Sea City, Here We Come!

  Mr. Pike stood up from the table. “Then it’s settled. I’ll go into town and get supplies, just in case.” He grabbed a pad and pen from near the phone. “Now, what do I need to get? Bottled water, canned goods —”

  “Flashlights and batteries,” Mrs. Pike said. “Candles, maybe a battery-operated radio and clock —”

  “Candy and cookies!” Jordan suggested.

  “Can I go with you?” Adam asked.

  “Me too!” the other boys screamed.

  I was starting to feel tingly inside.

  This was getting exciting.

  This Sitter was not feeling very Super on Wednesday. Especially at six in the morning.

  That was when I felt the earthquake. Well, in my dream it was an earthquake. I was dancing on stage with the American Ballet Theater. Suddenly I felt my body bounce around. Then the floor opened up. I looked down and saw the orchestra falling into a big hole. One of the violinists was shouting, “Can we go make castles now?”

  That’s when I opened my eyes and saw Claire Pike. She was jumping up and down on my bed. Margo was doing the same, on Mallory’s bed.

  “Can we?” Claire repeated.

  “You sound just like the violinist,” I said with a yawn.

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind.” I looked out the window. It was dark. It was also cloudy and cold and gloomy. The kind of morning that makes any normal person want to sleep late.

  I plopped back in bed and said, “It’s way too early, you guys. The contest doesn’t begin for four hours. Can’t you wait awhile?”

  “Ohhhhhhh,” Margo started to moan.

  “Come on,” I heard Mallory say. “You can practice in front of the house, okay? Just let us sleep.”

  “But we’ve been practicing for days!” Margo complained.

  “Well … go have breakfast,” Mal said. “Do something. Just let us sleep.”

  That worked for awhile. Sort of. Mal slept. I tried, but I kept thinking of that earthquake. Then I’d hear bumps and giggles downstairs and feel as if I wasn’t doing my job.

  Finally I went downstairs and helped the kids fix their breakfast. Then, while they played outside, I wrote a postcard in the living room.

  Before long, the rest of the family was up. I, Super Sitter, went to work. I made pancakes, poured cereal, cleaned spills, and washed dishes.

  “Jessi, you are amazing,” Mrs. Pike said at one point.

  Boy, was I glad to hear that. I almost forgot how tired I was.

  When Mal came downstairs to help, things became easier — although Margo and Claire could hardly sit still. Every few minutes, Claire would run inside and ask, “What time is it now?” One of us would answer, for instance, “Eight twenty-seven,” and she’d say, “How many more minutes till ten o’clock?”

  By nine-thirty I’d had enough. “Okay, Claire and Margo. Let’s go for it!”

  “Yeeaaaaaa!” Claire screamed.

  “We’re going to win!” Margo yelled.

  I gritted my teeth and tried to smile. I was hoping they’d want to enter the contest for fun. I was hoping they weren’t serious about “going for the gold.”

  But I was wrong. And I knew I’d have a few broken hearts to mend in a couple of hours.

  “Good luck!” Mal said. “I’ll bring the others down a little later.”

  “Great!” I replied. I stepped outside to see what the weather was like.

  Still dreary and chilly. “You guys,” I said, “go get your windbreakers.” I got mine, too, and we shoved off. Margo and Claire were loaded up with tools — plastic buckets, shovels, pails, and a bag full of seashells to use as decorations.

  We walked next door to pick up Suzi (Stacey stayed with Buddy and Marnie). Suzi came running out with a shopping bag full of her equipment.

  Mrs. Barrett and Stacey waved good-bye. “I’ll come with my camera!” Mrs. Barrett shouted.

  Fine, I thought. As long as she got pictures of them before the results were announced.

  We walked toward the north jetty. I had to bundle myself up tightly against the cold. I looked to the horizon, but the sun wasn’t peeking in anywhere.

  “Aren’t you cold?” I asked the girls.

  “A little,” Margo said.

  “When you start getting wet,” I said, “you’re really going to feel it.”

  “That’s okay,” Claire piped up.

  “You’re sure you don’t want to stay home, have some hot chocolate, maybe read a story —”

  “No!” was the unanimous reply.

  I gave up. There was no turning back now.

  We walked to the lifeguard stand. Two very adorable, muscular guys were standing on it. “Hi,” one of them said.

  “Hi,” I answered. “We came to sign up.”

  The guys looked at each other, then back at us. “Sign up? You mean, for the castle contest?”

  “Yeah!” Margo said.

  “Oh, that’s been canceled because of the storm,” the second lifeguard said. “They’re going to hold it next week — Wednesday, I think.”

  Margo dropped her equipment in the sand. “Ohhhhhh!” she groaned.

  “Lifeguard-silly-billy-goo-goo,” Claire said under her breath.

  “Yeah,” Suzi agreed, thrusting out her lower lip.

  Next week! Whoa, I was saved! We’d be miles away by then.

  I looked around. The beach was empty. I’d barely noticed. In fact, I’d sort of forgotten about Hurricane Bill, Tropical Storm Bill, or whatever it was.

  “So what about some hot chocolate?” I said.

  “Yeah!” The girls started running back.

  You know what I decided? Hurricane or storm, Bill was my hero.

  Our ears were plastered to the radio. (Wait. Ew. What an image. Oh, well. You know what I mean.)

  “To repeat, the hurricane watch has become a hurricane warning. The tropical storm is now officially Hurricane Bill. Coastal-flood and small-craft warnings are in effect, for winds up to one hundred miles an hour. Residents are advised to stay away from coastal and outlying areas. All New Jersey beaches are closed. We have reports that Bill is already creating extensive damage along the North Carolina shore and should arrive in New Jersey this evening, after which he will proceed up the East Coast….”

  Mrs. Pike turned down the radio. All of us — kids, grown-ups, Barretts, Pikes — were crowded in the kitchen. Outside the rain was already pounding against the window.

  “Well,” she said, “what do we do now?”

  Mr. Pike scratched his chin. “We can’t stay here. A beach is the worst place to be in a hurricane.”

  Poor Byron’s lower lip was trembling. “Are we going to die?”

  Mrs. Pike smiled and hugged him tight. “Absolutely, positively not.”

  (Byron looked happier. I wasn’t so convinced.)

  “But I’m not so sure it’s a great idea to pack up and return home,” Mr. Pike said.

  “Honey,” Mrs. Pike replied, “three days of vacation time is not as important as —”

  “I’m not thinking of the vacation,” Mr. Pike said. “I wonder how smart it is to try to drive to Connecticut. We’ll be in the hurricane’s path the whole way, in heavy traffic, with no visibility — most of the trip will be at night.”

  Then Kristy spoke up. “We’d be better off just moving inland, to a motel or something.”

  Leave it to Kristy. One statement, and we have a perfect solution to the Problem of the Year.

  “That’s a good idea,” Mr. Pike said. He glanced out the window, then looked sternly around the room. “Now listen. I want everybody to pack just a few clothes into overnight bags. Enough for two days, tops. And I don’t want any fighting. This is very serious. We’ll meet back here in fifteen minutes. Now, go.”

  We went. Fast. I have hardly ever heard quiet, easy-going Mr. Pike talk like that.

  Kristy and I ran to the room we shared. Kristy threw a pair of underwear, some socks, and a T-shirt into a backpack. “Come on,” she said. br />
  I was having a dilemma. I was wearing the only long pants I had packed, these overdyed navy jeans. I was also wearing a loose black cotton sweater over a white tank top. So if I packed my big purple Hawaiian shorts, which were the next warmest pants, I’d be stuck having to wear an orange striped shirt, which was the only long-sleeved one I’d brought. Unless I wore the sweater again over it….

  “Uh, Claud?” Kristy said. “Bill is a hurricane, you know — not a fashion-show judge.”

  “I know, I know. You go ahead. I’ll be right down.”

  Clomp-clomp-clomp-clomp. Kristy was the first one downstairs. “Someone should call Stoneybrook!” I heard her yell.

  I ended up packing three outfits — one in case it was cold and rainy, one in case it was warm and rainy, and one really nice one to change into if necessary (or if the weather cleared up). I thought that was very sensible.

  Oh, and some extra shoes and a big bag of Mars bars I’d stashed away for a rainy day.

  When I got downstairs, everyone’s luggage was piled in the kitchen — along with beach equipment and chairs.

  Dawn ran inside, soaked. She was carrying two folded-up beach umbrellas. “We’re bringing everything inside, so it won’t blow around.”

  In the living room Mr. and Mrs. Pike were setting down the wicker swing from the porch. “I think this is it,” Mrs. Pike called out.

  “Is there anything else we need to do?” I heard Kristy ask.

  “Well, I called Ellen Cooke at the real estate office, and she said to close the faucets and shut the circuit breakers,” Mrs. Pike said. “And board or tape up the windows.”

  I had a sinking feeling. There are, like, a hundred and fifty windows in that house. And the weather was getting worse by the minute.

  “I don’t think we can worry about the windows now,” Mr. Pike said. “It looks like the whole neighborhood is clearing out, and we’re going to hit major traffic. I’ll deal with the circuit breakers. You all get into the cars now.”

  Aye, aye, Captain Pike! (No, don’t worry, I just thought that. I didn’t say it.)

  I took my suitcase and ran outside. It was pouring. I could barely open my eyes.

  “In here!” Kristy called from the van. I followed her voice and jumped in.

  “You sure you packed enough?” she asked as she hauled my suitcase into the back storage area.

  I shook myself off and looked around. Mallory and Jessi were in the front seat. Mary Anne, Dawn, Margo, and Claire were squeezed in the middle seat. That left the long backseat for Nicky, Vanessa, Kristy, and me.

  I could see Mr. Pike running toward the Barretts’ station wagon. He shouted, “How many do you have?”

  Mrs. Pike’s voice shouted back, “Nine!” (The Barretts and the rest of the Pikes were traveling together.)

  Mr. Pike climbed into the driver’s seat and counted us. “Eleven!” he shouted out the window. “Let’s move it!”

  Vrrrooom! The engine started. I looked at Kristy. This tiny smile was on her face. I could tell she wanted to do just what I wanted to do.

  Squeal.

  This was very, very exciting.

  “Where are we going, Daddy?” Margo asked as we pulled out of the driveway.

  “I don’t know, honey,” he said. “The first place on the mainland where we can find vacancies.”

  Mr. Pike drove sloooowly down the street. He put the windshield wipers on the fastest speed, but they didn’t help. The rain drenched the window right after each wipe.

  “Can’t see a blessed thing,” he muttered.

  Somehow he found his way into downtown Sea City. It looked like a ghost town — a soggy ghost town. Most of the shop windows were covered by big wooden boards. Either that or huge X’s made of thick tape.

  The traffic was very heavy. Horns blared left and right. We slowed to a stop as we approached the causeway.

  Soon we could see flashing red lights everywhere.

  “What’s going on?” Kristy asked.

  Mr. Pike rolled down the window and stuck out his head. “Here comes a policeman,” he said.

  We leaned forward to listen. I could feel my heart pounding. Were they letting cars over the causeway one at a time? Had a car spun out and crashed?

  “Excuse me!” Mr. Pike shouted. “Can you tell me what happened?”

  A policeman in a rain suit and boots appeared by the window. “Causeway’s underwater!” He had to yell to be heard over the rain.

  “You mean no one can leave the island?” Mr. Pike asked.

  “That’s right, sir! I’m awaiting further instructions.”

  He vanished. Mr. Pike rolled up the window and sank into his seat.

  Vanessa started to cry. “Daddy, are we going to be in a flood?”

  “No, sweetheart, they’re going to tell us where to go.”

  “But we’re stranded!” Margo said. “The hurricane’s going to get us!”

  She burst into tears, which made Nicky sob, too.

  Oh, my lord. This was not fun at all. My mouth was feeling dry. I wanted to open the door and run. I felt trapped. Another few minutes of this rain and the van was going to turn into an ark. If it didn’t sink.

  I was about to scream when the policeman ran to the van again. Ahead of us I could see cars moving to the side of the road, making U-turns.

  “Sir!” he yelled. “We’ve been instructed to tell everyone remaining here to take shelter in the elementary school. Turn around here and go three blocks to Cottage Road, then turn right. The school’s on top of the hill.”

  “Thanks!” Mr. Pike backed the van up and turned around. His eyes were glued to the rearview mirror. “Come on,” he mumbled. “Stick with us.”

  Slowly we inched our way across town. The rain pounded like war drums on the roof.

  Or maybe that was the sound of my own heart.

  “I can’t see the street signs!” Mrs. Barrett said, squinting through the front window.

  “Just follow the van’s tail lights,” Mrs. Pike said calmly.

  “Are … are … are …”

  Poor, frightened Suzi was curled up in my lap. Her question was coming out in gasping sobs.

  “Are we lost?” she finally asked.

  “No, we’re almost there,” I said reassuringly.

  Did I believe that? No way. I was scared out of my mind. I thought we’d never reach the school. I was sure the water would rise up and carry us into the ocean.

  To our left, Adam stared glumly out the window. “This stinks,” he grumbled. In the back section of the station wagon, Byron and Jordan agreed with him.

  Buddy and Marnie were in the front seat, bawling their eyes out. Mrs. Pike held Marnie in her lap and gently stroked her hair. Somehow she managed to put her left arm around Buddy’s shoulders. “Rain, rain, go away,” she began to sing, “come again some other day.”

  I was very happy Mrs. Pike was in the car. I don’t know what I’d have done if Mrs. Barrett were the only grown-up there. I think she was the only person more scared of the hurricane than I was.

  Mrs. Barrett steered the car to the right. We began climbing the hill to the school. Next to us, a couple of people were pushing a car up the hill. “Ugh, what a time to have engine trouble,” Mrs. Pike said.

  She was trying to sound light-hearted, to make everything seem more normal.

  But there was nothing normal about a hurricane. And there was certainly nothing normal about being stranded on an island at sea.

  It seemed like hours before we finally approached a parking lot. It was jammed. “Where on earth are we supposed to park this thing?” Mrs. Barrett said.

  “I think anywhere’s fine. Just pull over to the side of the road. Let’s get inside,” replied Mrs. Pike.

  Mrs. Barrett did so. We hopped out of the car.

  It was like being under attack. It felt as if all the water in the world had been collected in one huge bucket and dumped over Sea City. I was drenched in about two seconds as I ran to the back of the car.
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  I yanked the door open. “You guys take your stuff and stick close to your mom!” I shouted to the triplets.

  As Byron and Jordan scrambled out, I grabbed as many bags as I could. The two moms were herding the rest of the kids out of the car.

  “I’m going to take Marnie inside!” Mrs. Barrett yelled, scooping her into her arms. “Stacey, you follow me with Buddy and Suzi!”

  “Okay!” I replied. I grabbed Suzi’s hand. Buddy was right by my side with his backpack.

  “We’ll get the rest of the bags!” Mrs. Pike shouted.

  Nobody was crying now. We needed all our energy just to put one foot in front of the other. The wind was like a big hand trying to push us back down the hill.

  Somehow we reached the side door of the school. We stepped inside onto a filthy, wet linoleum floor. The noise was deafening, between the rain drumming against the windows and the people shouting.

  I pulled my hair back and squeezed out as much water as I could. My charges were all with me, safe and sound. That was my first concern. They’d started crying again — but so had about a hundred other kids around us.

  Mrs. Barrett was hugging Marnie. I crouched down and put my arms around Buddy and Suzi. “We’re safe now,” I repeated over and over.

  I looked around. We were in a gymnasium. The windows had been boarded up from the outside. Some of the boards were rattling in the wind. At the far end of the gym, people were setting up cots with blankets. A small group valiantly tried to mop water off the floor. In the midst of it all, a man in raingear was shouting something into a bullhorn.

  Pandemonium. Total, utter chaos. No wonder the kids were screaming.

  “Remind you of the SES sleepover?”

  I looked up to see Dawn smiling at me. Just beyond her were the other members of the BSC and the rest of the Pike family. I felt awfully relieved.

  “Yeah,” I said, “except ours was noisier!”

  Dawn laughed.

  “Quiet, please! May I have everybody’s attention?” The man with the bullhorn was finally managing to be heard over the din. “With the help of the local Red Cross, we are in the process of setting up sleeping cots. If any of you have dry sleeping bags, it would help us greatly if you’d use them. Now, we have a team of volunteers preparing food in the cafeteria, which is down the hall. I can’t promise a gourmet meal, but there’s ample canned food for everyone here. And as long as the refrigeration holds out, I believe we have some ice cream for the children!”