all the time.” She stopped spinning and flopped on