Total pages in book: 185
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 180510 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 903(@200wpm)___ 722(@250wpm)___ 602(@300wpm)
“No. I won’t.” Chad poked the bear so hard I couldn’t help but cringe.
Mom was patient, but she wasn’t Jesus. “GO. TO. YOUR. ROOM!” She jabbed a finger in the direction of the stairs.
Chad, being the stubborn and belligerent little fuck that he was, threw a pancake at my mom, smacking her in the face. Her whole head turned red like the strawberries while syrup and whipped topping dripped from her jaw.
She stomped toward him. I had never seen her look so feral. Apparently, neither had Chad because he jolted out of his chair and sprinted up the stairs. When she turned back toward me, I tucked my chin and shoveled down my breakfast. Then, I cleaned up the kitchen without being asked and checked in on my mom. She was face down on her bed crying.
“Come on, twerp,” Chad said, poking his head in the bathroom while I brushed my teeth.
“Where?” I asked.
“To get fireworks.”
“They’re illegal.”
“They’re in the garage.”
I squinted at him before spitting.
“Dad bought them in Missouri the summer that we moved. But then he found out that we lived next door to the chief of police, so he never set them off.”
I jogged down the stairs behind Chad. “We still live across the street from the chief of police.”
“He just pulled out of his driveway. We can set a few off before he gets back.”
“I don’t think it’s a good idea. Mom doesn’t even let me use a lighter for candles.”
“Listen, pussy, sometimes you have to do fun stuff because it’s fun, not because your mommy says it’s okay.” Chad pulled out the ladder and set it up right in the middle of the stall where Dad used to park. Retrieving a box from the boards along the rafters, Chad dropped it to the ground with a big thunk.
I lifted one of the flaps like something might jump out at me.
“Right there. Let’s set off that rocket.” Chad grabbed the big one from the top. “Now …” he glanced around the garage. “Where’s a lighter?”
I knew there was a lighter in the top drawer of dad’s tool bench. He had very few tools, but he had a tool bench. He bought it after we moved to Des Moines. I think it happened shortly after Chief Watts asked him if he had a certain tool because the chief couldn’t find his. My dad had a hammer and maybe two screwdrivers. I think it embarrassed him because, two days later, he bought the tool bench and several hundred dollars’ worth of tools.
“It might be in the top drawer,” I murmured. I wasn’t going to get it. This was all on Chad. At the same time, I was a little curious about the rocket.
Chad opened the top drawer, and sure enough, it was there. He plucked it from its spot. His fingerprints, not mine.
“Come on …” He scuffed his sneakers along the ground to the backyard.
“What if you catch a tree on fire?” I asked.
“The trees are too green to catch on fire. God … you’re so stupid.”
He was right. I was stupid. I was stupid to worry about the trees instead of the houses around us.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I asked as he set the rocket on the pad of concrete, literally feet from our house.
“Colten, shut up. You’re such a baby.” He lit the fuse, and we skittered back a few more feet as the flame quickly worked its way to the rocket.
Whoosh!
There it went. I had a full two seconds of retreat. For those two seconds, I felt like a baby. A mama’s boy who was too afraid to have a little fun. After all, wasn’t that what boys did? Break a few rules all in the name of fun?
Then … it crashed into the neighbor’s window. The Burmeisters. It was the first time I said the word “fuck” aloud.
“Go! Go! Go!” Chad shoved me toward the garage, and I ran as fast as I could.
“There’s no phone in here!” I said in a panic.
“Shh!” Chad grabbed the box of fireworks and nearly fell off the ladder trying to heave them back into their spot.
“Chad! Their house is on fire! We have to call 9-1-1.”
“So we get into trouble?” He glanced down at me like I was crazy. “Let them call. What’s it matter?”
“What if they’re not home? Mrs. Burmeister is really old. What if she can’t get out of the house? What if the rocket hit her? Oh my god! She could be dead!”
“Shh!” He jumped off the ladder.
“I’m not being quiet. I’m calling for help.” I started toward the door, but Chad grabbed the back of my shirt.
“You can’t.”
Something snapped. This urgency filled my veins, and my fists pounded against my brother until he released me. Then I sprinted inside and called 9-1-1. “Our neighbor’s house is on fire. Come quick!”