Cora and the Terrible Twister: A Tri-State Tornado Survival Story

By Francesca Ficorilli and Julie Gilbert

Cora Moffat is struggling to concentrate on her English class when her teacher’s focus lands on a classroom window. As the class turns to look, they see an enormous black cloud, angry and vicious, heading their direction. When the devastating tornado hits the school, Cora does all she can to help herself and others survive the destruction and make it out of the building alive. Readers can learn the real story of the Tri-State Tornado from the nonfiction back matter in this Girls Survive story. A glossary, discussion questions, and writing prompts are also provided.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Capstone Young Readers
• Release date: Jan 1, 2024
• ISBN: 9781669059455

Francesca Ficorilli

Francesca Ficorilli was born and lives in Rome, Italy. Francesca knew that she wanted to be an artist since she was a child. She was encouraged by ther love for animation and her mother's passion for fine arts, which she passed down to Francesca. After earning a degree in animation, she started workign as a freelance animator and illustrator. She finds inspirations for her illustrations in every corner of the world.

Book preview

CHAPTER ONE

Murphysboro, IL

The Moffat House

March 18, 1925

7:27 a.m.

"Cora Jane Moffat, your breakfast is getting cold! You need to be downstairs now or you’re going to be late for school!" My mother shouted up the stairs.

Why can’t you just leave me alone? I groaned, pulling the pillow tighter over my head.

There was no need to rush. I had my morning routine down to an exact science. It took me one minute to pull on my drop waist dress. Another minute to dig a clean sweater out of the closet. A minute to find a barrette that would keep my hair out of my face. Another two minutes to wash my face and brush my teeth. By that count, I still had two and a half minutes to stay in bed.

A light knock sounded at my door.

Morning, sis. Hope you slept well, my twin brother John called through the door. How’s it going?

I threw a pillow against the door, where it landed with a soft thump. On the other side of the door, John laughed. I adored my brother, except in the mornings. He was always trying to cheer me up, but all I wanted was to be left alone.

Mother was up most of the night with Sally, John continued. She’s got a fever.

So what? I grumbled. I immediately felt bad. Sally wasn’t even a year old yet and the fever had made her miserable. She had been cranky all day yesterday.

I know you didn’t mean that, John chided. Anyway, Sally’s feeling better, but Mother’s tired. So maybe give her a break?

Unlike me, John was a calming presence. Lately, I felt like my default mood was angry. But I couldn’t help it that everything my mother did made me mad.

I’m tired too, I grumbled, too low for John to hear.

Look, if you get downstairs in time, I’ll save you a piece of bacon for Jasper, John offered.

I didn’t want to give anyone the satisfaction of getting to breakfast early. But I also knew Jasper would love the extra treat. Fine, I groaned.

See you soon! John called, clattering down the stairs.

Rubbing the sleep from my eyes, I rolled out of bed. I caught sight of myself in the mirror over the dresser. I saw a plump girl in a flannel nightgown and tangled hair. She looked grumpy.

I tried a smile, but it looked like a grimace. I wasn’t fooling anyone. I was not a morning person.

There’s plenty of time to get to school. Mother needs to calm down and stop nagging me, I muttered as I brushed my hair.

My fingers tugged on a snarl. I winced as tears sprang to my eyes. The short bob was supposed to make my thick hair more manageable. Instead, it felt like it only made it more tangled.

The morning only got worse after I banged my head on the edge of my bed. I was looking for my shoes before I remembered they were in the hall closet. Then I pulled on my favorite stockings and discovered a hole in the toe.

I was even grumpier by the time I made it downstairs to the kitchen.

John was already at the table, digging into a bowl of porridge. He gave me an encouraging smile, which I ignored. Sally sat in her highchair, her cheeks flushed. My mother stood at the stove, turning bacon in a cast-iron pan. Father worked at the rail yard and was already long gone. We’d see him for dinner.

Morning, I said, slumping into my chair.

There you are, Cora, Mother said. She glanced at me and sighed.

What? I demanded.

My mother’s eyes narrowed. I have reminded you again and again not to use that tone of voice. I was only going to point out that your hair part is crooked.

The familiar anger boiled inside me. It hadn’t always been this way with Mother. She used to make time for me. I’d share everything about my day. But lately all she did was criticize me.

It made me furious.

Fine, I said, the anger bubbling over. I guess I’m too hideous to look at. I’ll just go then!

My chair scraped