Eruption (Yellowblown™ Book 1) (40 page)

“That’s archaic
.” Anger seethed beneath my skin.

“No. It isn’t
. Because it means the world to me that you waited, and you would want to be with me now.” He took a shaky breath. “I’m stepping aside for a man in your future —″

R
age boiled out of my pores like magma, frothy and ugly, with the power to incinerate the world with its violence. “Go to hell, Boone Ramer,” I shouted as I leapt to my feet, still naked to the waist.

His head jerked back.

“Go straight to hell with your morality and your sanctimonious decisions for me.” I tugged my sweatshirt on and jammed his ranch hat on my head, and then got hung up fumbling with the door latch.

By then he was standing and looking alarmed.
“Listen to me.”

“No
. You listen,” I snarled, pointing a finger at his chest as shock registered in his expression. “You made me care about you, and you give me this hat with our initials combined like some message from the pioneer past, then you have the
nerve
to tell me you’re stepping aside for some fictitious man in my future? You do that, you coward. Step aside.” I moved to leave then whipped back around for another volley. “Congratulations, you just earned the “Saved A Girl’s Virginity” badge. Now, take it home to Nebraska and shove it up your Boy Scout ass.”

“Violet,” he repeated.

I finally flung the door open, but turned on him one last time. “I’m not a breakable doll, Boone. In fact, I think you’re more fragile than me. You’re afraid to even try.”

I tripped in my haste to get out of th
e camper and nearly landed on my knees in the driveway. Mom half-rose out of her chair when I stomped up the stairs. Everyone probably assumed I cried my eyes out. I didn’t. I thought I might be capable of putting my fist through the wall, but I didn’t do that either. One way or another, I sent out enough negative energy no one dared approach the door.

I s
tared at the screen of my phone. Before Yellowblown, these devices distracted my entire generation, offering a constant flow of texts and social media to muffle the goings-on in the room our physical bodies occupied. Now? Nothing incoming. Just me—the new Violet—alone in the old Violet’s bed.

I studied
the screen’s wallpaper, the picture of Boone and me at his dorm room door.

Something about
the image nagged at me. I took a mental step back and challenged myself to look at us as if we were strangers. The boy leaned toward the girl, his golden aura pushed in to her more solid darkness, as if he were drawn to her, or at least willing to cast his glow over her shadowy doubts. They were determined and happy, and he seemed almost proud to be with her, while lack of confidence hung in a transparent veil over her excitement.

If I’d seen this picture of a random couple, I’d have thought,
they look like they belong together, like he’s really into her and she knows how lucky she is.

I emailed the picture to myself so I could print it.

 

The power went out in the middle of the night, lurching me
out of my doze one of many times before gray smudged the sky. With every reawakening, I wrote something else on the back of the picture related to the memories playing in my head.

My fingers uncurled arthritically from the ranch hat
at dawn.

I changed
from yesterday’s clothes into some biking gear, on autopilot. Because what the heck else would I do after I watched him drive away?

No one was downstairs.
Out the front window, I saw all but Sara huddled on the driveway near Boone’s truck, Grampa with a gun propped on his shoulder. They all loved Boone. I went to the front porch to grab my bike. I clung to it with a white-knuckled grip and watched the spectacle of departure.

I loved Boone
, too. And he would never know ’cuz he’d stepped aside.

He looked
as rough as I’d ever seen him, his face pale and grim, dark circles rimming red eyes. His whole body had tightened when I’d appeared. Now I watched him from afar like the college freshman I used to be. Except this time was my choice.

I didn’t regret what I’d said last night. Not really. I didn’t want him coasting through life in the big scary world he thought I was too delicate for, thinking he
’d crushed me. His last memory of me would not be as some talking, crying doll he could set aside at will.

He thanked my parents and grandparents. Mom hugged him tight
ly. “Remember to let us know when you find them, and you’re safe. Okay? You have our number written down?”

“It’s in my phone,”
he said, his voice gruff.

Mom looked
at me, curious at my distance and the bike I held by my side like a guard dog.

Gram
pa handed the gun to Boone. “Here, now, take it. Matt and I have three shotguns. You keep this tucked under your seat. A little bit of buckshot makes a big impression, boy howdy.” Grampa shook his hand. “You made a big impression on us, son. You take care of yourself and, when you got things squared away, you can come visit, bring this gun back, ya’ hear?”

Dad handed him a box of shells and patted him on the shoulder. Grandma thanked him for the deer meat and warned him not to swear too often.

Finally, Boone stood at the open door of his truck. The others backed away, leaving a line of sight between us. He paused with his hand braced by the window. I could see him pulling in deep, measured breaths. He gazed up at me, his expression full of sad determination.

I pushed the bike down the steps of the porch, proud of my dry eyes
.

“Thanks for coming down,” he said. Relief stood out plainly on his face. He’d worried I would stay up in my room and not say goodbye.

With the bike behind me, I leaned forward to kiss his cheek. “Be safe,” I whispered against his skin. Still mad as a snake, I couldn’t send him into the unknown without that overall blessing. I’d never wish for him to be hurt. I just wanted to be with him.

“You too,
Biker-girl” he whispered. He turned to climb into the truck.

“Wait,” I said. “I know you have one like it but, here.” I handed the pixelated picture to him.

He took it, nodded microscopically at our smiling faces. “I still have the dry erase board in the truck, too.” He flipped the photo over. I’d hoped he wouldn’t read the back until sometime later, but didn’t get that lucky. He swallowed hard as his eyes flicked over a few of the short sentences, nodded again. “You’re right, you know. You’re braver than me.”

Just the final words every woman wants to hear from her freshman crush.

The only choice left for me, the only control I had, was to choose the moment of our parting. I pedaled down the drive so I wouldn’t have to watch him leave. It would have been the perfect moment for him to call me back and claim me. If he’d shoved me in his truck without even letting me so much as pack a toothbrush, I would have gone.

Instead,
I turned left where he would turn right. In the still dawn, I heard the red SUV with Nebraska plates accelerate in the opposite direction.
 

 

October 27

Text to Mia
(faking enthusiasm for her sake)

 

I ground through the next two weeks in an agitated trance. My body functioned like a marionette as it canned venison with Grandma and collected mail in Gardenburg. I kept the puppet’s wooden sphere of a head empty. Dad crowed as the solar panels charged batteries to feed the outlets in the camper to keep our cell phones alive, though mine may as well have been at the bottom of the pool of his spring.

No texts. No calls. From Boone
or
Mia, even though I sent out short, neutral queries to both once a day.

A
fter five days without power, folks started pulling up our driveway again. Bob and Vicky Trenton had become regulars. They often hung around to help direct traffic and keep visitors organized.

Mom asked me
for the first week or so if I’d heard from Boone. My monosyllabic replies finally discouraged her. She worried about me but thank God she didn’t pester me. The wooden-headed thing kept me functional as I came to terms with Boone so completely cutting ties. Like riding a bike up a steep climb, I forced myself through each day, one pedal stroke at a time.

November 9
 

The line of cars in the driveway usually dwindled by
suppertime. I wondered how much every gallon of water was worth if you accounted for the gas burned driving up to the boondocks to get it. Grandma and Grampa often sat on the porch in the evenings after the hubbub died down even though Grampa had already been out there all day, observing. The dusky air bit with sharper teeth every night, but they seemed to prefer being outside with each other to sitting indoors with us.