Suck-up.
Coop There It Is
Picking y’all up at six.
Can we ride in the fire truck?
Coop There It Is
You’re 31. Why would you want to ride in a ?re truck?
I don’t know. To feel badass?
Coop There It Is
I’ll see what I can do.
Unknown Number
Hey, Seb. It’s Danny Stockton from UCF. Remember Meteorology 101? Long time, no talk. Not sure if this is your number anymore, but wanted to touch base about something that might interest you. Give me a call whenever you can.
There was no fire truck.
The three of us crammed into the 1981 Jeep CJ-8 Scrambler Cooper fixed up, heading to Orlando with the windows down and radio blasting. I sang until my voice cracked, the warm summer night making me feel alive. The drive was an awakening. A pathetic realization I’ve been floating along the last twelve months. Missing out on countless good things because I’ve been focused on work I’m not even enjoying.
I shove the thought away when we find a food truck and grab a dozen street tacos along with a few beers, digging in at a picnic table while “Man! I Feel Like a Woman!” plays from the speakers attached to large floodlights positioned throughout the fairgrounds.
“Sorry, boys. I need to take care of something before we can have some more fun.” I toss the rolled-up aluminum foil that usedto house our food into a nearby trash can. I wipe my hands clean from melted cotija cheese and stand, my foot tapping along to the beat of the song. “I’ll find y’all in a bit.”
“Wow. Talk about a mood shift.” Cooper narrows his eyes my way. “Everything okay?”
“Just work stuff. Won’t take long.”
“Find us after so we can enter the tug-of-war competition.”
“Will do.”
Slipping away so they don’t ask any follow-up questions I don’t have the answers to yet, I scan the fairgrounds, trying to find a quiet spot. Everywhere I look there are hordes of people holding funnel cakes and stuffed animals. Even more are lining up for the rickety roller coasters that sound like they’re a gust of wind away from toppling over.
My eyes snag on a tree to the left of the bumper cars arena, the area far enough away from the rides where I’ll be able to hear myself think. I maneuver through the crowd, nearly bowling over a kid attached to a leash before I make it to the other side of the field.
Tucked away from carnival games and the smell of powdered sugar, I press my back against the bark of an old oak and dial Danny’s number. It rings twice then connects, and I stand up straight.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Danny. It’s Sebastian Dunn.”
“Seb!” Danny laughs on the other end of the line. “It’s good to hear from you. I’m glad my text didn’t end up delivered to someone else. How’re things?”
“Things are great, man. I’m in Oak Valley for a couple months working on a project for ABC. The hurricane season has been quiet, but I’m hoping for some activity soon. What about you?”
“Busy as hell, dude. I was with a station in Orlando as theirchief meteorologist after graduation. Did a short stint with The Weather Channel before moving over to the NWS where I’ve been the last couple of years.”
“I thought I saw a photo of you on a beach somewhere. Congratulations. How’s that going?”
“It’s a blast. Right up my alley with the perfect balance of being at a desk and hands-on fieldwork. That’s why I’m calling actually. We opened applications for a new Science and Operations Officer position recently, and we’re bringing in some candidates for interviews. I wanted to see if I could tempt you into making the drive over and throwing your name in the ring.”
“Whoa.” My heart pounds in my chest. Up ahead, a ride worker puts out a cigarette with his shoe and leaves the butt behind in the grass. Fuck our planet, I guess. “Are you serious?”
