Free My Chemical Mountain by Corina Vacco

mom doing? Because your dad is
dead
now, so you can’t be doing too well
.
    I look down at my burger.
    “Rich was, wow, just a wonderful man, a good friend. I sure do miss him.”
    “You’re part of the reason he’s gone,” I say in a cold voice.
    Theresa looks genuinely confused. “What do you mean, honey?”
    I focus my eyes on a fly that’s buzzing around Charlie’s plate. Anger is churning inside me, gathering momentum like somehorrible, unmanned machine. I want to throw my plate at Peggy’s face. I want to smear potato salad in Theresa’s hair.
    “Don’t get him started on this,” Charlie says. “He doesn’t want to talk about this.”
    Peggy places a rough hand on my shoulder. “I think I know why you’re upset. Your dad believed they were forcing him to process Phenzorbiflux under another name. He believed they were tampering with his safety gear. But it just wasn’t true.”
    “Stop it.” My hand slams down on the card table. Charlie’s soda spills everywhere. “Just stop talking.”
    A panicked expression washes over Peggy’s face. “I’m sorry. I just wanted you to know that we don’t blame him. We know he was just confused.…”
    Tears burn my eyes. Dad knew how to build bookshelves. He made minestrone soup from scratch. He was a drummer. He grew tomatoes in our backyard. He saved an injured hawk once. He wanted to take my mom to Vegas. And he liked watching shows about sharks. He had a football signed by the entire Bills team. He had a Minotaur tattooed on his right shoulder blade. He wasn’t
confused
. I will not let people talk about him over soggy paper plates and baked beans. I will stand up and scream if they don’t shut their pieholes.
    “I’m out of here.” I storm out of the Kuperskis’ backyard, not caring if Valerie is watching, and not worrying about Kevin and his guns. I don’t stop until I reach the middle of our street, which right now feels like a safe zone.
    Charlie is right behind me.
    “Go away.” The last thing I need is for Charlie to see me cry.
    “Jason, they’re idiots. Your dad wouldn’t want you missing this cookout because of them. He’d want me to drag you back to the table so you can see what I’m about to do.”
    The tone of Charlie’s voice surprises me. No cockiness, nosarcasm. He knows there’s a tear falling down my cheek, and he doesn’t even care. I wipe my nose with my thumb.
    “What are you about to do?” I feel an unexpected smile forming at the corners of my mouth.
    Charlie runs back to the cookout. I follow him. A really old Springsteen song blasts from a speaker on the deck. Adults are buzzed. Little kids are playing. Charlie grabs two water balloons from Bryan’s basket and whips one of them at me with his pitching arm. The water balloon hits me hard in the chest. My T-shirt is drenched.
    So he wants to have a water balloon fight? No problem
.
    I run to the basket and grab some balloons to throw back at him. I also grab Bryan’s squirt gun and tuck it into the back of my swim trunks. I don’t have a strong throwing arm, but I’ll wait until that one perfect second, when Charlie gets distracted. I’ll launch my balloons at close range, pelting him so hard he’ll have red marks on his back.
    I hear shrieking. Commotion. I turn around.
    There are pieces of a busted pink balloon in Theresa’s hair. Her white tank top is soaked. You can totally see her bra. Peggy’s chunky eye makeup is running down her face like motor oil.
    “You little scumbag!” she shouts at Charlie. “What is your problem?”
    Charlie shrugs. “Sorry, lady. I guess my hand slipped.”
    But he is a precision pitcher. A quarterback. When he throws something, he hits his target. He doesn’t slip. Ever.
    The Kuperskis shake their heads. The way people glare at Charlie, it makes me feel like I got punched in the stomach. Even Mom, with a cookie in her hand, is scowling. Val and Jill stare at us, wide-eyed. Kevin and Damon are smirking. I know what