Unfinished Ex (Calloway Brothers, #2)(22)

“And which one of your students contacted XTN?” she asks, seemingly unaffected by our silent exchange.

I nod to Jillian Dorsey. “Jillian.”

Nicky walks over to her. “Jillian, I’m sure our viewers would want to know what you did to get XTN’s attention.”

Jillian’s smile is a mile wide. She pushes her glasses up with a finger. “I posted some questions on your Twitter feed. Someone named Julio responded, and the more questions he answered, the more I asked, and it kind of blew up from there.”

“Julio is one of our production assistants,” Nic says. She turns to the other students. “Now, who can tell me what a weather balloon is and what we can expect?”

Ten hands go up, all of them eager to be on TV. Thankfully, Nicky chooses Jeremy Walker, one of my best students.

“A weather balloon floats up into the sky carrying a payload that transmits information on atmospheric pressure, temperature, humidity, and wind speed.”

“That’s exactly right,” Nicky says. “And who knows the technical name for the payload the balloon carries?”

She calls on Linny Gundersen. “It’s called a radiosonde.”

“Can you tell our viewers exactly what a radiosonde is?”

“It’s a battery-powered telemetry instrument attached by a string to the balloon that transmits the data and then parachutes back to the ground after the balloon bursts.”

“You’ve done your homework,” Nicky says.

“Mr. Calloway is a good teacher.”

Nicky’s eyes fall on me. I try to read them. I guess I’m not as good at doing it as I used to be, because I have no idea what this look is. Surprise? Unease? Tension? Or is it more along the lines of Can we move this along before one of us does something we’ll regret?

She asks a dozen or so more questions, working the room and interacting with the students as Chris follows with the camera. Then she asks if anyone has questions before going outside.

Leo raises his hand. I expect something derogatory, sarcastic, or plain idiotic to come out of his mouth, but he surprises me.

“I read that only twenty percent of radiosondes ever get recovered. With today’s tracking technology, shouldn’t we be able to recover more?”

“Great question,” Nicky says. “Weather balloons often get pulled into the jet stream and can drift as far as 125 miles away. Using the formula we discussed a minute ago, we can predict where the payload will land within about ten miles. But not only is ten miles a lot of ground to cover, the problem is, many of them land in bodies of water or inaccessible places, like the tops of trees. Our goal as technology improves is to be better able to pinpoint the landing sites.”

“But since you already have the data, do you even need to recover them?” Leo asks.

“We’d like to. It’s better for the environment, and we can also reuse and recycle them. I should note that all radiosondes come with instructions on how to return them to the National Weather Service should anyone happen upon one. Side story, that’s how I fell in love with the weather.”

Her entire demeanor changes. I know the story she’s going to tell. I’ve heard it a dozen times.

And for a moment, she appears incredibly happy.

“When I was nine years old, my family and I were on vacation in The Adirondacks when I found a radiosonde. I thought it was so cool.” She laughs. “There’s a scientific term for you. Anyway, my father and I researched them before sending it back, and through that research, I discovered my passion.” Her head shakes as if the memory is overwhelming for her.

We lock eyes once more, and I see it—the passion. She still loves meteorology as much today as she did back then. Maybe more. I hate to admit it, but she’s in her element.

She breaks the stare and looks away. “Well, now, should we head outside?”

The students hop up, gather our equipment, and file for the door. Chris lowers the camera.

“You weren’t rolling on that last bit, were you?” Nicky asks him. “I didn’t mean to get so personal.”

“You’re kidding, right?” he says. “Personal is exactly why they hired you. Xuan Le loves your style. This is exactly the kind of stuff that will make her drool. Good job.”

He puts a hand on her lower back as they walk out. My belly clenches and my skin crawls with a new level of hatred. He’s touching her, and I want to stride over and rip his Thor-like hand right off her. The need to stake my claim is powerful. The fact that it’s a ridiculous thought doesn’t matter to my single-minded brain. She’s been with other men. Chris may be one of them. I shouldn’t feel this way: possessive, covetous, jealous. But my god… I do. I do to my very core.

“You coming?” Nicky asks from the doorway.

I nod and follow, wanting this whole thing over with.

Outside, we put up the antenna, then I open my laptop, queuing up the software that will interpret the data as it gets transmitted.

The bell ending sixth period rings, but nobody moves. My students all got special permission to miss their seventh-period classes for this experiment. They are all excited about it. Me—I’ve never wanted class to end more than I do right now.

Once everything is set up, the two students that were picked to release the balloon hold it as I fill it with helium. “Does that seem like enough?” I ask Nicky.