Two? Two what? People? Classrooms? Hordes?
IH: ppl
GH: Could you please not do that anymore?
IH: dude
IH: you srsly need to chill
1 To my chagrin, Ishmael had turned off autocorrect on his phone because it “suppressed his individuality.”
Event: Immediate Aftermath (Cont.)
I did not “need to chill.”
I needed to evaluate the situation and prepare for every possible outcome.
In my brief moments of free time between classes, I researched legal implications of the explosion. Unfortunately, the information I found online was contradictory and muddled.
According to one website, making homemade explosives was only criminal in certain contexts. For example, if I was planning to sell the explosives, it was illegal. If the explosive wounded someone, it was ultra-illegal. Neither of those stipulations applied to me.
On the other hand, a different site claimed that in some states, one could receive jail time for “combining raw materials into a mixture capable of creating an explosion.” I tried to search Pennsylvania-specific laws to no avail. The closest thing I discovered was that Pennsylvania allowed the sale of fireworks containing up to fifty milligrams of explosive material, which roughly equated to one roman candle.
The explosion in my yard was not caused by a Roman candle.
Basically, either Ishmael and I were in the clear, or we’d end up sharing a cell.
It was my own fault. I shouldn’t have let my brother participate in the experiment. After all the practical jokes I’ve endured from him, I should’ve known his sudden interest in science had a punch line.
Truly, I shouldn’t have even broken the rule (The Rule: Ishmael was not to come within fifty feet of my lab for any reason, at any time.) I’d put into place last year, after he spilled orange soda all over a circuit board I was working on. (He claimed it only happened because Kepler had clawed him.)
My worries weren’t alleviated as the day went on. Six separate individuals approached me before lunch to inquire about the “meteor.” This was especially concerning because there were some weeks when I didn’t speak to six different people.
By the time I slid into my usual seat in the cafeteria, my body was a network of tension. Shoulders tight, head pounding, teeth beginning to ache. Stress made me clench my jaw, which in turn sent pain radiating outward.
There was no one at the lunch table yet, and I hoped for a quiet day. Sometimes our table filled up with random acquaintances. Other times, when everyone was off doing various activities, it was only me, Cass, and Arden. (Arden Byrd, age fifteen, a recent transplant to Lansburg following her parents’ divorce.)
As I removed food from the paper bag Father packed, Cass slid her lunch tray onto the table next to me.
Her curls were pulled into a ponytail, and she wore a pair of retro glasses. Her polka-dot dress looked like it was straight from the 1950s. Cass was of the opinion that costumes were more entertaining than regular clothes, so therefore her clothes should be as costume-like as possible.
“You know women were oppressed in the fifties,” I said as she plopped into her chair.
“And as a black woman, I wouldn’t even be allowed to sit at this table with you. Doesn’t mean I can’t appreciate the fashion.” She gave me an expectant look. “But don’t we have something much more important to discuss right now?”
“Such as?” I asked, playing dumb.
“Um, how about your house getting blown to smithereens?”
Cass gazed at me eagerly. I was 67 percent sure she’d be disappointed when she found out the truth wasn’t as cinematic as she’d hoped.
“You must realize that’s an exaggeration.”
“But was there really a meteor?”
“Technically it would’ve been a meteoroid.”
“Whatever. Was there one?”
I glanced around to see if anyone was within hearing range.
“Of course not.”
Cass sighed dramatically. “Hells bells, Gideon Hofstadt! How dare you taunt me with the possibility of something exciting finally happening, only to cruelly dash my hopes?”
I couldn’t help but smile.
My friendship with Cass was a mystery to most people. Honestly, I didn’t know what made it work. Cass had other friends and was popular within her theater crowd. And I had other…well, maybe not friends, but acquaintances. People I attended Science Club with, anyway.
But despite our different interests and social groups, Cass was one of the few people who understood me. And in turn, she was one of the few people I understood. Friendships had been built on less.
Knowing it would thrill her, I said, “But there was an explosion.”
“Go on,” she said, sitting up straighter.
“It was my experiment. Remember