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Stephanie Lauter was five years old when she tore the sky apart for the first time.
She hadn’t meant to, as much as her dad and Miss Tessburger still insist, all these years later, that that was the case.
Memories of how it had happened exactly or how they found out were fuzzy. She vaguely remembers a bike and blood and a lecture afterwards, so she has a pretty well-educated guess, but what really sticks in her memory is the clouds stitching themselves together like a heavy quilt, right above her, right as she’d started crying. She remembers the rumbling - the violent, hectic downpour. And she remembers her mom, dark eyes, curled hair, tucking Steph into her arms.
She’d been the one to rub circles into Steph’s back, to murmur into her hair that it was okay, it was going to be okay. After a few moments the tears were brushed away, her sobs subsiding into uneven hiccups.
And then something strange happened.
Just as quickly as the storm had come, it vanished into nothing. The sky opened up, the clouds parted, and Steph and her mom were left alone on the empty sidewalk. Her mom looked up, eyelashes brushed by raindrops, and said, “Huh. Isn't that something.”
‘Something,’ wasn't exactly the sentiment her dad shared.
Instead, sometime after dinner, once everyone else had gone to bed, he'd brought her into the kitchen, knelt down to her height, taken her arms in his hands, and pulled her close so only she could hear him.
"Stephanie."
Oh no, she'd thought, all the way back when she still actually cared about her father's approval, is he mad? Did I do something wrong?
"You listen to me. If something like what happened to you today happens again - you tell me. You tell me right away. Got it?"
She'd nodded at the time, more out of a desire to be released than anything else. He did, standing and muttering a halfhearted goodnight before slipping out into the hallway. And then - because five-year-olds weren't political rivals you could intimidate or threaten into compliance - she'd went to bed and forgot about it immediately by the next morning.
Unfortunately for both of them, the number of Stephanie-destroys-Hatchetfield-News'-Forecast-Credibility incidents only skyrocketed from there. It wasn't long before every tear shed meant a raindrop falling from the sky; every angry outburst meant a crack in the road; every panic attack meant tornado warnings lighting up phones all over Hatchetfield.
Over the years she had to learn to keep track of each emotion’s correlation to the weather - after all, her dad certainly wouldn’t. All he cared about was that his daughter was doing something he wouldn’t do, and that was enough for him to want her to stop. Just stop controlling the weather, Stephanie! Miss Tessburger would offer. It’s that easy!
Please.
Lauters got a lot of things. Lauters got results. Lauters got even. Lauters did not get anxious or overwhelmed. And they especially did not allow their emotions to be seen by others. Cards close to the chest, that's how it was ought to be done. Besides, nothing could tear his focus away from his campaign or his followers.
So unfortunately, that left Steph - dumb, good-for-nothing Stephanie Lauter - to put the pieces together for herself.
Happiness led to sunshine, sadness led to rain - those two were easy enough to grasp. Anger was earthquakes, which she supposed made sense. Stress meant hail - sure, why not - shame meant fog, and panic was tornadoes. Those last three were much easier to maintain when she was younger, before her mom's death dropped her into the ocean and the rest of her life seemed determined to keep her under its surface.
But Lauters did not give up, either. And Steph would rather die than be the first.
☁︎
The election for mayor has been "fast approaching" for months now, though this week it really is. Mayor Lauter appears on Hatchetfield News as frequently as they'll allow him, urging citizens to vote and wishing for clear weather.
So of course every day for the past four days, Steph has woken up bathed in sweat, breath hitched in her throat, unable to move.
There’s nothing in particular that brings it about today. A bad dream, she figures, though the thread of sleep that she’s tangled up in is rapidly slipping away, taking her memories with it. She sticks to the bed, taking in shallow gasps. Come on, Stephanie. One breath in, one breath out. You can do something as straightforward as breathing. You've done it your whole life.
With a sharp jab she grabs her phone off the nightstand and heaves herself up to dig in the dirty clothing piles strewn about her room for her airpods.
She finds them hidden underneath one of Max’s old hoodies that he lent to her and she forgot to give back. Max has always been cool about that sort of stuff. Sometimes it’s nice to have the reminder that Steph’s friends care enough to lend her things.
She pops the airpods into her ears, right on time for her to hear her phone go off. She flips it over, skimming the message that’s popped up on-screen.
Brenda
got bio test 2day :(
Oh. Oh no.
You
ru serious??
Brenda
mhm
Brenda
u studied rite?
Dammit. Of course they had an exam today. The knots in her stomach expand like ugly overgrown vines, taking hold of her gut and squeezing.
You
no
You
u?
Brenda
lmao no
Brenda
i’m too pretty for that
Brenda
and also i forgot :p
Three sudden raps echo on the door, sharp and curt; Miss Tessburger. She pokes her head in, donning her usual perfectly ironed pantsuit and narrowed, judgmental eyes.
“Stephanie, you’re going to be late. Your father has enough on his plate as is, he doesn’t need you making things worse.”
“Be right there.”
Miss Tessburger’s eyes scan the ground for half a second before shooting back up with a look of disgust.
“You really should clean up after yourself. The daughter of a politician needs to set an example.”
“I’ll. Be. Right. There,” Steph enunciates sharply, more than happy to exchange her anxiety for anger. It’s a thousand times more manageable, at the very least. Miss Tessburger scoffs and flips her hair back as she walks away, leaving the sound of clicking heels in her wake.
Steph texts Brenda back an, ‘lmao felt’ and an ‘it’s fine we can suffer together’ and heads out the door. Luckily her father’s already left, so she slips out the door without looking back.
The sky is a perfect serene blue, not a cloud in sight. It’s early September, and the air still has that summer warmth to it, with a gentle breeze stirring up the fallen leaves on the sidewalk. All things considered, it’s quite beautiful.
Good. Let’s try and keep it that way.
Okay, step one of keeping her powers under control - music. Loud, angry music she can pretend she’s yelling at her dad to. After hitting shuffle on one of many, many Spotify playlists (and then skipping right to a song she’d rather listen to instead) she picks the only song she has by The Haunted. Perfect.
She makes her way past the park and down the street, No Compromise blaring in her ears, filling the gaps in her head with gloriously overstimulating noise. As houses pass and the waves of the warm breeze roll over her, The Haunted turns to the Heathers soundtrack (which she’ll never admit to anyone that she likes) which turns to Mother Mother.
I make a fist and not a plan, call me a reckless wrecking ball-
It’s rebellious and resentful and Steph loves every part of it. She tries to line up her footfalls with the beat, letting the song guide her through the neighborhood and down towards the school. Sky still clear? Excellent.
Steph smiles to herself. See? She can do this. She controls her powers, not the other way around.
You gotta wanna be the drummer in the band. You gotta wanna be a battering ram.
You gotta see the artistry in tearing the place apart with me, baby-
She’s fine. She’s fine. She’s fine.
☁︎
She lied. She lied so hard. She's very not fine, actually.
The second she stepped into school, one of the teachers had yanked one of her airpods out, holding it up high with a smug I'm going to relish this smile.
“No music,” he'd said, wiggling it between his fingers. "In fact...I think I'll hold onto these for the day," and held out his hand for the other airpod.
Now her emotional crutch sits somewhere in Mr. Levine's office, no doubt buried amongst other perpetrators' earbuds and headphones. Which is why she's moved onto step two - pretending to focus on this test like her life depends on it.
The awful squeezing feeling's reached up into her chest by now. She raises her head, trying to claw her attention to the surface long enough to register the words on the board. Evidently, she can’t, so she weaves her fingers together and shelters her face to glare down at her test instead. Her foot taps against the ground in a rhythm no one else can hear.
Don't look out the window, don't look out the window, don't look out the window.
It doesn't matter. She hears the hail anyway.
Brenda's sat behind her near the back of the room, so Steph can't see how she's doing. Probably better than me, she thinks in a way that makes her feel guilty. She reaches deep into her brain, trying desperately to remember the answers, but it's like scraping the bottom of an empty barrel.
Steph reads and re-reads the questions, nodding slowly to herself. Yes yes, anaphase, tetrads. She knows words. The hail grows louder. She scribbles her notes down. Process of elimination. Okay, six questions done.
"You have about fifteen minutes remaining," Ms. Cadell informs the class. Steph nearly chokes on air. Fifteen minutes? There were easily over twenty questions left to answer. Had she already used up more than half her time?
"Goodness. It's really coming down," Ms. Cadell mutters to herself. A few people look out the window. Steph's mouth goes dry.
She allows herself a few minutes to pretend she's really laser-focused, and then raises her hand. Ms. Cadell shimmies her way over.
"Yes, Miss Lauter?"
One breath in, one breath out.
"Can I go to the bathroom?"
☁︎
It's not even ten in the morning when Stephanie Lauter finds herself underneath the bleachers of the Hatchetfield Nighthawk's football field, biding her time. It’s almost a perfect hiding spot - the hail's been replaced with fog, masking her from view.
Hunched over, hugging her chest to her knees, she scrolls through her phone, desperate to find a distraction. Breathe. Breathe, Steph. She can’t - the air won’t go in her lungs properly.
Screw it, she decides - she can listen to music out loud. Artists flit by as she scrolls through music options, but her hands are shaking and eventually her eyes are too full of tears to see properly, so she does the only thing she can think of: throw her phone as far as she can. It dings pathetically against the bottom of one of the metal footboards and drops to the ground with a wet thud.
Steph just stares at it, dumb and quivering, hands outstretched for it like she’s gone and actually hurt someone.
She can feel the tears spilling out from her eyes and does nothing to stop them. The rain is quick to follow suit. Steph chokes out a sob, placing her head in her hands.
She doesn't notice the footsteps approaching until it's too late.
“Steph?”
A face ducks underneath the beams, hooking a hand overtop to balance themselves. Steph raises her head to look over - and instantly wishes she hadn’t.
Oh god.
Peter Spankoffski stands there, looking at her with concerned, inquisitive eyes. Steph's heart leaps into her throat. Oh of course this is happening. Of all the people in this endless cesspit of a school, of course it’s him who’s found her.
It's not like they know each-other that well - they'd been studying together lately, him teaching her how to actually function in math and history, and her buying him hot chocolate as payment.
Every Tuesday for the past four weeks, she’d slip away after gym class to meet him at Beanie’s. Debate class was her excuse, which always made Brenda smirk, to her annoyance.
She’d meet Pete for a few hours. They’d get coffee, she’d watch him ramble about trigonometry and whatnot (and her noticing the way his eyes would light up and nose would scrunch would make her aggressively aware of just how much she was staring) and she’d maybe, just maybe, she’d retain enough of said rambling to get a passing grade on the next exam. He was a hundred times smarter than her, and had the grades to prove it.
He really shouldn't be here.
"Pete?" She swipes at her eyes furiously, as if that will convince him she hasn't been crying. She can’t have him see her like this - this shaking, scared excuse for a person hiding underneath the bleachers like a loser. At this moment she would rather be literally anywhere else; the Witchwood, the morgue, even one of her father's meetings would be less humiliating than this.
“Are you okay?” His voice sounds a bit more wheezy than usual. He's dressed in gym clothes, a loose drab t-shirt and black shorts. They don't suit him at all. Steph's so used to him wearing sweater vests and bowties that she's almost convinced this is an imposter.
Her throat still feels all closed up, so she just shakes her head. Pete’s frown deepens, and he unhooks his hand from the bleachers.
“Can I, uh - sit with you?” The question trails off so suddenly it almost sounds like he’s backpedaled off a cliff, and the mental image makes her hiccup a tiny bit of something resembling a laugh. She nods. This is the worst-case scenario, but Steph's used to worst-case scenarios. Why not, at this point?
He walks over and sits opposite of her, sitting cross-legged. She slowly lowers herself and sits on her legs, pressing her knees into the damp grass.
"Do you, ah, wanna talk about it?"
A beat. Steph sniffs.
"Not really." She wipes her sleeve across her face. “Aren’t you supposed to be in class?”
“Eh.” Pete shrugs. “Truth be told, gym’s not exactly my forte.” Steph gives him a watery chuckle. “I could ask the same of you. What’s your excuse?”
Steph sucks at her teeth. “I just… really don’t want to go back there right now.”
Pete frowns at the rain cascading overtop of them. “You’d rather get rained on than go back inside?”
“Yeah, kinda.”
They sit in silence for a moment, until Pete’s suddenly on his feet.
“You know, I think I have a better idea. There’s a 7-11 a few blocks from here. We have a sub, so he’s not gonna notice if I’m missing. Besides-” he peeks out from the corner. “I think everyone went back inside anyway.”
"Peter Spankoffski," Steph raises an eyebrow. "Are you suggesting we skip school? " her voice oozes mock surprise, but the suggestion actually kind of catches her off-guard. She’d expect this from any number of her friends apart from maybe Jason, but Peter Straight-A-Spankoffski?
Pete backs up, grinning like a dork. "Maybe I am, maybe I'm- ow. " Not paying attention, he dings his head into the side of the stands. His hand flies up to feel the damage, wincing in embarrassment. A laugh slips out of Steph's mouth, and she covers it at the injured look he gives her.
The rain lets up, just a little.
☁︎
Steph follows Pete across the field, past a hill that covers the school. The storm follows them, like Steph is a pen, and the rain is the ink, leaving a long dark trail behind her. Pete looks up at it passively but says nothing.
She remembers the rumors that had started to spread when she was younger - the mayor’s daughter can control the weather. Keep her happy. Be her friend. People would smile at her with their teeth bared, hoping to squeeze her father’s favor out of her.
But that was all speculation, of course. No one could actually control the weather like that.
Steph often finds herself wishing they were right.
They walk in silence until they're out of view of the school, at which point Pete grabs Steph's wrist to drag her out of the rain and under the awnings of the 7-11. Steph tries to ignore how badly her face burns all of a sudden.
The little bell above them jingles and their shoes squeak on the vinyl plank flooring as they make their way to the Slurpee machine all the way at the back.
“Which flavor do you want?” Pete asks, gesturing to the incredibly vast selection of five total options. Steph weighs her options carefully, tilting her head to the side in thought.
“Hm…I could really go for some watermelon.”
“Really?” Pete asks, grinning at her.
“What?”
Pete grabs one of the flimsy plastic cups from above the machine. “Nothing, I just thought you’d be a cherry or root beer kinda person. You have that vibe.”
“That vibe? ” Steph laughs. “Are you kidding? I can’t stand root beer.”
Pete chuckles. “Noted.”
“Well what about you? What’s your go-to?”
“Right here, actually.” Pete makes his way to the last option on the machine, Sprite, and lowers his cup.
“Sprite?” Steph exclaims indignantly.
“It’s a dignified choice!”
“You cannot make fun of me for liking watermelon when your go-to is Sprite, okay? You have no room to talk.”
“I wasn’t making fun of you!” Pete insists, grinning. Steph sticks her tongue out at him as she grabs a cup.
Pete pays for both their drinks, as much as Steph doesn’t want him to, but he does which is annoying and so endearing she wants to punch something. They walk outside, where the rain’s faded, and sit on the curb.
After a minute or so, Pete’s posture stiffens a little. “So, weird question. You totally don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”
Steph nods, jabbing her straw into the Slurpee and delighting in the satisfying crunch it makes. “Shoot.”
“How long has that been…happening to you?”
“Hm?" She looks at him.
“The…the rain. You know.” He jabs a thumb skywards. "How long have you been able to do that?"
Panic drops an anchor into Steph’s stomach. On cue, a lick of thunder rumbles in the distance.
There’s no way. There’s no possible way he could know that.
“What’re - what’re you talking about?” She stumbles over her words, the vines back, the squeezing grabbing hold of her body. She should’ve known. Years of carefully constructed lies and keeping herself happy and distracted and someone still noticed. Her dad - god, her dad - he's going to kill her. She's going to go home and he'll already have the shovel ready.
“It’s okay!” Pete says before her downward spiral can continue. “I’m not gonna tell anyone. I-it's not like anyone would believe me anyway!"
Steph blinks at him, mouth slightly dropped open. “You-you’re-” She drops her gaze to the ground. "How did you..."
Pete shrugs, moving his Slurpee around. “Well, I remember my brother had to pick me up early one day. I saw your class outside playing soccer-” (oh cool he was watching her no big deal wow this grass sure is green huh better take a closer look at that) "and you got really mad about something, I think? And I saw a tear in the ground right when you went to throw down your pinnie. That was the first time I noticed stuff like that." He takes a sip of his Sprite. "And I guess the rumors didn't help much."
"Huh," Steph huffs. She sits, churning that over, and waits until the hollow feeling in her chest finally eases up enough to talk. "And you're sure no one else knows?"
"I'm sure. I've only got two friends, Steph, and honestly?" A fond, slightly exasperated look crosses his face. "They're kinda terrible at keeping secrets."
She stares at him for a moment, wondering why on earth he'd ever do that for her. As far as she knew, anyone outside of her dad and Miss Tessburger learning about what she could do would result in getting kidnapped and experimented on.
"Thanks," is all she can manage. "You really didn't have to do that."
"'Course I did. And hey, if no one else figures it out, they're probably not that observant in the first place." He puffs up his chest a little. "They should really get on my level."
Steph laughs, and a new feeling settles across her chest. The fact that he knows, that she doesn't have to carry the burden alone anymore - doesn't have to put all the pieces together - she could cry right here and now.
Instead, she draws her finger along the pavement, taking in a deep breath.
“We should probably be heading back. But maybe…we can talk about this more next time, when we’re studying together?” She looks up at him hopefully.
Pete smiles at her, and a few butterflies find their way into her stomach.
“Deal.”
☁︎
They've finished their drinks and started walking back to the school, the storm long-gone, when all of a sudden Pete stops, gently elbowing her.
“Hey, look over there.”
She follows where he's pointing, and gasps. Over the hill, right on the horizon, sits a rainbow painted right across the sky. Steph's jaw falls open. Of all the storms she caused, she'd never seen a rainbow in the aftermath.
“Whoa.” The grin on Pete’s face spreads like a sunrise, warm and vibrant. “That’s amazing.”
“Yeah,” Steph agrees quietly.
They stand there, gazing out at it, and all Steph can think of is warm hands on her back and a cheek pressed into her hair, telling her everything's okay.
"Peter! Stephanie!"
Steph starts at the mention of her name, and sees Ms. Cadell at the bottom of the hill, angrily tapping her foot. "Both of you, inside. Now." She turns and angrily storms back inside the building. Pete sighs.
"Figures."
Steph shrugs her shoulders, offering her hand. "Well, might as well get it over with."
Pete smiles and takes it. "Might as well."
And so they run, still slightly damp and giggling like children, towards the school.
Steph doesn't let go of his hand.
(She hopes she never has to let go.)