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are we supposed to get home?”
    Dad smiles briefly. “It’ll be sorted out by the time our flight rolls around. Can you imagine if you were a tourist trying to fly home today?”
    “Is the power out in Hilo, too?”
    He pauses. “Probably not.”
    We stick to residential side streets to avoid the jammed intersections. Pedestrians and cyclists also crowd the streets. We all study one another on this strange morning.
    We arrive at the clinic right on time. I stare at the building’s front door from the car. Maybe I’ll have a seizure right away, end the trial on the first day so we can just get out of here.
    The lights are off inside. The receptionist greets us. “Dr. Makani hasn’t arrived yet.”
    “Are they going to be able to run any tests?” Dad asks.
    The receptionist doesn’t know, but someone has left to get gas for the emergency generators. They need power before they can determine whether the machines are fried.
    Dad and I wait outside and watch mynas and other birds flitter among the trees like any other day.
    Dr. Makani run-walks up the steps from the parking lot, his dress shirt half tucked in. He listens to our report and suggests we stick around. “You’re off your meds now, Leilani. And you already had a small seizure. We might be on schedule if things get resolved quickly.”
    We settle down in one of the rooms. The doctor takes my blood pressure and pulse. Dad asks, “Any read on what’s happening?”
    Dr. Makani shrugs. “Rumors. My neighbor’s with the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. He said something about a geomagnetic storm, but I think he was just guessing. Space weather. Solar winds—or something—interfering with the Earth’s magnetic field.”
    “That’s okay, let’s just look it up on the Web,” Dad jokes. We share a joyless laugh.
    Dr. Makani continues, “He told me a story about a big geomagnetic event back in the 1850s that zapped early telegraph operators and affected compass needles. Sounds about right to me, but there wasn’t enough in the way of electronics back then for the impact to be widely felt.”
    “So it’s a storm of some kind? It’s going to pass?”
    “Should be temporary, he thinks.”
    “Except for blown transformers and equipment malfunctions,” Dad adds. “Fried parts at the power plants will take time to replace—especially around here.”
    Dr. Makani hands me a paper cup with a fat yellow pill in it. “Here’s your new dose.”
    I pop it in my mouth and chase it down with some water.
    Two hours pass. I’m starving. The lights come on. Dr. Makani enters. “It looks like we can proceed. Generators working, EKG seems okay. The MRI is a paperweight, but we’ll get by without it. No need to fast every morning anymore.”
    “Yay,” I say.
    Here I’ll stay, my head attached to electrodes, until I either have a seizure or make it to the end of the week.
    Today, the whole world is on the fritz, and I’m working just fine.
    The power goes on and off during the tests. I read magazines and check my phone for incoming texts from Mom or Tami. Nope. I try to read, but I have no focus. I can only listen to Dad scratching his chin as he grades, the crinkle of his homework papers, and the clicking sound of my own thoughts being etched onto reams of paper.
    Dad eats some of his breakfast loot when my dinner is served. The sun sets, and a sudden calm descends upon Honolulu. Dad sits with me until a nurse asks him to respect visiting hours. He looks at me questioningly.
    “Go,” I say. “Your beard scratching is driving me crazy.”
    “I don’t have a beard.”
    “Exactly.”
    Dad chuckles. He gives me a gentle kiss goodnight and heads out. “I’ll be back first thing in the morning.”
    Two minutes later he’s back in the doorway.
    “Lei, come here. You need to see this.” Dad’s face is full of … awe?
    “What is it?”
    “Come outside.”
    “Now?”
    “Yes.”
    He gets the nurse, who strips the electrodes from my