Free Bruiser by Neal Shusterman Page B

know what? I don’t care. I’m sure it’s close.
    I wonder what the crewmen were thinking during that time between the act and the result. Were they regretful? Were they frightened? Exhilarated? Numb? Or were they just thinking about getting home to their families?
    The thing is, once a bomb begins to fall the deed is done. All you can do is watch helplessly, waiting for the blinding flash.
    I never saw it coming, but Tennyson did. I think he watched for the whole minute forty-three. It must have torn him apartinside to know that Mom and Dad were about to go thermonuclear, and also know that he could do nothing to stop it. All he could do was brace himself. He tried to warn me, but I was too oblivious to duck and cover.
    Maybe I was the lucky one, because by the time I saw it, the bomb was about to strike the hardpan earth, so I never knew what hit me. And Brew? Well, he was the innocent bystander caught in precisely the wrong place at precisely the wrong time.

21) DETONATION
    â€œHow about it, Lisa?” Dad taunted from his place at the table. “Care to share the gist of your Monday night class? Or is it not suitable for children?”
    Mom slammed down one of the pots in the sink. “Stop it, Daniel,” she said. “Now is not the time.”
    â€œOf course it’s not,” Dad said. “But why should that ever make a difference?”
    And then Dad turned to the three of us—me, Brew, and Tennyson—like we were a tribunal of Supreme Court justices. “Let me tell you about life,” he said. “Life is all about revenge. Getting back at the other guy at all costs; isn’t that right, Lisa? Why don’t you tell everyone about your ‘class’?”
    â€œI’m not talking about this!” But she finally turned to facehim, proving that yes, she was talking about this.
    â€œSay it, Lisa. I need to hear you say it. I need to hear it from you .”
    â€œDad!” shouted Tennyson. “Stop it! Leave her alone!”
    But Dad put up his hand with such authority, Tennyson backed down. He’s the only person Tennyson will back down from.
    Dad looked at Mom for a moment more, both with matching gazes of accusation and rage…and then it was over. Dad crumbled. He buried his head in his hands and burst into tears that went on and on with no sign of stopping.
    I turned to my mother, desperately hoping she could say something to fix this. “Mom?” I said. “What’s going on? What’s Dad talking about?”
    Her shoulders went slack; and before her own emotions could choke out her voice, she said, “There is no Monday night class, Brontë.”
    That’s when Brewster bolted. He stood up so quickly that he nearly knocked over the dinner table and made a beeline for the door—and since it was easier to go after him than it was to stand there and face my crumbling, dissolving parents, I followed him.
    â€œBrew! Wait!”
    He didn’t turn back to me until he was safely across the threshold of our front door. “I shouldn’t even be here,” hesaid. “My uncle’s at work, my brother’s home alone—”
    â€œI’ll come with you….” I reached for him, but he pushed my arms away.
    â€œI can’t do this!” He was furious. He was terrified. “You don’t understand! I can’t care about them. I can’t care about you !”
    â€œWhat?”
    He backed away, but he held me in his horrible, deep, draining eyes. “That’s right. I don’t care about you. It’s over. I don’t care about you at all.” Then he turned and took off like a thief, disappearing down the street and into the windy night.

22) REFLEXIVELY
    There would be no looking back on this and laughing. That’s what people always say, isn’t it? “Someday you’ll look back on this and laugh.” Easy for them to say. I hope they choke on their own