“And my stepdad,” I interrupted miserably. I felt my chin shake. “Everyone.”

“Okay, we’ll put their names down on the list, and that way when they get their bearings and come looking for you, they’ll know you’re fine,” she said.

I gave her my information, along with Mom’s, Ronnie’s, and Marin’s, but my voice got thick and tears welled in my eyes as I talked.

The woman put down her pen and stared at me sympathetically. “Honey, do you have somewhere to go? Someone you can try to get ahold of? We’ve got some cots we’re setting up in the sanctuary and the basement, and we can work with you to get in touch with any family you might have outside of Elizabeth. Or Child Protective Services.”

Fear wracked my body. I couldn’t go sleep on a cot in a church basement and wait for a social worker to show up and send me off to foster care. I didn’t know what I was going to do, but I knew I wasn’t going to do that. I eyed Kolby, who had gone over to another table, where a woman was pouring peroxide over his cut.

“I’m staying with his family,” I said. “Until we find mine.” I tried to smile, though it felt counterfeit on my face. Kolby was going to be leaving town to stay with his aunt, he’d said. He wasn’t going to take care of me. His mom wasn’t going to take care of me. They hadn’t offered, and even if they had, I wouldn’t go. What if Mom came back after I left?

“Okay,” the woman said. “But our doors are always open. We’ve had donations of clothes coming in all morning. You might go through those boxes over there and pick out a few things. Also, feel free to take any food and supplies you may need. We expect we’ll be getting lots more donations by tomorrow. Plenty of folks have already been coming in with truckloads of stuff.”

“Thank you,” I said, but I didn’t take anything. My stomach was still sour with nerves and exhaustion, and the last thing I cared about was my clothes. I still had water in the mini-fridge in the basement. I wanted to get out of there before I ended up having to stay.

The woman who was tending to Kolby’s arm slathered some cream on it and rewrapped it, telling him about the cots and the clothes and the food as well.

“You going to stay?” he asked when we were alone again.

“No. I’m going back. I don’t want them to freak out if they somehow make it home and I’m gone.”

My words felt hollow to me. Like something I didn’t really believe in.

But Kolby must have known how much I needed to say them. He didn’t question me, just started walking back the way we had come.

We got a ride back to our street from Jerry, the husband of the woman at the tent on Kentucky. He filled us in on details, what the radio newscasters were saying about the tornado. At least one hundred people dead. So many more injured.

But Kolby only answered him in grunts and thoughtful humming noises. He didn’t add anything of his own. And I didn’t respond, either. I watched out the window as the destruction rolled into view and thought, Home. This is my home.

And wondered if three of those one hundred dead belonged to me.

And how soon I would find out for sure.

It rained again that night.

I sat outside on what used to be my front porch and watched the rain fall. Let it soak into the skin of my forearms and drip off my earlobes. I took off Ronnie’s boots and wriggled my toes in it, the closest I could get to feeling somewhat washed.

Kolby’s mom tried and tried to get me to join them in Mrs. Donnelly’s cellar.

“Honey, your mama will find you there,” she promised. “You can leave her a note.” I stared at the raindrops, which landed in heavy splats on the toes of Ronnie’s boots, washing away the dirt and dust that had gathered there during our walk. “Sweetheart, you need to take care of yourself. The last thing you want is to get sick now. Come into the cellar and dry off. Get yourself something to eat. We’ve got canned pickles and peaches down there. Mr. Fay brought over some crackers as well.” I blinked slowly and shook my head. “Honey, nobody’s gonna be staying here much longer. You’re gonna have to go someplace, too. It’s unsafe. It’s unhealthy.” A drop of water slid down my nose. Finally, Kolby’s mom said a quick prayer that I was too numb to listen to and picked her way back to Mrs. Donnelly’s cellar, her big hips shaking with every step.

I watched the rain. I watched people disappear into the cellar and into their relatives’ cars and into the night. A few of the neighbors had already fled to nearby motels. Kolby would be leaving for Milton first thing in the morning. Soon I would be the only one still here. If Mom didn’t show up, I would eventually lose my options. Someone would find me, would force me to go to the cots in the church, would force me to go to Child Protective Services, to a foster home. I wasn’t about to voluntarily give up my freedom before then. In so many ways, control over where I slept and ate was all I had left, and maybe not for much longer. I was going to hang on to it as long as I could.

After a while, goose bumps rose up on my arms, and when thunder boomed off in the distance, I began to shiver, even though I didn’t feel cold. I didn’t want to go inside. I didn’t want to be afraid. I wanted to be like I always had been—the kind of girl who didn’t pay attention to the weather, the kind of girl who sometimes went outside and danced around in the rain, who stuck her bare feet under the downspout to wash grass clippings off. The kind of girl whose mom stood on the front porch, soda in hand, smiling and watching as her daughter let the crying sky drench her until her shirt and shorts were stuck to her like a second skin.

Instead, I was shaking, my heart pounding, my eyes drifting worriedly to the sky, trying to remember what it had looked like before the tornado touched down and if it had been similar to what it looked like now. Wishing I’d paid more attention.

By the second crash of thunder, I couldn’t take it anymore. I ducked back into the house, not even bothering to stop and sift through our belongings this time—heading for the basement and the safety of the pool table, carrying Ronnie’s boots in my hands.

Once downstairs, I dropped the boots and climbed under the pool table and wrapped myself in one of the towels I’d found in the bureau, pulling my knees to my chest, my teeth chattering. I sat next to the couch cushion, bent forward at the shoulders so my head would clear the bottom of the table, wondering what I would do next. My body was tired from all the walking, but my mind was racing. What little food I had would spoil soon, and the water bottles would only last so long. I was filthy. The living room floor could cave in on me at any time. Rain was beginning to pool on the basement floor, inching toward me. Soon I would have no choice but to leave.

I wished, more than anything, for a TV. Or a radio. Anything to break the silence. Anything to cover the noise of the relentless rain pattering and the weird sound it made on our house now that our house was no longer standing. I longed for voices, or music, or laughter, or chanting—anything to break up the monotony. Anything to remind me that I was still here, still alive.

What I wouldn’t have given to listen to Marin’s chatter, to have her stand in front of my face begging me to dance with her. Life with Marin was never quiet. Life without her seemed so still it was maddening.

I snaked my hand out from under the towel and unzipped her purse. I pulled out Mom’s lipstick and opened it. I closed my eyes and smelled it, letting the scent of Mom wash over me, cradle me. I missed her so much.

“Please, Mom,” I said aloud, “be out there somewhere. Be alive. Come find me.”

I closed the lipstick and dropped it back into the purse, then grabbed a stick of gum and popped it into my mouth. Thunder rolled and I jumped, thinking about Marin and how much she hated thunderstorms. When one came through Elizabeth, Marin would wander the house on her tiptoes holding her hands over her ears, her eyes big and wet and worried. She constantly asked, “Is it over? Huh? Huh, Jersey? Is it fine?”