It was my 12th birthday. Fifteen girls in bathing suits were invited over. Hurricane Allison was not.
Mom started to go gray that day.
"Don't cartwheel around the pool, Anna! Come up for air this instant, Katie! Girls, don't beat Nikki on the head with the foam noodle!"
Logic says that children in denial of death or injury shouldn't mind a few raindrops and clouds. Wrong.
The rain started, and we scampered into the house with wet feet to watch the Weather Channel.
"Sloooooow down! I hope you all have health insurance."
Allison was churning in the gulf, coming at the west coast. Hysteria was churning in the house, coming at my mom.
Some girls panicked. Would their cats and canopy beds be swept into the ocean? One girl bawled in my room while the mothering types soothed her.
The thrill seekers leaped, screamed and beat each other with the excitement of 200 sweepstakes winners.
The fearless made pizza in the microwave, wailing the classic pop standard The Heat Melts the Cheese. Together, we broke the sound barrier.
Allison missed the bay and hit the Panhandle. The sniveling girls left with party favors. Mom went to sleep.
I wasn't allowed to have a birthday party for years.
Fast-forward to Charley. The night before the storm, the University of South Florida's Lambda Chi Alpha frat house was jumping. The boys had a real hurricane party, with 50 people, until 4 a.m.
I, being largely uncool, had my own party of six - my Pinellas family crammed into my apartment.
They came bearing supplies, which was good. My hurricane kit contained dry oatmeal, instant mashed potatoes, ramen noodles and a semiburned Yankee candle.
We ate lasagna. We watched Love Actually on DVD. We played Trivial Pursuit. We slept on couches. I worried about the large oak trees in the parking lot crushing my plastic-shelled car.
Rival that, Lambda Chi Alpha.
On second thought, don't. I will lose.
And anyway, with the ocean spitting storms at Florida in record numbers this season, I may have more opportunities to top the frat guys.
I'm not sure I can ever top the Hurricane Allison party. The sheer adrenaline embodied by sixth-graders cannot be outdone by any amount of beer.
- Stephanie Hayes is a part-time writer in the Times' Carrollwood office and a junior at USF.
