Ava let out a whoop as their car pulled into the driveway only seconds behind Coach’s. Everyone tumbled out and sprinted into the house, the wind whipping their hair into knots.
“Tommy, make sure all the windows are locked and shut the shades,” Mrs. Sackett commanded above the roar of the wind. “And then everyone stay far away from the windows in case they shatter.”
Ava reached down to calm Moxy, who circled her, panting and whimpering. “Moxy’s not happy.”
“She’s a smart dog,” Coach said, helping Tommy secure the house.
“Put Moxy on a leash to keep her close,” Mrs. Sackett instructed, then ran into the kitchen. She returned with flashlights. “Everyone into the bathroom. Now!”
“The bathroom? All of us?” Alex asked. The downstairs bathroom off the kitchen was tiny.
“Yes,” her mom said. “I’ve read up on this. A small interior room with no windows is the safest spot.”
“One sec. I’m going upstairs,” Tommy announced as the branches of the tree alongside the house scraped loudly against the siding. “Got to save my keyboard.”
“Oh, no! We’re all staying downstairs together.” Coach Sackett grabbed the back of Tommy’s shirt and pulled him into the bathroom. The lights in the house flickered.
“We’re not going to fit,” Ava complained.
“You and Alex squeeze in the tub,” Mrs. Sackett said. “Bring Moxy, too. Be right back!”
“Laura!” their dad called as the lights went out.
“Hold on, Dorothy, we’re in for a ride!” Tommy joked. He snapped on a flashlight.
Ava pulled her knees to her chin inside the white ceramic bathtub. Moxy pressed her trembling body against her, her damp fur tickling Ava’s nose. Alex squeezed beside her in the same Buddha-like position, her back angled away, nose-to-nose with the faucet.
“Are you okay?” Ava had felt a strange coldness between them the whole ride home.
“Do I look okay?” Alex shot back.
None of them looked okay. Tommy huddled on the closed toilet, and Coach was pressed against the towel bar. Mrs. Sackett hurried in, closed the door tightly behind her, and squeezed against the sink. Not an inch of space remained. The single beam of Tommy’s flashlight bounced along the sage-green walls.
“What’s in there?” Tommy pointed to the huge, lumpy sack Mrs. Sackett had dragged in.
She reached inside and pulled out five football helmets.
“Team sports?” Tommy laughed. “I never knew you wanted to play, Mom.”
“I don’t,” Mrs. Sackett replied. “The helmets are to keep our heads safe.”
“Safe from what?” Ava asked.
“The tornado.” Their mom handed each of them a banged-up helmet. “I know I’ve been wrapped up in my work, but I put it on hold to go into preparation mode this morning. I bought milk, bread, batteries, and cases of water. And I came up with the helmet idea. We certainly have enough of them in the garage.”
“I’m not wearing this!” Alex protested, sniffing the inside. “It reeks like Tommy’s smelly feet.”
Tommy pushed his big feet onto the rim of the tub, and both girls swatted them away.
“It’s too tight in here for that nonsense,” Coach said. “Listen to your mother. Suit up.”
They all slipped on the helmets and waited silently, as the roar of the wind increased and the tornado closed in. Ava felt her insides tighten. Her parents gave her stiff smiles from behind the grilles of their helmets. But their false grins didn’t mask their worry. Her dad reached for her mom’s hand.
“Remember how we used to hold hands during thunderstorms?” Ava whispered to Alex, who sat rigid next to her with her helmet sagging over her eyes.
When they were little, they would intertwine their fingers, squeezing and daring each other to let go. Letting go first meant you lost.
“You should’ve stayed with your football family. I bet they would hold your hand,” Alex muttered. “You guys stick together, right?”
“Stay with them? What are you talking about?” Ava asked.
“Girls, not now, okay?” Coach asked. He gazed uncertainly at the ceiling.
Moxy wiggled and tried to stand. Ava pushed her down uncomfortably into her lap. Alex crossed her arms and stared stonily at the drain, refusing to speak.
With the bobbing beam of the flashlight, the scary rush of wind, and Moxy’s damp-dog stench, the bathroom felt as if it were growing smaller and smaller.
“What is your problem?” Ava finally demanded. She was never able to outlast Alex’s silent treatment.
“I know you chose them over me,” Alex said quietly.
“Who?” Ava couldn’t make sense of her sister’s words.
“Girls, this is not the time to bicker,” Mrs. Sackett said, her voice barely audible.
“Look.” Alex leaned over Moxy’s head. “I know you signed that petition. I can’t believe you chose your team over your twin.”
“What?” Ava cried. “I—”
The rest of her words were drowned out by what sounded like a jumbo jet touching down on their roof. The roar momentarily shook the house.
Instinctively, Ava reached for Alex’s hand. Alex hesitated, then held on tight, and they squeezed their fingers together.
Neither letting go.
As fast as the roar came, it left. They all huddled together, listening to one another breathe in the sudden silence. Alex heard her heart thudding.
Tommy waved his flashlight from face to face. “That was weird.”
“That was scary,” Mrs. Sackett corrected.
“I think it passed through,” Coach added.
Alex felt Ava’s warm fingers still laced with hers. She liked how perfectly they fit together. “Did you sign?” she asked softly.
“I didn’t. I would never sign,” Ava replied.
Alex blinked back her surprise and the rush of relief. “But you worked so hard to be a part of the team.”
“Do you seriously think I’d choose a scoreboard over you?” Ava asked.
“I hoped not, but it seems as if everyone is against me.”
“Not everyone.”
“What are you two going on about?” Tommy demanded.
“It’s a twin thing,” Alex and Ava said at the same time. They shared a secret smile.
“Can we get out of here?” Tommy asked.
“Let’s go,” Mrs. Sackett agreed. She pushed open the door. Moxy leaped up and trotted into the dark house.
Alex stood in the tub, hand in hand with Ava. Football helmets still on, they stepped out together to survey the damage.