Page 2 of The Way We Collide

“They’re not calledweather girlsanymore, Dad. They’re meteorologists.” I bite a Totino’s pizza roll in half, holding for a moment while the savory flavors of salty tomato and melted cheese coat my tongue and quiet my insides.

“So now the weather is controlled by meteors?” He switches to his ridiculing voice for this question.

I pop the other half of the rectangle into my mouth.And to think this man has millions of dollars…

“The name actually comes from Aristotle. He titled his bookMeteorologica, using the Greek wordmeteoron, which means ‘things in the air.’”

Dad walks slowly to where I stand,arms crossed and frowning down at me. “You want to waste a brain like that on theweather?”

He says it like I just announced I was going to work under a bridge downtown.

“It’s actually one of the most useful branches of journalism.” Years of experience have taught me to keep my voice calm if I want him to hear me, no matter how I feel. “Weather affects everyone, every day. Extreme heat introduces the danger of heat stroke and dehydration. Extreme cold can lead to frostbite and death, and I don’t have to tell you how destructive tornadoes can be.”

“No one can predict a tornado, Raven Gale. They’re too fast.”

Swiping another pizza roll, I don’t even try to argue. “I want to be the next female Jim Cantore.” Lifting my chin, I say the name with pride.

“Who’s that?”

Sad horn.

“Only the most famous hurricane hunter on The Weather Channel. Trust me, Dad, if Jim Cantore shows up in your town, you donotwant to be there.”

“And that’s who you want to be?” His voice drips with disdain.

“Yes!” I practically shout—so much for keeping cool. “I want to be the person who tells people to stop sitting on their butts and evacuate. Do you know how many lives I could save?”

“I only care about one life.” Dad’s arms lower, and he closes the distance between us. “I don’t like this career path, Biscuit. I want you to get your MBA and join Amelia and me in the family business.”

“Don’t call me Biscuit.” It’s a low grumble.

“Just trying to get through calculus over here.” My sister Amelia holds up her pencil from where she sits at the ornate mahogany desk in our father’s office on the second floor of his mansion just south of Atlanta.

Being the daughter of a luxury jewelry importer and a former Miss Georgia World, even a late one, is a total double-edged sword.

Money and status make people feel like they have control over you, and the last thing I’ve ever wanted is to be controlled. I’m way too stubborn for that.

Exhaling heavily, I do my best not to resent my Dad’s opinion. Amelia’s degree is considered useful, because she’ll join the family business. I’m considered a troublemaker, because he doesn’t understand my dreams.

“No one ever died selling a watch.” Dad’s condescending tone annoys me.

“As far as you know.” I strain away from his hug. “I don’t want to sell Rolex watches, Dad.”

“Rolex watches are the backbone of the luxury timekeeping industry.”

“Luxury timekeeping.” Now it’s my turn to be disgusted.

“Yes, timekeeping.” Dad’s brown eyes lock on mine. “You’re talking about the weather. Do you have any idea how critical the business oftimeis? I’d wager it’s right up there with tracking a hurricane.”

“Only if you’re running out of it.”

“You’re joking, but I’m serious.” Dad puts his hands on his hips. “Weather is amusing, but luxury watches are our bread and butter. You are to come back here and take your place at my side like your grandfather before you, and his father, and… all the rest of us.”

I’m finished arguing. “Love you, Dad. Don’t stay up past your bedtime.”

“Don’t patronize me, young lady. You’ve gone from one harebrained scheme to the next, and now you want me to take seriously an extreme weather venture?”

“It’s not like that. I wasn’t cut out for those other jobs. Anyway, there’s no shame in trying different things. That’s the whole point of being young, right?”

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