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arrive on time each morning. Bring nothing but yourselves for now; we supply everything exceptthe brainpower. And leave with nothing. No equipment, data files, or documents may be taken from the campus at the end of the day, and photography is prohibited, to protect the unique learning environment we’ve worked so hard to build.”
    â€œNow let’s all keep an Eye on Tomorrow.” The holo-sim winks. “And always do your best, because we’ll have our eye on you.” Then it vanishes from the top of Dad’s head down to the last shiny black toe of his shoe, as if someone took an eraser to the air and rubbed him out, atom by atom.
    Van steps forward. “Ready to take a walk?”
    Alex taps my shoulder. “So are you requesting meteorology for a focus area? Some people work in teams.”
    Is he asking if I want to work with him? This is the same kid who didn’t like my last name yesterday. “Haven’t really thought about it yet.”
    â€œWell sure, there’s no rush,” he says, and looks down at his hands resting on the seat in front of us.
    â€œYou coming?” Risha calls from the door, and I realize we’re holding up the line.
    I leave Alex’s not-quite-an-invitation alone for now and hurry to the door. When we step outside, sunlight burns my eyes, and warm, wet outdoor air wraps around me. Risha and Tomas have gone ahead, so I walk with Alex.
    â€œThis way.” Van points us toward the next building over, the one with the white dome, a giant golf ball perched on top of a short, thick column of glass. “Might as well start with the best we have to offer.”
    The best the camp has to offer? I look over, and Alex answers the question before I even ask it out loud.
    â€œStorm Sim Dome.”
    â€œWhat’s in there?”
    â€œComputers,” he says as we step up to the huge building, waiting for Van to scan his fingerprint and open the door. “Turbo-fans. Storm simulators. Storm pool and plumbing.”
    I stare up at the dome, processing what he’s just said. “Are you telling me there’s real wind and rain and everything in there?” It’s shiny, almost too big and bright to look at up close.
    Van holds the door open. “File in.” The air inside is cold and clean, and the main chamber of the dome is cavernous. It reminds me of the story Aunt Linda told me once about her family’s trip to that old amusement park, Epcot Center, when she was little. It’s gone now, wiped out years ago in one of the first inland hurricanes like the rest of Disney’s Florida empire, but Aunt Linda said it was magical, like being inside a giant globe, the heart of the whole world.
    My eyes drift down from the dome’s ceiling, and I see what looks like the heart of this building—an enclosed safety-glass box housing the mainframe computer system that must control everything.
    A model city surrounds the console. It looks like Oklahoma City used to look forty years ago, full of offices and shopping areas, parks and schools, homes, and barns on the outskirts, all built to scale. About half the city is in perfect condition; the rest of the buildings are as battered as the ones
outside
Placid Meadows are now.
    The cement floor is still damp. Van gestures down at it. “Watch the puddles; we had a test run earlier.”
    I look around, wondering how it all works. The precipitation must come from the water heads mounted on the ceiling and the hoses that snake out from the walls every few meters. It even smells like a storm in here. Does that rain-ruined smell just happen, or is it pumped in with the wind, through the enormous fans that hang from the ceiling and walls?
    â€œWhy do they do all this?” I whisper to Alex. “Wouldn’t computer simulations be easier?”
    â€œThey used to do that, but there were too many variables. Van says you need real buildings, real towns, to see what a real storm