Page 26 of Weather Girl

“Yeah?” Russell pulls off his glasses to swipe the lenses with the fringed end of his scarf, and it is maybe the cutest thing I have seen an adult man do. “You really liked it?”

“I really did.”

A sloppy Seth stumbles toward us and throws an arm around each of our shoulders. “My hockey crew!” he yells, and I don’t know whether to laugh or to cower from embarrassment. “You guys are the best. We have to do this again.”

“Definitely,” I say, struggling to keep my balance. “Now let’s get you home.”

10

FORECAST:

Rock step-triple step and a lightning-strike attraction

“...AND WOULD you look at that—I think he’s smiling!”

“Well, I think we can all agree that Bobo the primate pianist really gives new meaning to the phrase ‘monkeying around.’ ” David Wong and Gia DiAngelo share the kind of laugh perfected by news anchors who have reported on too many heartwarming, slightly ridiculous animal stories to count.

“Up next, one of the fastest growing sports in the United States might be the one with the silliest name,” Gia says. “That sport? Pickleball.”

It’s been a while since I watched a show in the studio, but on Friday, I make an exception. KSEA isn’t big enough to have a studio audience, so I’m standing behind the cameras, doing my best to stay out of everyone’s way.

“I remember playing that as a kid in gym class,” David says, pretending to bat away an imaginary ball. “And I don’t think I was very good. Unlike most of these folks we’re going to be hearing from next. Professional pickleball has been picking up steam, especially here in the Northwest, where we’re always looking for indoor sports during those wet winter months. Russell Barringer has more.”

The story opens with a few thwacks of the pickleball on an indoor court. And then Russell’s voiceover: “You may not see it in the Olympics yet, but pickleball is a rapidly growing sport with legions of devoted players.”

The sound of his voice makes me bite back a smile. After we got Seth safely into an Uber, Russell mentioned this story would be airing today, and how excited he’d been about the chance to do some field reporting that wasn’t a college game.

Russell explains that pickleball is local to Washington state, invented on Bainbridge Island in 1965. He interviews a few players and the manager of a pickleball league, interspersed with B-roll of people playing.

“They even let me take a turn on the court,” he says, and the camera cuts to Russell in athletic shorts and a T-shirt, two things I’ve never seen him in at work. I force my gaze away from his calf muscles, as though everyone in the studio can tell exactly where I’m looking.

“Okay, so you’re going to want to hold it like this,” the league manager is telling him.

A ball sails Russell’s way, and he misses, laughing good-naturedly. “Guess there’s a bit of a learning curve.”

It’s endearing, the way he isn’t instantly perfect at it, that he was okay committing this to film. It would have been so easy to write this off as a fluff story, and maybe that’s what people in their living rooms are doing right now—scoffing, changing the channel, switching to one of our competitors.

But it would be wrong to pass that kind of judgment. Watching him, I see what he was saying about the personalities behind the players. The league manager who met her husband playing pickleball, and after he passed away, established this league in his honor, which she runs with the help of her kids. Every year on his birthday, they throw a massive pickleball tournament that draws players from all over the world. It’s a testament to the power of recreation to create community, just as Russell says at the end of the piece.

After a commercial break, it’s time for Halestorm, which is the reason I’m here: Torrance is in the best mood after it airs, and armed with what we know about Seth, I’m going to need her in good spirits.

It’s got to help that Seth hasn’t posted any signs this week.

There’s her too-catchy intro music I find myself humming every so often, playing over an animation of a cartoon Torrance caught in a storm, umbrella turning inside out and nearly getting whisked away before the sun appears. Halestorm, which is Torrance’s platform to analyze climate trends and bring on meteorology experts as guests, is a thirty-minute segment, which seemed short to me when I was a kid and always wanted more.

Today she’s talking about the long-term effects of wildfires on our region. They’ve been growing worse each year, to the point where during the summer, the smoke is so thick that we’re advised not to go outside for sometimes an entire week—or longer. With her usual magnetism, she manages to communicate how terrifying this is, interviewing a woman who lost two houses to wildfires a year apart and wrapping up with how viewers can volunteer to help.

“That was really powerful,” I say to Torrance as she walks off the stage.

“I hope it makes people care about the fires year-round, and not just during the summer,” she says. “Haven’t you been here since three a.m.? Aren’t you exhausted? You can go home, Abrams.”

“I know.” Like I rehearsed, I hide a yawn with the back of my hand, though I stole a nap before the afternoon show. “I’m trying to tweak my sleep schedule so I can go swing dancing tomorrow night.”

Torrance pauses as we reach the newsroom. “Swing dancing? I didn’t know you swing danced.”

“I love swing dancing. I’ve only been doing it for a few months, so I’m not amazing, but I’m obsessed. Over at Century Ballroom in Capitol Hill.”

“Huh.” Her eyebrows knit together. “East Coast swing, right? Not West Coast?”

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