"It's fine."

He frowns but goes back to his reading. Van is back with the DataSlate in less than half an hour. "All set, Jaden. Looking good."

"Thanks." I take it from him and set it next to the pile of books. "Any chance that Sim Dome spot worked out for us?"

He nods. "You're penciled in for Thursday, first thing at nine."

"Great," Alex says, and looks at his watch. "I know we're not done until noon, but is it okay if I leave now?" He looks up at Van. "My dog's having surgery, and I want to be there. Plus we still have a huge mess to clean up."

Van puts a hand on Alex's shoulder. "You do what you need to do, man. We're glad to see you back. Let me know if there's anything I can do to help."

Alex packs up, and they walk out together as a bank of clouds moves in from the west and swallows up the sun. My mood dims along with it. How can he leave when we didn't even get a chance to talk?

But then I remember the barn, and the house, and his family and the millions of pieces that need to be put back together.

I remember Newton.

And I feel ridiculous for thinking that Alex talking to me-no matter what it's about-would be more important.

I read through another chapter of one of the reference books, but my heart isn't in it this afternoon, so I reach for my DataSlate instead and pull up a notes page.

The Poetry file is still there, lurking in the corner of the screen, looking innocent.

The library clock ticks-twenty minutes left for today. Not enough time to start research from a new source, so instead, I decide I'll read through the entries in the StormBank file more thoroughly. Part of me-probably the same part that wants to believe in fairies and mermaids and unicorns-still hopes there's an explanation, that my father isn't what all this makes him look like.

Another part of me is afraid. Afraid that even though there are no fairies or mermaids or unicorns, there are human monsters. Afraid that my father might be one of them.

But maybe, maybe, maybe. Maybe there is something I'm missing, something more. Something to explain it all away.

I click on the Poetry folder.

It is completely empty.

The files are gone.

Chapter 21.

The Sim Dome and reception building are blurry through my tears as I head for my bike, but I recognize the burly figure walking toward me.

Van says nothing about me crying, but his mouth twists into a little smile. "Enjoy your weekend, Jaden. Don't work too hard."

I want to scream. I want to turn around and run after him and push him to the ground.

He deleted the files! He stole them from me! I want to tear them back out of his hands, but I know they're not there. They're not anywhere I'll ever find them again.

And I can't say a word. Because I stole the files first.

Van must know that.

Soon, so will Dad, if he doesn't already.

I pedal home as hard as I can, pumping so hard my legs burn, but no matter how hard I push, I can't outpace the voices in my head.

Stupid.

How could you bring it without making a backup?

Failure.

I slam the door, hard, before I realize Mirielle's waiting for me in the kitchen. "My goodness, Jaden! It must be sweltering outside. You are all . . . eesh . . ." She makes a face and shakes her hands. "Have a drink of cold water and put on some clean clothes so we can pick up Aunt Linda and go."

The ballet.

All I want to do is close myself in my room and think about how to undo this mess, this stupid mess I made.

Instead, I am going to the ballet.

Mirielle hands me a glass of water. Excuses race through my brain like data scrolling on a storm map, and my mouth is about to choose one when I remember the other part of tonight's plan.

I'd love to see all my girls for an early dinner.

We're eating with Dad. At StormSafe.

It's crazy to think I might have another chance to get onto that computer, but I think it anyway.

I need to get that file back. Maybe I'll have a chance to night. Unless Van has already told Dad what I did.

And then what? My stomach twists in fear-but fear of what? Am I really afraid of my own father? I shake the thought from my head and take a long drink of water.

"I'll be right down." On the way to my room, I pass Grandma Athena. I fight an urge to stop and talk with her, ask her what I should do. She might have been the only one who'd understand.

I race up the stairs, drop my backpack, and pull out the glass jars from Risha. I open my dresser drawer, shove one of the jars inside a sock and push it to the back of the drawer. I change my clothes and tuck the other jar into my pocket. I keep moving, moving, moving as if I can outrace my own thoughts by rushing around my room, but my twisting insides follow me from the closet to the dresser to the door. It's true. I'm afraid of him.

I check my DataSlate. Nothing from Mom.

Nothing at all.

I tuck it back into my bag and race down to the kitchen. "I'm ready."

The ballet is in a public school basement-a concrete cave of a room with horrible acoustics, but no one seems to mind. Mirielle's wearing a long, black dress with a jingly silver necklace that Remi keeps trying to put in her mouth, and Aunt Linda has on a gauzy white blouse and denim skirt. The best I could do was a clean pair of jeans, but people are dressed every which way, and somehow, no one in the folding-chair audience looks out of place.

The dancers aren't as smooth or as talented as the ones on TV. Their costumes aren't as elaborate, but energy pulses through their bodies, and there is something about them-some spirit or will or determination-that makes it impossible for me to look away. Their movements are fierce and gentle, all at once, and when I applaud at the end of the hour-long performance, my cheeks are wet.

"Remi needs a quick diaper change before we meet your father," Mirielle says, standing up.

Aunt Linda and I join the rest of the audience folding up chairs and leaning them against the old wooden stage. Watching the dancers was like a dream-but now that the soothing orchestra sounds have been replaced by clanging metal, I'm awake, and everything is still wrong. Has Van told Dad yet what I did?

"Wasn't that wonderful?" Aunt Linda leans a chair against the stage, starting a new row. "Just the spirit of those dancers . . ."

I toss another one against hers. "Yeah . . ."

"What's on your mind, Jaden?" Aunt Linda reaches for the chair I've just stacked upside down and flips it the right way. "Seems like you're somewhere else."

"Do you know much about Dad's work at StormSafe?" I blurt out.

She leans against the stage and pushes her hands deep into the pockets of her skirt. "Well . . . yes and no. What are you wondering?"

"Well, I . . ." I need to tell someone. And somehow, I trust her. "I was on the computer in Dad's office. . . ."

She raises her eyebrows, but I don't stop talking.

"There are files on there about the tornadoes. About controlling them."

She nods. "You know that's his area of research, right? Always has been. He's been fascinated by the idea of weather manipulation since he was a boy, back when your grandmother was studying it."

"That's what she was doing? I thought it was secret." But now that it's not, I understand a little more. Dad's password, his crazy focus on all this, makes so much more sense. "Dad's a lot like her, isn't he?"

"Very much. So much it scares me." Her mouth tightens into a grimace.

"He scares me, too." There. I said it out loud.

Aunt Linda's eyes fill with concern, and she leans close. "Jaden, did something happen?"

Yes, something did. Something is happening, a whole whirlwind of somethings that I can't sort out. But I shake my head. "No. Nothing really. It's just . . ." The chairs are all picked up, and most people are leaving. Mirielle's done changing Remi but is talking with one of the dancers in the hallway. I don't understand enough about what I saw in Dad's office to even start explaining, so I don't try. "It feels like StormSafe has taken over his brain or something. Like he's . . . possessed." The word sounds silly, and I expect Aunt Linda to brush it off, but she doesn't.

Instead, she pulls herself up to sit on the stage and looks out at the empty room. "Your dad had a lot to deal with at a terribly young age."

"I know. Mom told me Grandma died when he was twelve."

She shakes her head. "Your father lost his mother long before that." She looks at me. "I'm going to tell you something because . . ." She bites her lip. "Because you need to know where your dad comes from. But more than that, you need to know that I'm here if you ever need someone. Do you understand that?"

I nod. But somehow, her words make me more afraid, not less. Does she think I'm not safe living with Dad?

Aunt Linda looks back out at the empty room as if she's staring through time. "Athena was part of a group of elite scientists working to harness weather for military purposes. To control the winds and the rain. That job was everything she'd dreamed about when she was in school. She'd never planned to have a child so soon."

I nod. "You told me she was gone a lot."

"All the time. The project started when your dad was a few months old; your grandfather was away serving in the military, and Athena would leave your dad with me for months and months at a time. When the war in Afghanistan expanded to Iraq, she was gone more than ever. She'd come home and take him back for a little while to cuddle him and play mother. As he got older and could understand, she'd do little science experiments with him and tell him about the exciting work she was doing. Then she'd take off again. He cried every time she left."

Out in the hallway, Mirielle sways back and forth with Remi as she chats. It's hard to imagine Dad ever being small. Or crying.

"It seemed like it would never end. Even as the troops were being pulled out of Iraq, Athena kept canceling visits home, writing e-mails instead, telling us she was on the verge of a huge breakthrough."

I climb up to sit next to Aunt Linda on the stage. The old varnished wood feels warm and shiny-smooth under my hands. "What was the breakthrough?"

"I don't know. The next news we heard was that your grandfather's helicopter had crashed in the mountains between Afghanistan and Pakistan. It was awful for everyone, but most of all your dad, because Athena barely took a break for the funeral. She poured herself into her work and almost never slept from what I heard. We saw her once more, when it all fell apart."

"Was she home visiting when she had that car accident?"

"It wasn't an accident, Jaden." Aunt Linda blinks fast, and tears streak down her cheeks. "Less than a year after your grandfather died, the government declared Athena's research project a failed effort and canceled it." She shakes her head, and even though it all happened so long ago, I reach out for her hand. "She must have felt like she couldn't go on after she lost her husband and her life's work one after the other. There was a huge storm the day she came home, tornadoes dropping all over the county, but she drove through it from the airport. She had supper with us and told us the project was canceled but not to worry; she'd finish the job on her own terms. She was so calm." Aunt Linda shakes her head slowly. "But her eyes looked far away, like she was already someplace else. She gave your dad a present."

A worn wooden image flashes through my mind. Words in fancy script.

Stormy. Rain. Change.

"A barometer?"

She nods. "He carried it everywhere. He loved it."

"He still does."

Aunt Linda closes her eyes, and I wait. "And then she left. The weather was wild, but I couldn't stop her. She walked out the door and drove away. The next morning, the police found her car at the bottom of a ravine. The storms that night were . . . Pieces of her laptop computer and papers were scattered over half the county. But they never found her body."

I shiver and picture Grandma Athena's ghostly photo in the frame. I don't know how I will sit in the living room again.

"There you are! Sorry I was so long visiting," Mirielle calls from across the room, and starts walking our way.

"I thought you should know," Aunt Linda tells me quietly, as she eases herself down from the stage. "A person never really gets over something like that. And your dad . . ." She pauses. "If you ever need me, I'll be there for you."

"Ready to go?" Mirielle steps up, bouncing Remi on her hip. "Let's get some dinner."

By the time we drop off Aunt Linda at her house and drive up to StormSafe, it's quarter to five. Dad meets us at the door. "I can't stop for dinner. Sorry. Something's come up." His body language makes it clear we're not invited in.

"Don't be silly, Stephen." Mirielle switches Remi to her other hip. "What is this thing that is so important?"

Dad lifts his DataSlate up so quickly I'm afraid it'll hit Remi, but it misses. She reaches for it and laughs, but Dad doesn't even look at her. "Were you even listening when I told you about the problem with funding for Phase Two?" he says in a voice that's getting louder and tighter by the second. "It hasn't gone away."

"But surely you can take a break. You need to eat." Mirielle reaches out for Dad's arm but he yanks it back.

"What I need to do is get back to work. Now." He speaks to her as if she's four years old. "I will see you in the morning."

She glares at him, and for a second, I see a fire in Mirielle that I never would have guessed was there. But then she turns and heads for the HV.

I follow her and feel the weight of my DataSlate in my backpack. Heavy with everything I've lost and with what I learned tonight. What Aunt Linda told me about Grandma makes me wonder how damaged Dad might be, and what he's capable of. What I saw and heard in his office . . . I can't begin to sort it all out now. I can't even look back at the data because it's gone.

It's a quiet drive home until we turn into the Placid Meadows gate. Mirielle flashes Lou her resident card, and as the gate starts to swing open, I see movement in the brush near the main road.

"Mirielle, wait!" She's already started pulling into Placid Meadows but stops and looks over at me. "I . . . it's nice out, and I could use some air. I'm going to get out here and walk back, okay?" I pull my backpack over my shoulder.

She raises her eyebrows. "You won't be long?"