"There it is," Kate says, leaning close to the glass.

Stepping up beside her and squinting through the heavy rain, I can make out the white shuttle bus on the far side of the parking lot. It's pretty much what I expected to see. It's the kind of miniature bus you see running between hotels and airports, and just like the one Arcadia Bay elementary had. If I remember right, that's at least three rows of seats. Maybe four. More than enough for us. And like Douglas said, it's even got a wheelchair lift.

"I don't think it'll be much fun getting to it, though," she adds.

"Probably not," I agree. It's only a couple hundred feet away, but the rain is coming down so hard that we might as well have to swim it. I already feel damp, and we haven't even stepped outside yet. I glance at Kate, suddenly jealous of the bright yellow raincoat and rubber boots she found in the hospital's maintenance room. They're both too big for her and she still looks a little goofy, but she's definitely going to be dry.

"I hope we have the right key. I don't want to make that trip twice."

"Me either." I agree. "If we don't, I might just try to hotwire it instead."

Kate blinks. "You know how to do that?"

"Sure." I hesitate. "I mean, maybe? My dad explained how it works once. I'm pretty sure I could figure it out if I had to."

"Oh." She fidgets awkwardly. "Did he...uh...is he a...?"

It takes me a second to realize what she's trying to ask. "What?! No! He's an engineer, for fuck's sake."

"Oh. Sorry."

I'm tempted to snap at her again, but me taking shots at Kate isn't a road I want to go back down. It was an honest mistake. "Forget it. Let's just go."

The run to the bus isn't as bad as I thought it'd be; it's worse. The rain is absolutely freezing, and I haven't even made it ten steps from the door before I step in a huge puddle and one of my running shoes gets completely soaked. I hop along on one foot for a second, then rush to catch up with Kate. I jam the key into the lock next to the folding side door, and we both breathe a sigh of relief when it turns easily and the door pops open.

Scrambling inside, I drop into the driver's seat and put the key in the ignition. "What do you say we fire up the heaters?"

Kate nods fervently. "Yes, please."

Grinning, I give the key a sharp turn...and get nothing but a half-hearted wheeze from the engine as the headlights flicker dimly. "Oh, seriously?"

"What's wrong?"

I try again and get the same result, then again. Frustrated, I slam my hand down on the steering wheel, startling us both when the horn goes off. "I think the battery is dead."

"Oh," she murmurs, a note of worry in her voice. "What do we do?"

"Only one thing we can do. I've got jumper cables in my car." Reaching down by the pedals, I fumble blindly for a second before finding the lever that releases the bus's hood. "Wait here. I'll be right back."

Ugh. This is going to suck so much.

Stepping into the open side door, I flip my hood up and take a deep breath before rushing back out into the rain. I try not to think about the squishing feeling in my shoes as I run across the parking lot, because of course I'm parked as far away as I possibly could be. I have the key fob out of my pocket the second my car comes into sight, mashing the unlock button until the headlights flash.

Dropping into the driver's seat, I slam the door shut and take a minute to catch my breath. I really should try harder in gym class.

Unlike certain stupid buses, my car starts on the first try. The trip back is a lot shorter, and a whole lot dryer. Pulling up so the two vehicles are nose-to-nose, I pop both the hood and the trunk, kill the engine, then it's back out into the rain. Grabbing the jumper cables out of the trunk as quickly as I can, I slam it shut and run around to the front. I know where my battery is, and finding the bus's only takes a second.

I've never understood people who act so overwhelmed by stuff like this. It's not like you have to be a mechanic to change a tire or jump a dead battery. And while Mom and Dad don't agree on a lot (or anything, it sometimes feels like) they wouldn't even let me take the test for my learner's permit until I could do both of those blindfolded.

Clamp the positive terminal on my car's battery, then positive terminal on the bus battery. The bus's negative terminal is next, then I attach the last clamp to a metal strut next to the engine. I'm admittedly a little nervous making the last connection, as though all the rain will somehow lead to me getting electrocuted.

Hesitating for a second, then feeling kind of guilty about it, I go back to the bus's open door. "C'mon. We have to wait a few minutes, and my car is a lot warmer."

She follows me wordlessly, hurrying around to the far side and practically leaping in. Starting the car, I lean back in my seat. "This shouldn't take too long."

"Okay."

Yep, this was a terrible idea. It's been about two seconds, and the crushing silence is already killing me.

"So, your mom seems really nice," Kate finally says, a little carefully. "I'm glad she's doing well."

My first thought is to wonder what she means by that, and I'm immediately embarrassed for thinking she means anything more than exactly what she said. This is Kate Marsh, for fuck's sake. I don't think she knows how to take a backhanded shot at someone. "Yeah. Me, too."

"May I ask what happened?"

Again, I have to push down the suspicion that she's asking with some ulterior motive. Is this really the kind of person I've turned into? "She was in a car accident. Some asshole burned a stop sign and t-boned her."

"I'm sorry. That must've been difficult."

I'm sure my smile looks convincing; I've had plenty of practice with it. The last six months have been really, really hard. "We're getting through it. Mom's the strongest person I know."

"That's great," she smiles. "What's your dad like? You said he was an engineer?"

"Yup. He's awesome. Total mad scientist type. I only see him in person a few times a year, but he's always ready to drop everything to jump on Skype and help me with my homework, or talk about one of his projects, or just listen about my day." She's giving me a funny look I've seen before, and I realize I forgot to mention something. "Oh, right. He lives in Maryland. He and Mom split up when I was little."

"Oh. I'm sorry."

"It is what it is." She looks kind of uncomfortable, so I try to change the topic. "So, what's your mom like? I'm picturing someone very into church bake sales."

"My mother is..." Kate looks away. "...it's complicated."

Ouch. "That bad, huh?"

"I didn't say that."

"Pretty sure no one's ever called a healthy relationship 'complicated'."

"I guess," she sighs. "It's better, though. Better than it was before I...uh...you know. She came to visit yesterday and told me that she was sorry for being so judgmental. I really appreciated her saying so."

I'd actually been wondering about that. "You know, I'm surprised you're still here at all. Would've thought you'd have gone home with your family."

She looks away, pursing her lips. "I wasn't allowed to. I had to stay at the hospital for 72 hours. In case I tried to hurt myself again."

"...oh."

"I wouldn't," she insists. "I'm doing much bett-"

"I'm sorry," I say, suddenly. It feels like a ridiculously weak thing to say at this point. I should've apologized the moment I saw her and kept apologizing until I ran out of breath. It's literally the least I can do, and so much less than she deserves. A few days ago I was chucking balls of paper at her in class. Writing notes about how we all 'enjoyed her porno' like the absolute bitch I've turned into.

I don't want to be that person anymore.

"I'm so, so sorry, Kate. I've been acting like such an asshole for no good reason." I can already feel the tears making paths down my cheeks. A week ago I'd have been mortified by the idea of crying in front of Kate Marsh, and just thinking that makes me feel worse. "Everyone else was doing it and I wanted to be like them so I did it too, but it was so shitty and so pointless and you've got every reason in the world to hate me."

She doesn't say anything for a long, painful moment. Then she sighs and turns to look out the window. "I don't hate you, Taylor."

"...you don't?"

"No." Reaching up, she traces a few indistinct lines on the fogged glass. "I don't want to hate anyone."

Wow. I just...wow. "That's kind of surprising."

She glances over. "It is?"

"Pretty sure I'd hate me, if I were in your place."

She shrugs, turning back to the window. "I once read that hating someone is like drinking poison and expecting the other person to die. Or something like that."

Damn. I'm getting all the wisdom bombs dropped on me this week. But if Kate doesn't hate me, than maybe...

"So, I...uh...I know you've got no reason to believe this, or even care, but Victoria is really broken up about how things went."

"I know," she says, not very convincingly. "She sent me a very nice get-well card."

"She used to be different, you know," I insist. "Than the way she acts now, I mean. Back when we were in middle school and junior high."

"Really?"

"Really." I find myself smiling at the memories. "She was this sweet, funny girl who never tore people down."

"That's...difficult to imagine." She hesitates, then nervously asks, "Can I ask what changed?"

"I don't know. It's like after she came to Blackwell, something inside her turned mean. Probably all the time she spent with Nathan. She was here with that asshole for a whole year before I got my scholarship, and by then..." I shake my head. "I'd missed her so much, and suddenly I felt like I barely recognized her."

"Oh."

"Hold on." Pulling out my phone, I flip through the photo gallery until I find a photo of Victoria and me from the summer before she started at Blackwell. "See?"

"She looks happy," Kate comments. She doesn't say it outright, but I know what she means. Except when she and I are alone, Vicky doesn't smile like that very much anymore.

"She was." I look down at the picture fondly. "I was, too."

Kate doesn't respond right away, and I glance over to find her peering at me thoughtfully. "You really care about her, don't you?"

I've never heard a more loaded question in my life. The subtext might as well be displayed in big, flashing letters. Am I seriously that fucking obvious? Should I just start wearing a sign that says 'Taylor Christensen: Hopeless Bisexual'?

It isn't something I've ever lied about. If someone asks, I usually deflect or give an ambiguous answer until I figure out why they're asking. And if I think they might go full-Westboro on me, I'll just dodge the question altogether. But for some reason, the idea of being anything less than honest with Kate right now feels really wrong. "Yeah, I do."

"Oh. Does she..." Kate's eyes go wide, like she just realized how personal a question she's asking. "I'm sorry. This is none of my business."

"She does, actually," I murmur, surprising her. "At least, we talked earlier, and I think she does."

"I'm glad."

"You are?"

"Mhm." She nods. "If someone can be loved, then they can't be all bad, can they?"

"Oh." That makes me feel unexpectedly good about myself. "So you're...okay? That I'm...y'know..."

She gives me a flat look and I cringe a little. I know it's a shitty question to ask. Given the circumstances, though, I'd like to know exactly where Kate and I stand.

"Of course I am," she says, frowning a little.

"Really?"

"Yes, really," she huffs. "Honestly, it's so frustrating that everyone seems to think being Christian automatically makes me homophobic. I mean, it's not as though you'd be my only gay friend."

"Sorry," I say, cringing again. I'm silently considering correcting her that I'm bi when the second part of what she said hits me. "Wait, did you just call me your friend?"

"You don't want to be friends?"

"I...I didn't say that. I mean, it's just..."

"We might have gotten off to a bad start, but I don't like having enemies. Do you?"

"No," I admit.

"And I don't think driving into a tornado together is the kind of thing casual acquaintances do," she continues. "So..."

"You could probably find a better person than me to be friends with," I mutter. Up until now, I figured that just getting Kate to forgive me was a longshot. Now she wants to be friends?

"I don't think you're a bad person, Taylor."

"Come on, Kate. I tormented you. I threw things at you in class. I think I'm a bad person, so why shouldn't you?"

"Because you could have left, and you didn't."

"I...huh?"

"You and your mom could've gotten into this car and driven away. You could've abandoned the rest of us, just like those nurses did, but you didn't. You stayed. You're here when we need you."

"Kate, I could never..."

"Yes, you could have." Somehow, she steamrolls right over me without even raising her voice. "And I think you're a good person because you didn't. You didn't even think about it. And I think that's kind of amazing."

"Oh...uh...that's..." I will not cry again. I refuse to cry again. "Hey, I bet the bus battery is ready. We should go try it."

Practically throwing the car door open, I jump out into the awful, shitty, piss-pouring rain and rush to get into the bus. Kate's right in my heels, taking a seat in the front row as I drop into the driver's seat.

"Alright." I swallow, taking hold of the key. "Fingers crossed?"

Kate nods dutifully, holding her crossed fingers up.

"Here we go." Taking a deep breath, I silently count to three and give the key a sharp turn. The engine instantly comes to life, the bus's headlights lighting up our corner of the parking lot.

"Yes!" I shout, throwing my arms up. "It lives!"

"You did it!" Kate laughs, jumping forward and wrapping her arms around my shoulders. She's hugging me. Kate Marsh is hugging me.

"I...uh...hey, could you see if you can find us a weather report or something?"

"Sure." Pulling away, Kate begins fiddling with the radio, scanning from one end of the dial to the other. Most of the FM stations are all static, and the rest are pretty much impossible to understand. It's even worse when she switches over to the AM side, and it's not until she gets right to the bottom on the AM band that we finally get something.

"...istening to Radio Free NOAA, five-thirty on the AM band. That was The Who with Baba O'Riley, and I'm your host Weatherman Cliff, meteorologist at large, coming at you live with the latest real-time weather updates and the very best of whatever I loaded onto my iPod last weekend.

"Well, if there were still any doubters and skeptics out there, I'm afraid it's time to face facts. About seven minutes ago, the ol' Doppler picked up the leading edge of one granddaddy of a mesocyclone. For the non-meteorologists among us, that's a great big rotating updraft that forms inside a supercell thunderstorm and usually leads to, you guessed it, a tornado.

"Based on the data I'm getting, I'm estimating landfall in about an hour, tops. That means it's time to saddle up and hit the road, folks. I've got some more data begging for analysis, but in the meantime here's some piping hot irony from the great Bob Dylan. The time is 7:04, and this is Shelter from the Storm."

"We got the bus!" I shout as Kate and I rush into Mom's room. "It's backed up to the main entrance."

"I knew you could do it, sweetie," Mom says, grinning.

"That made one of us," I mutter. "Alright. Everybody grab whatever you think you'll need and find a seat. The sooner we get everyone in the bus, the sooner we can get the hell out of here." I turn to Bowers. "Could you help get Douglas in? There's a lift thing that comes out a door near the back."

"Sure, no problem." He nods, taking Douglas's wheelchair by the handles. "C'mon, old timer."

"Whatever you say, you little punk," Douglas cackles as Bowers slowly rolls him out of the room, Jillian following with a hand on his shoulder.

"Okay," I breathe. "This is good. We're good. We'll be out of town in no time."

"Taylor, can we..." Kate begins, hesitantly. "We need to stop at Blackwell before we leave town."

"Kate, I..."

"I know that's going to take extra time, but it's important. I have to pick up..."

"...Alice?" I finish for her, laughing a little at her shocked expression. Gesturing for her to follow me, I gently lift my backpack from its place on Mom's side table and place it on the bed. Tilting it toward Kate, I carefully open it to reveal a black and white bunny happily snuggled up in a soft fleece blanket.

"Alice!" Kate gasps.

"Max asked me to look after her." I shrug, zipping the bag most of the way shut again and carefully putting it back. "I didn't know how late I'd be at the hospital, and I didn't want anything to happen to her, so I brought her along for the rid-oof!"

And now Kate's hugging me again.

"Thank you, Taylor!" she laughs. "Thank you so, so much! You're my hero!"

Awkwardly patting her on the back, I stare at the far wall and pointedly ignore the look Mom is giving me.

"Oh, aren't you two sweet?"

"Really, Mom?" I hiss. "Really?"

One of these days I'm going to have to sit her down and explain that being a supportive parent to a bi daughter does not include trying to set me up with every other girl who smiles at me. She used to be pretty subtle about it, but lately she's been fucking insufferable.

I know she's only trying to help. She knows I got my heart a little broken at Christmas (though not by who) and I'm pretty sure she thinks the best solution is finding me a girlfriend.

"I'm just saying!"

"Please, don't."

"What? The two of you..."

"Mom, stop!" I try, but it's too late.

"...look really cute together."

"Come on!" This is the absolute worst. I hate it when Mom makes things awkwar-

"Oh, I'm not gay, Mrs. Christensen," Kate responds politely, giving me another grateful squeeze before she steps back. "Taylor and I are just friends."

"Ah," Mom nods. "My mistake. Thank you, Kate."

"You're welcome."

There's no awkwardness. None at all. Kate made the awkwardness go away. "Okay, what the fuck was that?"

"Taylor! Language!"

I cringe, looking down. Mom is pretty much the only person on Earth I've never been comfortable swearing around. "Sorry."

"I should hope so. And that was Kate behaving like a mature young woman."

"Taylor's under a lot of stress, Mrs. Christensen," Kate points out, and she's not wrong. "I'm sure that's the only reason she lost her temper."

"Hm. Yes, I suppose that's fair."

What the flying fuck is happening right now?

Did Kate Marsh seriously just defend me to my mom?

I've gone insane. It's the only explanation.

"Kate, dear, I'd like a moment with Taylor. Would you mind collecting up some blankets to put in the bus?"

"Of course," she nods, glancing at the backpack and giving me another bright smile before running out the door.

"She really is very sweet," Mom says. "Pretty, too."

She's just teasing now; her way of apologizing for embarrassing me. And if I'm being honest, her attempts at matchmaking don't bother me as much as I pretend they do. I mean, they definitely bother me, but knowing that she's just trying to make me happy kinda takes the edge off. "I'm not her type."

"Too bad for her," Mom chuckles. Glancing at the door, she lowers her voice and asks, "How're you doing?"

"Shitty." I mutter, cringing. "Sorry."

"No, in this case I think you're entitled. And besides, Kate's right. You've got enough on your plate without your mother scolding you about your language."

"I guess." I lean closer, lowering my voice. "I...I don't know if I can do this, Mom."

"Yes you can, Taylor. I know you can. You're as tough as they come."

"I'm really n-"

"Yes, you are," she insists. "And I'm so proud of you, sweetheart."

"Thanks, Mom."

"Of course." She reaches out to take my hand and lets out a faint, pained hiss.

"Hey, are you okay?"

"Mhm," she responds, but I've seen more convincing acting in soap operas.

"Come on, Mom."

"It's just, well, one of the nurses was supposed to come in at six am to reset this thing." She nods to one of the machines she's hooked into; the one that automatically delivers her morphine. "Except they didn't, of course. My last pain management dose was at four am, and the next one was supposed to be half an hour ago, so..."

Oh no. Oh, fuck. "How bad is it?"

"It's...not great," she admits. "But I'll manage."

This was already going to be a rough trip for her. There's no room in the bus for a stretcher; just two places for wheelchairs. Douglas was going to be in one, and Mom was going to take the other, but that was when I thought she'd have her painkillers. "You'll have to be sitting up the whole time. Is that still going to be okay?"

"I'll manage," she says again. "I've got the pills the doctor prescribed in my bag. They'll be enough."

That's bullshit, and we both know it. The T-3 pills she's got are the same kind I got after I had my wisdom teeth taken out, and they barely took the edge off. I briefly consider looking for wherever the hospital keeps all its drugs, but they probably have all the serious stuff locked up in something I can't just bash open with a fire extinguisher. And even if I could, I'd have no idea how much to give her. The only person here who knows anything about drugs is Bowers, and I sure as shit wouldn't trust his opinion on this.

God damn it.

I take a slow breath, squeezing her hand. "Okay. If you say so."

She smiles, a little tightly, and squeezes back. "I'll be fine, Taylor."

After a second, I decide to believe her. What else am I supposed to do?

Finding a wheelchair for Mom is easy. Moving her into it? Not so much. It takes me and Kate together to help her out of bed, and the look of pain on her face as we do makes me want to cry a little. Kate is really chill about helping her get dressed, too, since there's no way she can go out there in just a hospital gown.

Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if Kate volunteered as a candy striper or whatever they're called. Do they still have those?

Once Mom's bundled up and in the chair, it's pretty easy getting her into the bus. Douglas is already inside when we get there, and Bowers is making sure his wheelchair is locked in place.

"So, that looks like it hurt," Douglas comments as we slowly raise Mom's chair up.

Bowers glances up. "What does?"

"The bruise on your face. Looks like you took a hell of a punch."

"Oh...er, yeah." He absently rubs his jaw. "Real big guy, too. Fuckin' huge."

"Damn." Douglas leans in a bit. "He really popped you one, didn't he? You must've dropped like a-"

"Y'know, I really don't wanna talk about it."

"Alright, alright. I hear ya," Douglas chuckles. "No one wants to talk about getting their ass kicked."

"Hey! I didn't get my ass kicked!"

"Is that right? Didja win?"

"I...no."

"You get any good hits in?" Bowers doesn't answer, but the look on his face says enough. "God's sake, son. Did you get any hits i-"

"Just piss off about it, will ya!"

Douglas laughs again. "I'll take that as a no."

"How'd you like it if someone started bugging you about your ear, huh?"

Mom and I share a brief smile. I think he's trying to make Douglas uncomfortable or something, but even I know that's not going to work. My grandpa is a veteran, too. They're pretty tough to embarrass. "Which one?"

"The..." Surprised, he points to the left side of Douglas's head.

"Oh, that ear. Pretty sure I dropped it somewhere on the thirty-eighth parallel back in fifty-two."

"Oh." Say what you will about Bowers; he recovers fast. "Legs, too?"

"Naw. Left those in Da Nang in sixty-seven." Douglas chuckles. "On the bright side, I haven't had to buy a new pair of shoes in almost fifty years."

Bowers blinks, then lets out an amused snort and starts locking Mom's chair into place, too.

Shutting the side door, I go around to the driver's side and get in, going over my mental checklist. Everyone's on the bus now. We've got plenty of blankets, some bottled water and granola bars Kate grabbed from the cafeteria, and when no one was looking I stuck all those BSC books behind the bus's driver's seat, packed safely in a duffle bag from my car.

I look out the window to take one last look at the grey Honda sitting nearby. I've already pulled out everything important to me, but it's only just hitting me that I'm probably never going to see it again.

I feel so dumb getting all misty about a car, but it's my car. A lot of people figure my parents bought it for me. They're usually the same people that think just because I hang out with Victoria, my family must be just as rich as hers is. They're wrong on both counts. My family is solid middle-class, and I found my car on Craigslist. It cost me all the money I'd saved since I was thirteen years old.

Sighing, I go back to trying to think of anything we might've forgotten, but nothing comes to mind. Then again, if it's something we forgot then it probably wouldn't come to mind, would it? I give my head a shake; the last thing I need is to start obsessing over stuff like that.

"How're you doing, Taylor?" Jillian asks, startling me.

"I'm fine," I respond, glancing over my shoulder. "All good."

She nods, taking a seat in the front row and regarding me with those weirdly foggy eyes of hers. "How long have you had your license for?"

"Uh...a little over six months?"

"Ever driven in weather this bad?"

"Sure, all the time," I snark, and she gives me an unimpressed look. "Sorry. No."

"Alright. The wind's going to be coming off that water something fierce, so when we hit Bay Ave you might have to steer into it a little. And if we blow a tire, don't hit the brakes or you'll lose control. Just take your foot off the gas. Don't use your high beams in this weather, either. It'll be tempting, but you'll actually see less."

"How do you..."

"I wasn't always blind as a bat," she laughs, adding, "and I used to drive a delivery truck. I know a thing or two."

"Well, shit. Wish you were behind the wheel."

"Don't worry." She smiles. "You'll do just fine."

"Right. Okay." Releasing the parking brake, I shift into drive and the bus starts rolling. I'm good. I can do this. It's just like driving a regular car, except a little bigger. All the important stuff is basically the same. I've got this.

I feel the wind rock the bus as soon as we're away from the hospital building, but it isn't too bad. Nothing I can't handle. Pulling out of the parking lot and onto the road, I turn us north and start following the tsunami evacuation signs.

Over the faint rumble of the engine and the steady drum of the rain on the windshield, I can hear Kate praying softly from the seat behind me. Turning my head, I speak quietly enough that (hopefully) only she can hear me. "Hey, Kate? Can I ask you something?"

The murmured prayers stop. "Yes?"

"How are you so calm right now?"

"I'm not sure." Kate pauses thoughtfully. "Faith, I suppose."

I probably should have expected that. "Faith, huh?"

"Mhm." I picture her nodding in that matter-of-fact way of hers. "I think God wanted us both to be here, where we'd be needed, and that he's putting his trust in us tonight. All I can do is have faith that he'll see us through till morning."

"Shit, is that all?" I wince. "Sorry."

"That's okay. Faith makes things possible, not easy."

"Oh." I hesitate. I really don't want her to think I'm making fun of her, but I'll take all the help I can get right now. "Hey, would you...uh...would you mind sending one up for me, too? See if Jesus feels like playing copilot or whatever?"

"Way ahead of you." She reaches forward, gently squeezing my shoulder. "He's got your back, and you've got ours, right?"

"Yeah," I echo, shaking my head. "Right."

I swear I can hear the smirk in her voice when she adds, "He'd probably appreciate a little less cursing, though."

"And that's the latest, folks. As ever, your best bet is to get out of town. Luckily, it looks like the power's back up for now, which is good for me since the ol' generator was probably running on fumes.

"But with power comes phones, and during the last song my data analysis was interrupted by a call from none other than the NOAA Regional Director. Turns out word of my impromptu radio show made it out into the wide world, and there's a lot of people throwing around words like irreverent and unprofessional. That wasn't why the Director called, though. No, the boss wanted to point out an opportunity I've so far failed to take advantage of in my little broadcast, and that's something I intend to see resolved right this minute.

"You're listening to Radio Free NOAA, five-thirty on the AM dial with Weatherman Cliff, meteorologist and emergency radio host. I'm headed back to the Doppler terminal but in the meantime, by special request, this is Ridin' the Storm Out from REO Speedwagon."