Blitz (Blast Brothers #3) - Sabrina Stark Page 0,15

some of my parents' friends, had told Ginger how I'd saved the Tomato Festival. That was a week ago, and I still hadn't mentioned anything about the bank backing out of the sponsorship.

This wasn't the only thing I'd been silent about. I also hadn't mentioned anything about losing my barista job. My mom worried enough already, and besides, if she knew I'd lost the barista gig, she might begin to wonder what I'd been doing with my time.

This was the last thing I wanted.

As far as the festival, I'd give everyone an update soon – hopefully after finding a replacement sponsor. If I were lucky, this would happen today.

And yet, I didn't like where this conversation was going. On the phone, my mom said, "You do remember, right?"

Boy, did I ever. For obvious reasons, I'd been mortified to hear I'd gotten so much praise for something that had already fallen through. "Yeah. I remember."

"So you're gonna love this," my mom said. "Apparently, she's been telling everyone that the whole thing is a sham."

I gave a hard swallow. "A sham?"

"Yes, a sham," my mom repeated. "She's been running around telling everyone who will listen that the new bank is refusing to honor the agreement."

Oh, God. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to curse out loud as I considered what I should say.

On the phone, my mom asked, "Are you still there?"

"Um, yeah." Working hard to sound casual, I asked, "So, where would she hear such a thing?"

"She says she heard it from the bank's new manager."

I knew which guy she meant. He was some corporate lackey who'd arrived out of the blue to fire me and most of my co-workers.

How Ginger knew him was anyone's guess.

And I still didn't know what to say.

As for my mom, she was saying plenty. After a few choice words about Ginger, she said, "So, I give her a call, and you wanna know what I tell her?"

Oh, boy. Bracing myself, I asked, "What?"

"I tell her that she's full of crap, and that if I hear her spreading one more rumor about my daughter, she's gonna be sorry."

Hearing this, I literally cringed. Ginger Hawthorne wouldn’t be the only sorry one. I murmured, "Aw Mom, you didn't have to do that."

"Oh yes, I did," she shot back. "She practically called you a liar."

Yesterday, Chase Blastoviak had done a similar thing. But in Ginger's case, there was the tiniest kernel of truth. Okay, a giant kernel of truth. But technically, I hadn't been lying about losing the sponsorship.

I'd simply put off telling everyone, that's all.

A lie by omission? Maybe.

But it wouldn't matter once I found a replacement sponsor. Into the phone, I mumbled, "Well, um…maybe she's a little fuzzy on the details, that's all."

My mom hesitated for a long moment before saying, "Mina?"

I croaked, "Yeah?"

"Is there something you want to tell me?"

Shit.

I recognized that tone. It was the same one she'd used during my senior year of high school, when she'd tried to make a hot toddy, only to discover that the rum had been diluted with water, courtesy of me and Natalie.

We weren't huge partiers, but we had borrowed half a jelly jar of Mom's rum for a party at a friend's house. We'd been planning to replace it. But then, when we couldn’t find anyone of legal age to buy it for us, we'd panicked. Thus, the water.

That was what? Seven years ago?

And yet, my mom's voice sounded exactly the same when she said, "Mina Catherine, are you still there?"

I almost flinched. "Yeah?"

"If you've got something to say, now would be an excellent time."

She was wrong. Now would be the worst possible time, because in an hour, I might have wonderful news – news that would make this conversation totally unnecessary.

Forcing a smile, I said, "Sorry, but I really am in a hurry. I'll call you back in an hour, alright?" As I said it, I offered up a silent prayer that I'd be calling her back with good news.

But Mom wasn't having it. "Wait a minute. Did you say you were heading into a meeting?"

"Yup." Even as the reply left my lips, I realized my mistake. Supposedly, I was still manning the coffee counter, which didn't jive with the whole meeting thing.

"So, who are you meeting with?"

Instantly, a vision of Chase Blastoviak popped into my head. In this mental picture, he wasn't wearing a suit and tie, but rather that white T-shirt he'd been wearing on the show, the one he'd used to