“Because it explodes when I hit it with lightning.”
Chris wished he were driving, because he would have stopped the truck right then. “Run that by me again.”
“What did you think we were going to do, toilet paper their house?”
“No—but—”
“It’s just a little flash and bang, a warning not to screw with us. We’re not bombing them. God, you are worse than Nicky.”
Chris stared out the window, watching rain sluice through the darkness, making silver streamers in the path of the headlights. Gabriel drove fast, but Chris didn’t worry about losing control. No matter how slick the roads got, the water would hold them.
“Hey.”
Chris swung his head around. Gabriel was watching him, the humor gone from his expression now.
“Don’t tell me,” said Chris. “You changed your mind about the bomb thing.”
“You know that chick’s been around the block, right?”
Chris shrugged and looked out the window again. He hardly knew her.
She’d just saved his life.
He kept thinking of her eyes, dark and shining in the moonlight when she’d been kneeling in the parking lot.
“No, seriously,” said Gabriel. “Like half the soccer team, some of the lacrosse guys—”
“I get it. Thanks.” Rain beat at the truck, slapping at his hand where it hung outside the window. Feeding on his irritation.
Gabriel looked at the road again. “I just thought you should know.”
Then something occurred to Chris. “You?”
“Please,” Gabriel scoffed. Then he glanced over. “I mean, no offense—”
“It’s fine.”
“She’s cute and all, but I like a little more to grab, if you get my—”
“It’s fine.” But Chris smiled.
Gabriel killed the engine and the headlights when they pulled onto Tyler’s street, letting the truck roll in neutral. Chris pulled his hand inside the cab despite the water’s protest, worried the paleness of his skin would be a beacon in the darkness. He could hear his breathing again, louder than the rain outside, almost echoing inside the cab.
Gabriel was whistling through his teeth.
It sounded like an air horn to Chris.
“How do you know they’ll explode?” he whispered, as though his voice would carry. He didn’t even care about the answer; he just wanted Gabriel to stop the damn whistling.
“You kidding? Nick and I blow stuff up all the time.”
Chris stared at him, forgetting his tension for a moment. “Really?”
“Sure.” Gabriel glanced over, then ruffled his hair again. “Feeling left out, Christopher?”
Yeah. He was. But Chris ducked and smacked his hand away. “You’ve never gotten caught?”
Briscoe had been Becca’s friend since kindergarten. She was a middle kid, smashed between two brothers: Jake was on a basketball scholarship to Duke University, the kind of son who lived on a pedestal, his name trotted out any time the other—lesser—children didn’t measure up. Quinn’s younger brother, Will, rebelled by refusing to participate in any kind of physical activity—and he had the body to prove it.