Boom Page 7

  I hated group projects. They were such a pain, especially for me, considering that I needed to maintain a perfect grade-point-average if I wanted to secure that scholarship – a full ride to Michigan State.

  In reality, the scholarship was mine already – signed, sealed, and delivered, as long as I didn't blow it during my final semester.

  If it weren't for group projects, I wouldn't even be worried.

  But now, I was.

  And why? It was because I knew exactly how this would go.

  When it came to group projects, if anyone in my group ever slacked off, I had to make up the difference.

  Normally, I didn't mind as much as you'd think. I mean, if I wanted a bigger reward, it was only natural that I'd need to put in a bigger effort, right?

  But today I wasn't in the mood.

  So I stubbornly waited, watching the minutes tick by on the big white clock hanging in the school's back hallway. Except for the janitors, I was utterly alone. No surprise there, considering it was Saturday.

  Finally, seventeen full minutes after noon, Brody sauntered up looking like he had all the time in the world. He was wearing what he always wore – jeans, a plain T-shirt, and a faded jean jacket.

  I was wearing pretty much the same thing, except that my jean jacket was white, and I didn't look half as good wearing it. But Brody Blastoviak – he always looked good, no matter what he wore.

  I gave him a quick once-over and mentally checked off the list. Killer body, killer face, killer hair, killer everything.

  No wonder everything came so easy for him.

  And speaking of killing, I said, "Nice of you to show up."

  With a casual shrug, he replied, "Hey, I thought so." He glanced toward the locked door of the chemistry lab. "I figured you'd start without me."

  My jaw clenched. That's what they always figured. And they were usually right.

  But today, I was too tired and cranky to be a good sport about it. Just yesterday, my mom had rolled into town unexpectedly, bringing with her the usual chaos.

  She hadn't wasted any time either. Within hours of her arrival, she'd announced that she was engaged – to some guy named Eddie who'd I'd never met – had hit up my grandparents for money – as if they had any to spare – and had almost made off with my white jean jacket – as if it weren't also my only jacket, not counting my winter coat, which would look ridiculous in April.

  And now Brody was frowning. His nose literally wrinkled when he said, "What's that smell?"

  Heat flooded my face. The smell was me – or rather, the jean jacket I'd wrestled from my mom just this morning. To Brody, I muttered, "Oh, shut up."

  With a crooked grin, he said, "Hey, I'm just asking."

  "Well, don't."

  Now he looked ready to laugh. "Rough night, huh?"

  "What makes you say that?"

  "Because you smell like it."

  How nice.

  He didn't say what "it" was, but I knew exactly what he meant. I smelled like a freaking bar fly. Silently, I added up the aromas – cheap perfume, even cheaper booze, and lots of smoke.

  I'd be naïve to think it was only cigarettes.

  Last night, within hours of her arrival, my mom had found her way to the nearest dive bar, where she'd apparently had a lovely time, until she'd been kicked out for fighting in the ladies room. Again.

  I glanced down at my jacket and felt my own nose wrinkle in disgust. Last night, it had rained, and the jacket was still damp.

  But at least she hadn't gotten any blood on it, so hey, it was an improvement over the last time, right?

  When I made no reply, Brody said, "If you need a light, let me know."

  I wasn't following. "What?"

  He reached into the front pocket of his jeans and pulled out a green disposable lighter. He flicked it to life and held it out near my face.

  I gave the flame an annoyed look. "In case you didn't notice, I don't actually have a cigarette." Under my breath, I added, "Or anything else, for that matter."

  "So?"

  "So I don't need a light."

  "Eh, your loss," he said, flicking off the lighter and lowering it to his side.

  With growing irritation, I said, "You do know, I had to get special permission to use the lab today."

  This wasn't even a good thing.

  All of our classmates had completed the experiment on Thursday. But not us. And why? It was because my so-called partner had decided to skip class, and Mr. Chesterfield had refused to let me do the experiment on my own.

  "So?" Brody said again.

  I sighed. "So let's just get it done already." I glanced toward the locked door of the lab. "And we need to be quick. I'm making cookies with my grandma at two-thirty."

  My grandma loved to bake, even in spite of her arthritis. And although I wasn't in the mood for cookies, I'd promised to bake them with her anyway – something to cheer her up after my mom had blown out of town just as quickly as she'd arrived.

  I didn't need any cheering. The truth was, I'd been shamefully glad to see her go. But my grandparents – well, they were softies when it came to my mom, probably because she was their only surviving child – and the youngest, too.

  In the school hallway, Brody's lips formed a sneer. "Sorry, I didn't know 'cookies' were on the line." He said "cookies" like it was a four-letter word.

  I tried for a scoff. "Oh? So you've got something against cookies?"

  "Me? Nah." He gave me a rude look. "Just people who make them."

  My gaze narrowed. "I hope you're talking about me, because if you mean my grandma—"

  Once again, the lighter appeared in my face. Without flicking it on, he asked, "You sure you don't need a light?"

  I glared at the lighter and then at him. "Trust me. I'm sure."

  With cold defiance, he flicked it on, anyway. The flame wasn't terribly close, not even within cigarette-lighting distance, but it was annoying. No doubt, it was meant to be.

  He was trying to goad me. That much was obvious.

  This shouldn't have been a surprise.

  When the list of lab partners had been posted three weeks ago, Brody hadn't been any happier than I was.

  I knew why, too. Unlike me, he never took any of it seriously. Oh sure, he took all of the advanced classes, but his grades were lackluster at best.

  Between cutting class and missing half of his homework, he surely would've flunked out entirely, if only he didn't have this annoying habit of acing all of his tests.

  But me? I had to study. Hard.

  I gave a silent scoff. But that was Brody for you. I'd known him for nearly four years now, ever since I'd moved in with my grandparents just before my freshman year.

  Turns out, it was the best thing that ever happened to me. Unlike my parents, my grandparents actually liked having me around. And I liked being around. Plus, this gave me the stability to try for a scholarship.

  And my parents? Well, they got their freedom, I guess.

  Let's just say, parenting wasn't their thing.

  When I considered how lucky I felt just to be standing in this particular school, it made Brody's casual attitude all the more maddening.

  He nudged the flame a tad closer, as if preparing to light my face on fire.

  I told him, "You know that's not allowed, right?"

  Talk about a massive understatement.

  With a laugh, he finally flicked off the lighter and lowered it once again to his side. Normally, I liked his laugh, even if I'd never admit it. But today, it sounded all wrong, laced with cruelty rather than humor.

  His mouth twisted as he said, "Relax. I'm not gonna burn your cookies."

  For some reason, his words sounded vaguely suggestive and just a little bit insulting.

  I stared up at him. "I don't get it," I said. "If you were just gonna be a jackass, why'd you bother to show up at all?"

  With no trace of laughter, he replied, "Because I told you I would."

  "So?"

  "So
I always do what I say."

  "Oh, really?" I scoffed. "Do you always do it seventeen minutes late?"

  His mouth tightened. "Better late than never."

  It was so easy for him to say. Unlike me, he got away with everything. Still, I couldn’t resist saying, "Has it ever occurred to you that if you just applied yourself, you'd be getting all A's?"

  "Has it ever occurred to you that it's none of your business?"

  Yes. It had, actually.

  Still, I had to ask, "But what about college?"

  "What about it?"

  "Aren't you worried you won't get in?"

  With another scoff, he replied, "Hell no."

  His attitude grated. Gee, it must be nice to be so confident.

  But probably he was right. No doubt, he'd ace some assessment test and get into whatever college he wanted without even trying. With as brilliant as he was, he'd probably get a scholarship, too.

  Thinking of my own scholarship, I pulled out the lab key – the one I'd wheedled out of Mister Chesterfield after school on Friday. As I inserted the key into the lock, I couldn’t resist muttering, "Just try not to blow anything up, alright?"

  I'd opened the door barely a crack when that stupid lighter flared again. This was followed by something infinitely worse – a gigantic flash of light, loud and scorching hot.

  With one giant boom, the lab practically exploded, sending me and Brody reeling backward as the door flew off its hinges. Brody tackled me to the ground, as if he were trying to smother me with his own body.

  Around us, I smelled smoke and chemicals and burnt hair. My mind reeled, and my body shuddered. I gave Brody a frantic push. "Get off me!"

  His voice was low in my ear. "Not yet."

  With a string of curses, I eventually pushed him aside, only to realize that the burnt hair was my own. My face. Oh, my God. I reached up to touch it, half expecting to find it melted or something.

  But it was fine.

  Or maybe not – because when I looked to Brody, he stared at me like I'd just turned into some sort of goblin. I was almost crying when I asked, "How bad is it?"

  He hesitated way too long before saying, "Not too bad. You're okay."

  Was I?

  I felt okay. Once again, I reached up to touch my face. That's when I realized something. My eyebrows – they weren't quite there. I looked up to my bangs and frowned in momentary confusion.

  My bangs were still there, except they were a whole lot shorter and singed on the ends.

  But it wasn't until I looked at the smoldering ruins of the lab itself that I realized how close both of us had come to losing a lot more than eyebrows.

  Later on, investigators would determine that the explosion had been caused by a leak in the gas line that fed the Bunsen burners. After being closed for hours, the small lab had filled with flammable gas.

  All it needed was a spark.

  But it could've been so much worse. If we'd been inside the lab when the flame had caught, probably neither one of us would've lived to tell about it.

  So I tried to be thankful – even as Brody and I were both suspended for two full weeks, which was a lot better than the school's initial threat to kick us out entirely. There'd even been some talk of us being sued for damages, in spite of the fact that the gas leak itself was hardly our fault.

  But then, suddenly, out of the blue, all of that talk went away – much like my college scholarship as my grades tanked due to my sudden suspension.

  When all was said and done, nearly four years of perfect work were destroyed by one single boom.

  Oh sure, I'd still gone to college, and I had gotten a few minor scholarships here and there. Still, it was hardly the full ride I'd been counting on, and it meant that I'd had to begin my college career not at a four-year university, but rather at the local community college, where I could rack up some credits on the cheap side.

  But it wasn't this that broke my heart. It was everything else. My grandma died of a sudden illness only a week after my high school graduation, and then, my grandpa had died of a heart attack only three years after that, during my first year at Michigan State.

  Together, the loss of them had left a hole so big, I might've tumbled into it forever, if only I weren't so determined to keep their traditions alive. This included saving the house and keeping it in the family, just like they'd always wanted.

  But in order to save it, I needed money. And to get that kind of money, I had to finish my college degree.

  It was a total catch-22, and in the end, I split the difference – continuing on with college while sending my cousin Jason enough money to keep the place from getting repossessed or falling into ruin.

  In the end, it was all for nothing. The house had fallen into ruin anyway, and Jason still wasn't returning my calls.

  This left me with only one option – working with the guy who'd torched all of my plans in the first place.

  Brody.

  Still, I had to give him credit for one thing. He'd definitely lived up to his nickname.

  Brody Blast.

  Chapter 16

  Brody – Present Day

  Waverly was still griping. "You know this is a mistake, don't you?"

  With a noncommittal shrug, I leaned sideways against the door of my truck. "Hey, it's not my mistake."

  "Oh, I know," she assured me. "I just mean, the whole situation. It's a total disaster."

  Disaster – it was her favorite word, and she'd been using it nonstop for the last fifteen minutes, ever since Arden had disappeared into the crew house across the street, where she'd slept last night.

  I hadn't slept – not there or anywhere else.

  Instead, I'd spent the bulk of last night dealing with the roof leak. I hadn't fixed it. That would've required scaffolding and a crew. But I had been able to minimize the damage by devising a crude funnel-and-hose system that diverted the rainwater into the nearby shower drain – and not down the main stairway.

  Afterward, I'd used some rags from the basement to dry what I could while making arrangements to have the roof replaced.

  The replacement would begin later this week – or sooner if rain showed in the forecast.

  Hell, if this weren't part of the TV show, I'd have a crew here already to guarantee no further damage.

  But the show was important – not because I gave two shits about the entertainment industry, but because the ratings generated millions in tool sales along with a few hundred local jobs.

  Thanks to the show, the brain child of my brother Chase, Blast Tools had gained two decades of growth in three short years.

  The show was free advertising on steroids, which meant that I was willing to deal with more than my share of bullshit to keep it going. Hell, I'd deal with a hundred Ardens if that's what it took.

  And I wouldn’t waste my time bitching about it either. Bitching was for pussies – and for pampered producers who wore high heels to job sites.

  Next to me, Waverly said, "Maybe she won't take it. I mean, people turn down job offers all the time, right?"

  I gave her a look. "Not this time."

  "But we can't be sure," she said.

  We. That was another word she used a lot – sometimes related to the show, and sometimes for sly innuendos like, "We should test out that jacuzzi sometime."

  So far, I'd been playing dumb. I knew how these things ended – with more drama than I wanted or needed. If I was lucky, she'd get the hint soon enough. And if not – well, I'd deal with that later.

  Thinking of Arden, I told Waverly, "Trust me. She'll take it."

  Landon Tarrington had copied both of us on the email containing his offer. It had come across Waverly's cell phone just five minutes ago, and she'd made a point to wave the offer in my face – as if I couldn't read it on my own screen.

  It didn't matter. One glance was enough for me to know that Arden wouldn't be turning it down.

  With a sigh, Waverly said, "I still don't know what Landon saw in her."


  I did. Arden was the classic girl next door – long brown hair, a perky nose, and dimples in both of her cheeks when she smiled.

  She hadn't smiled much lately, especially at me. But she'd hit Landon with a smile or two.

  The guy wasn't blind. And he was damn good at what he did, even if some of his decisions weren't to my liking.

  When I made no reply, Waverly said, "I have a theory. Do you want to hear it?"

  Nope.

  Not me.

  When I remained silent, Waverly announced, "I think she has a thing for you."

  Now that got my attention. "What?"

  "Oh come on," Waverly laughed. "When you were standing in front of the mower, she was practically drooling."

  I frowned. Arden? No.

  She hadn't been drooling. She'd been sweating. And she'd looked obscenely good doing it. Her cheeks had been flushed, and her yellow T-shirt had been clingy with perspiration. And her bra? Well, let's just say the lace wasn't nearly thick enough to hide the outlines of her damp nipples.

  And now, my jeans were growing tight. Again.

  Shit.

  The hot-and-sweaty look shouldn't have been sexy. But on Arden, it was.

  Good thing she didn't realize it, or I'd have real trouble on my hands – because if Arden ever turned on the charm, assuming she had any, I'd be more tempted than I wanted to admit.

  I told Waverly, "Sorry, you're wrong."

  "I sure hope so," she said, hitting me with a sultry smile of her own. "Because we don't need her."

  We. There was that word again. The way she talked, it was just the two of us against the world. But that's not how it was.

  For the last few years, it had been three of us against the world, and Waverly wasn't part of the team.

  No. The trio consisted of me and my two brothers. No parents. No aunts. No uncles. No doting grandparents either.

  It had been like this for a while now, beginning late in my senior year.

  And this – in a roundabout way – was why Arden Weathers hated my guts. And vice-versa.

  Chapter 17

  Brody – Six Years Earlier

  It was Saturday, and the last place I wanted to be was in school. But I'd promised Arden Weathers – my overachieving lab partner – that I'd be here.