The Tornado Chasers Read Free

woman nodded. ‘Not bad. As for
you
,’ she said, pointing at me with an outstretched claw, ‘
you
should know better. Walking into a room without checking behind the door! Where do you think we are –
Skirting
? Get up this instant!’
    I scrambled to free myself from under the pile of books. ‘Sorry, I …’
    ‘And what’s this?’ she said, rapping her claws against my helmet. ‘Cycling to school? When a Storm Warning 5 has just been announced across the valleys? Unbelievable!’
    ‘No, it’s not …’ I attempted.
    ‘
Clearly
,’ she boomed over me, ‘this child does not have a single clue about safety, or the Storm Laws either! Do you
want
to end up in the County Detention Centre, young man? How many months have you even been in this class, er … whatever your name is?’
    ‘I … er … none,’ I whimpered. ‘I’m Owen Underwood. I just moved here. This is my first day.’
    The woman blinked. She cleared her throat.
    ‘Ah,’ she muttered awkwardly. ‘Yes. Owen Underwood. Of course.’
    She quickly removed the giant paws and dropped them onto her desk.
    ‘Welcome, Owen,’ she said brightly, as if nothing had happened. ‘I’m Miss Pewlish, your new class teacher and School Safety Officer. You’re very lucky to join us for these last few weeks before the holidays – we’re due to perform a play for Barrow history day!’
    Miss Pewlish shoved a script into my hands and wheeled me towards the rest of the class, who were still staring at me.
    ‘Don’t be shy!’ she bellowed. ‘Introduce yourself!’
    I looked at the rows of children in front of me. My throat dried.
    ‘Er … hello,’ I said. ‘My name is Owen Underwood. My parents and I just moved here yesterday, after the valleys went under SW5. They figured where we were living wasn’t safe enough any more.’ I gulped. ‘We’re originally from, er … Skirting, actually.’
    I knew immediately that I shouldn’t have said it. There was a dark mutter across the class. The children glanced at each other.
    ‘
Skirting
,’ said Miss Pewlish, unable to hide a note ofdisdain in her voice. ‘Well, no wonder you don’t know a thing about the Storm Laws! How nice to have a child from somewhere so, er …
different
.’
    She glanced at the top of my head. She tried to think of a delicate way to word her question, and then gave up entirely.
    ‘And why are you wearing a crash helmet, Owen?’
    Some of the children giggled. I sighed. Might as well get it over with. I turned back to the thirty faces staring at me.
    ‘Thank you for asking, Miss Pewlish,’ I said. ‘I suffer from what’s known as a
Delayed Startle Reflex.
It means that if I get surprised, I lose control of my body for a second or two. Most children have a startle reflex when they’re babies, although they lose it some time when they’re between six to twelve months old. It is quite rare to be found in someone my age. While I
do
have to wear my helmet for my own protection, I am nevertheless able to lead a perfectly normal life with my condition. And don’t worry, it’s not contagious. Ha ha.’
    No one laughed.
    ‘How interesting,’ said Miss Pewlish, not sounding in the least bit interested. ‘Well, Owen, let’s get you sorted with a Home-Time Partner right away so you can shut up and we can all stop looking at you.’
    I blinked. ‘Er … Home-Time Partner?’
    Miss Pewlish rolled her eyes. ‘Yes,
Home-TimePartner
! I’m sure they have no need for them in somewhere as carefree and riotous as Skirting!’
    She rummaged through her desk drawers and emerged with a single sheet of paper.
    ‘In Barrow, children walk between school and home each day with a partner. It means they’re less likely to be late for curfew and be savaged by bears. You’ll be too old for one
next
year, of course – but you’ll need one for these last few weeks. Better safe than sorry!’
    She glanced over the list of names.
    ‘We’ll pair you up with your closest neighbour,’ she