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

the floor.
    Ms. Cyn grabbed up Osprey and hugged her tight. “You hungry, little glamour girl?” She kissed each of the lenses on Osprey’s sunglasses. Osprey giggled.
    The kitchen door opened again.
    “Dinner would be ready sooner if your Grand-Auntie Cyn had done her job,” said Enzo, leaning into the kitchen.
    “Hello to you too,” said Ms. Cyn.
    “You’d think the floor was made of snakes the way you’re afraid to step foot in this kitchen here,” said Enzo.
    Zavion flinched. Water moccasins. In his kitchen.
    “Now, you hush—” said Ms. Cyn.
    “Come on outside and play with me, little angel girl,” said Enzo.
    Osprey wiggled her way out of Ms. Cyn’s arms. “I gotta go take Flower out to pee and then we can play,” she said as she skipped out of the kitchen, dragging the watering can behind her.
    —
    Push the dough, then turn it, fold it, and then push again.
    Twenty-nine.
    Thirty.
    Thirty-one—
    —
    And then rain.
    Pouring down hard.
    Zavion jumped off his stool.
    All of a sudden, when his heart beat, it hurt.
    The pain was unbearable.
    —
    Ms. Cyn rushed to his side.
    She made a soft, clicking sound with her tongue against her teeth.
    “It was just the sprayer on the kitchen sink,” she whispered.
    “Foolish of me.”
    This time she was crying.
    —
    Papa came in as Zavion began to knead again.
    “This is a regular diner, all these people coming and going,” said Ms. Cyn. “Hello, Ben.”
    “Any chance for some coffee?” Papa asked in his gravelly voice.
    Ms. Cyn held up a mug. “Yah, Ben. Right here.” She poured coffee from the metal carafe and handed it to him.
    “Bless you,” he said. “Move over, Zavion.” Papa sat on thestool as Zavion pushed the cutting board and bread dough out of the way and hopped up onto the counter.
    “We have to figure out where we’re going,” said Papa.
    Zavion sat the bread dough in his lap and squeezed it again. It rose up between his fingers like a mountain. He thought of Grandmother Mountain. That’s where they needed to be.
    “We should go to a mountain.”
    Papa reached up to tousle Zavion’s hair.
    “Hey, are you getting paint in my hair?” Zavion asked, ducking out of the way. Papa had a slash of green paint across his hand. Leave it to Papa to somehow find a canvas when everything else was lost. “So what about a mountain, Papa?” said Zavion. He wiggled his legs. He was going to have flour all over the seat of his pants.
    “What about it?”
    “Can we go there?” Zavion asked.
    “What do you mean,
there
? Just find some mountain? And what—live in a cave?”
    “Can we go to Grandmother Mountain? Like Mama promised?”
    Zavion saw Papa flinch. It was a tiny movement, a small ripple under his eyes. “I’m thinking we’ll go move near Gabe.”
    “I don’t know Gabe,” Zavion said, his heart sinking. He had only ever met his uncle once.
    “Well, it’s high time you did know him, then, don’t you think?” Papa said.
    “You almost done with the breads, honey?” Ms. Cyn winked at Zavion.
    “Almost,” he said.
    “You’re making bread?” said Papa, raising his head.
    “He’s good at it,” said Ms. Cyn.
    “He cooks at home too—or, uh—cooked.” Papa paused. “I’ll bet he’s good at it. Let me get out of here so you can finish.”
    “But, Papa—”
    “Zavion’s a responsible boy,” said Ms. Cyn. She put a hand on Zavion’s shoulder as she said
boy
, like she was reminding Papa of something.
    “He’s a good boy.” Papa walked to the door. Then he turned back. “We’ll figure this out, Zav.”
    Zavion brushed flour off his pants and got back down onto the stool. He already had it figured out. They were going to Grandmother Mountain. That was the plan.
    He kneaded the dough fourteen more times. There was that funny feeling again—like some creature crawling under his shirt. He pulled his hands out of the dough and scratched the base of his neck. “I think I’m done,” he said.
    Ms. Cyn stretched a