The Weatherboy

By Lori Lapekes

Floating down Michigan's Sleeping Bear Dunes beneath giant weather balloons…

Flying far into the sky on runaway carousel horses at the Traverse City Cherry Festival…

Commanding waves beneath the 500-ft. Mackinac Bridge Tower…

Has Reed Darby actually done these things, or has he simply lost his mind?

Life turned stormy when the sixteen-year-old aspiring meteorologist tapped into a bizarre website called Misfit Books. But once a lightning bolt creates a mystical chunk of glass that helps Reed control the weather and win his girl, things really go haywire.

Reed's despicable nemesis, Anton, has learned his secret. Yet Anton may not be Reed's worst headache. A certain decrepit mansion's owner, Reed's eccentric employer, has more than bats in her belfry.

She has an attic full of sinister boxes with a mind of their own.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dingbat Publishing
• Release date: Aug 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393344636

Book preview

Chapter 1

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WHEN REED DARBY HEARD Sammy’s crow call, he bolted straight up. A moment later, he folded his arms behind his head and lay back down, laughing miserably. He hadn’t heard Sammy Sleezak’s secret distress call in four years, not since they were almost twelve years old. He must have imagined it. He stared, unblinking, at the craggy ceiling of the old treehouse. All he heard now was the rustling of the leaves of the great oak tree surrounding him.

Caw-caw-caw! came the call once more.

Reed shot upright again, clunking his head against a loose plank. His heart thumped as he pulled himself to his feet, rubbed his head, and squinted out the window at the long, grassy field.

Bright sunshine, he noted. Wispy cirrus clouds. High today, June fourth, was to be seventy-two degrees here in northern Michigan. Mild winds. A splendid afternoon to most, yet a dull start to summer for an aspiring meteorologist like him. Then Reed’s eyes wandered past the field and across a valley, where a cluster of buildings stood.

Samantha Sleezak’s farm.

He smiled lamely, still rubbing his head. They used to call her Sammy Sleezy-stak, way back when Sammy was a gangly tomboy — and his best friend. But kids stopped teasing her when she punched Anton Fenton in the face and gave him a black eye. Now the beautiful, rosy-cheeked young woman with her sheet of shimmering brown hair was actually dating that scumbag, Anton Fenton, even though he’d moved to the big school in Traverse City.

Reed blinked as he stared out the window. He heard no more calls. He must have been dreaming. Sammy was way too busy to spend time with him these days. He wondered if she still wanted to be a veterinarian. He used to love watching her from this very window as she lay across the back of her palomino, Trooper, and read a book as the horse grazed lazily in the pasture. He remembered how her long dark hair fell back and mingled with the horse’s tail.

He’d been in love with Sammy since he was ten years old.

Reed sighed and brushed his hand across his forehead. Foolish dreams of Sammy were better left unexplored these days. He fell back on his cot and closed his eyes. He mustn’t think of her any more, that childish stuff from so long ago.

Mustn’t think of her... mustn’t think of her...

Caw-caw-caw!

Reed shot upright a third time.

The call was louder now, and seemed just outside. He walked toward the door on rubbery legs, then pushed it open. Loose boards flopped sideways to reveal the brightness outside, and Reed’s eyes wandered eleven feet lower... to see Sammy Sleezak standing beneath his tree with her hands on her hips, staring at him.

Where’s the ladder? she demanded. Then her glare transformed into a smile. Can I come on up, like in the old days?

Reed gulped. Sammy was actually here? Had he fallen asleep? Was he still dreaming?

Sure, I’ll throw the ladder down, Reed mumbled through the knot in his throat. He bent, gathered a wad of rope in his hands, and flung it out the door.

Hey! Sammy cried. You hit me in the head.

Reed looked over. What? He saw her rubbing her head, a scrunched-up frown on her face. Oh! Sorry. Not used to company, I guess.

That’s okay.

Sammy grinned, and all was forgiven. She yanked the rope ladder straight and began to climb as Reed stepped back into his sanctuary, barely able to breathe. A moment later, Sammy was silhouetted in his doorway.

Sure I can come in?

Reed nodded and turned to face the wall so she wouldn’t see his face flush. Man, she was still so pretty. Anton Fenton should be proud, he mused grimly.

Why are you balling your hands into fists? Sammy asked as Reed felt her footsteps vibrate across the floor behind him. You seem mad.

Reed shook his head. I’m not mad.

You seem like it.

How can you tell? My back is to you. You can’t even see my face.

You always balled your fists when you were mad.

Reed turned. "And you always wrinkled your nose when you were mad."

Wrong thing to say. Sammy was wrinkling her nose. And folding her arms. Looking suddenly severe and uptight.

What’d I do? Reed asked.

Then Sammy’s lovely face collapsed. Tears of anger filled her eyes.

No, really, what did I do? He put his hands in his hair. I haven’t talked to you much in ages, and now you’re mad at me? I didn’t mean to hit you in the head with the ladder.

It’s not the ladder! Sammy said.

Reed fell onto his cot. Oh, man, was he in for it.

Suddenly she was sitting on the cot next to him. It’s that stupid jerk, Anton.

Stupid jerk? Reed straightened up a bit.

He’s such a creep sometimes! He doesn’t understand me at all. Not like you always used to. He’s changed since he moved to the city.

Things were taking a turn for the better.

Why is he such a jerk? Reed asked.

I don’t know how to explain. You might not understand, either.

I’ll understand.

Sammy looked hopefully into his eyes.

When Reed was ten, he’d told Sammy she had cow eyes. She’d taken it as a compliment. And he’d meant to insult her. Now he realized she still did have cow-like eyes. And that they were big and soft and beautiful.

Anton doesn’t think I should be a veterinarian. He thinks it’s stupid. He wants me to be a model. A model or an actress. How lame is that?

Pretty lame, said Reed, still turning away.

I thought he knew there was more to me than that. He’s just a shallow, arrogant jerk!

Reed shrugged. Shallow, arrogant jerk. Sounded about right.

And all he wants to do is play sports, Sammy scoffed. For life. How dumb is that?

Dumb. Pretty dumb. Stupid, even, Reed heartily agreed.

Sammy let out a huge sigh.There was a lengthy silence. He had no idea what to say. It still didn’t feel like this was really happening.

It’s kind of decrepit in here, isn’t it? Sammy finally said, sniffing just a little. Does the roof leak?

A little, Reed said, looking away, studying an ant crawling on the wall. Another pause. A bluejay fluttered past the window.

Do you still want to be a meteorologist? Sammy asked quietly.

Reed stared to her. You remember that?

She smiled, apparently recovered from her outbursts. Everyone called you ‘weatherboy.’ Her gaze turned toward a book on a crate next to the wall. A book on tornadoes. Your favorite weather phenomenon. Looks like a really old book.

Reed grinned. Looks like it’s been through a tornado itself.

Sure does.

He began to relax. This was more comfortable territory for conversation. It’s weird, he said. I was surfing the web late last night and came across this crazy publishing company... Misfit Books, or something like that. That book was offered as a hard copy free sample, so I thought, what the heck. I’ll order it. Soon as I typed in my address the site froze up, then disappeared. I couldn’t find it again.

But you got the book anyway? Sammy asked.

Yeah, that’s the weird thing. A clunky white van pulled up next to our mailbox and left a few hours ago. I ran out there to see what it brought before Dad got the mail.

Yeah, before he could have found a fake snake in the mailbox, like old Mrs. Rutabegga did last week, Sammy interrupted.

Old Mrs. Rutabegga would probably love to have a real snake in her mailbox, if you asked him, Reed thought. He then shook his head, ashamed of his thoughts. Anyway, he said, that book was in the mailbox.

It came that soon?

Yeah.

Wow. Have you read it yet?

I haven’t even looked at it yet.

Sammy folded her hands together and grinned mischievously. Except for reddened eyes, all former traces of her misery had vanished. That’s kind of cool, as well as kind of creepy, don’t you think?

What’s creepy about it?

Oh, let’s see. A free book, the website shuts down, the book arrives mysteriously the next day...

It didn’t arrive mysteriously. It came in a van.

A mysterious van.

Nah, just a junky van.

Can I look at the book? she asked, eyebrows raised.

Reed shrugged. "Sure. It’s obviously used. Way used."

That’s the best kind. Sammy reached over and picked up the book. It had a warped green hardcover with pages just as warped and yellow. As Sammy opened the cover, a distinct scent of must and a kind of smokiness filled the air. And something else. Something almost... prickly.

Gooseflesh rose on Reed’s arms.

These pages are really brittle, Sammy said, flipping through it, absorbed in the book. She seemed puzzled. There’s something strange about this thing. And I can’t figure out that creepy smell. This isn’t an ordinary book, Reed.

A shiver crept down Reed’s spine as the world fell into shadow outside the window. Sammy looked up and locked eyes with Reed. She sensed it, too. Something bizarre was happening. Both rose wordlessly and headed for the door. Reed stepped aside to let Sammy climb down the rope ladder first. He followed immediately, skin crawling as he leaped to the ground and stared up into the sky.

What the...? The sky was filled with heavy, bulbous green clouds. Clouds that wiggled and wormed around one another in circles like great fat slugs.

What kind of clouds are those, Reed? Sammy whispered, eyes huge.

Reed fumbled for words. He was only an aspiring meteorologist. They’re... they’re weird, spinning clouds, was all he could mutter, staring in fascination.

Lumpy spinning clouds that can create tornadoes? Sammy asked, and Reed noticed she was still grasping the tattered book in her hand, and that it was partly open, a page hanging out like an old yellowed tongue. She looked from the book, to the sky, then back to the book again. It dropped from her hand as the clouds churned faster. And then, before their eyes, a malevolent greenish-black funnel started to form and drop lazily out of the clouds.

Is that a... a tornado? Sammy whispered.

Reed just stood, transfixed. Was he actually about to witness a tornado forming? A bewildered grin spread across his face. Would it become a slinky rope tornado, a traditional funnel-shaped one, or the legendary thick, wedge-shaped monster that constituted the most lethal. The F-5s...

Reed! It’s spinning faster now. It IS a tornado! Run!

But Reed could not move. The spinning funnel cloud dropped lower, nearly straight above them. An unnatural current in the air caused him to shiver nearly as much with delight as terror. And the air smelled excruciatingly sharp and clear, a deep winter scent in the early summer. Fascinating!

He was jerked from his reverie when his arm was tugged. The next thing he knew, he was leaping across the field with Sammy, the thundering sound of a full-blown twister roaring behind them. He couldn’t believe this had happened, and so quickly! Was he still lying in the treehouse, imagining things? It seemed surreal as he stretched his legs to run faster, gasping for air as he saw where Sammy was leading him. A deep ditch ahead separated a freshly plowed field from their grassy one. Seconds later they were tumbling into the small ravine, rolling into a slimy mix of mud and water. The noise overhead became freight-train deafening, but Reed dared not look above as he and Sammy curled into a ball together, eyes squeezed shut in terror.

If we die here together, Sammy mumbled into his shirt, just remember that I always thought you were kind of cute, in a lanky kind of way. Not a misfit at all. And you have great black hair.

Um. Reed gulped, heart pounding. Thanks.

And then the wind was tearing at their clothes, streaming their hair straight behind their heads. Reed’s shirt billowed out behind him. Water and mud sloshed and churned angrily in every direction. He heard Sammy screaming even above the roar of the tornado and he held her tighter as the wind tore at them. The chaos seemed to last forever, but merely seconds at the same time.

And then, just like that, it passed. Silence reigned.

Heart hammering, Reed slowly opened his eyes, staring face to face with a mud-splattered Sammy.

Is it over? she asked.

Reed nodded, heart still pounding. Yeah. I think so.

Sammy stared at him a moment, then looked away and untangled herself from him. She stumbled to her feet, dripping, and turned in circles in bewilderment.

Reed pulled himself to his feet as well, wiping mud from his eyes. Wow, he said, following her as she staggered back up the side of the ditch. We made it!

I know, she said, turning to him in frustration, but— but why did this happen?

What do you mean?

Sammy shook her head and stared up. Reed did the same. There was no longer any sign of the twister; the air was now calm. A ray of sun pulled free of the remaining clouds and cast a golden glow over the fields, and the air was sweet once again.

Sammy stood stiffly, confusion on her face. It’s so quiet, she whispered. It’s like it never happened.

Reed pointed to a ragged trail of flattened, twisted weeds behind them. But it did happen.

Sammy nodded slowly, ran her hands through her now mud-encrusted ropes of hair, then crossed her arms. That book did it.

Reed shook his head. It was a coincidence.

No. Opening that book opened up a tornado.

"Sammy — that’s impossible. It was a coincidence. That kind of stuff only happens in stories and movies."

Oh, really?

Yeah. Really.

Didn’t you feel something weird in the air when I opened that book?

Well, sure. It was the air pressure. Obviously some mass of warm air collided with a mass of cooler, higher air, and...

I don’t mean scientific stuff, Sammy said, wrinkling her nose. "I know you felt something else, too. Something, I don’t know, something dangerous."

Tornadoes are dangerous. An F-5 twister killed a bunch of people in Grand Rapids in 1956 and...

Sammy suddenly pointed. Look! The smashed areas of grass are gone!

Reed’s eyes widened. He blinked. What was going on? The field looked normal. It was like they’d imagined the whole storm. How was that possible? He shook his head as Sammy began to stalk away. He hurried behind.

What am I going to tell my mom? she said, arms raised in frustration. What if no one else saw this? There’s no sign of it now! How do I tell her I jumped into a ditch with my neighbor and sprawled around in the mud?

Reed remained silent, pondering the sprawling around in the mud question as they strolled, wet and disheveled, back through the field. Neither spoke for quite some time. When words did come to Reed, all he found he could idiotically mutter was, Do you really think I have great hair?

Chapter 2

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WHY ARE YOU SUCH A grouch? Anna asked, munching loudly on an apple while standing behind Reed.

Because you keep talking with your mouth full, sis. Reed hunched over his keyboard. If he stared at the screen any longer, he was certain his eyes would bleed.

I don’t talk with my mouth full — it’s only half-full, see? Anna said.

Reed shut his eyes and rubbed them. He really didn’t want to see what remained in his eight-year-old sister’s mouth.

Anna moved up next to him What are you doing, anyway? Dad says you’re possessed.

"Obsessed."

Whatever, she said, flipping back a mop of curly reddish-brown hair.

Reed turned to her. I’m trying to find a website, okay? The one I ordered the tornado book from.

You mean the book no one can find?

Reed’s shoulders slumped. Yup.

Anna took another bite of her apple. Do you want to order another imaginary tornado?

"It wasn’t imaginary."

Dad thinks you made it up to explain why you and Sammy got so dirty.

I didn’t make it up! Reed groaned, putting his face in his hands.

But who would believe him? All evidence of the tornado had vanished. Kind of like the stinkin’ website had vanished. There had to be a logical explanation for it, but he couldn’t come up with one.

Why can’t you find the website? Anna asked.

Reed widened his eyes at her. Maybe it got blown away... by a cyber-tornado.

Anna rolled her eyes. So. Funny. Are. You.

He sighed.

Well, she said, you’re usually funny. But today you’re just a grouch.

Reed sighed and flapped his hand at her in a loose goodbye. So long, Anna. If I do find the site again, I’ll order a book on manners for you.

"You mean for you. Throwing Sammy in a ditch and all."

Bye, Anna.

Anna shrugged and walked to the door. You’ll find the website, I know you will. I really do believe you. It’ll probably just take time.

Then she left the room and clicked shut the door.

Reed straightened. Time, he whispered.

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AND THERE IT WAS, IN all its amateurish-looking glory — the website for Misfit Books. Reed glanced at his watch; midnight. Apparently the site only came up on, or after, midnight.

I’m not crazy, he moaned, running his hands through his hair. He needed to order another book. If nothing else, just to prove the site existed, and to prove to Sammy that the books were harmless. He wasn’t sure what to order, though. The selected free sample for tonight seemed to be pretty harmless, Decadent French Pastries for Every Occasion. Getting plastered in the face with a cake didn’t seem too bad if a sample came with that one. Instead, he clicked on the tab for Titles. A list of possibilities filled the screen, all nonfiction, everything from Managing Finances to Incredible UFO Encounters.

Reed grinned. The books were supposedly nonfiction, anyway.

What to do — what to do, he mumbled.

He scrolled a little more, and the page froze.

Crap!

He tried all the tricks he knew to unfreeze the website, but nothing worked. Then the screen went black, followed by his screensaver. He touched a key, and all the regular icons returned.

Reed sighed. Good. It was just a fluke. He typed the memorized address for Misfit Books, leaned back, and waited.

The website cannot be found.

Come on...

He tried again. Maybe he’d spelled something wrong.

The website cannot be found.

Reed stood and stared at his computer as though it had deliberately insulted him, though he knew that was absurd. He pointed at it. You are not funny. Then he put his face in his hands again. He was talking to a machine. After a moment, he took a deep breath, regained his composure, and gave it another try.

401 Error.

He tipped his head back and groaned. Great. A website that only came up after midnight and remained for only a few minutes at best.

Phooey! he said, something his oddball dad would say.

He closed his eyes in frustration. A moment later he was snoring.

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REED RUBBED HIS NECK as he pedaled down the road toward Mrs. Rutabegga’s house. He wondered what weird chores the old woman would have for him today. Last week she made him trap bugs and put them in a bottle in the refrigerator.

He heard the low, mean machine Anton called Midnight Oil rumble up from behind him long before he dared turn and look at it. His arms stiffened on the handlebars as he pulled his bicycle as far off the road as possible and began riding through the weeds. He‘d once called Anton’s car Midnight Gas, and nearly got his head bashed in.

A few seconds later, the Camaro rumbled alongside him like a beast of prey.

When you gonna get a car, you pathetic hayseed? Anton shouted through an open window.