“What are you doing?” Cole yelled up, taking the stairs two at a time to join them on the overlook above the reservoir.
“I wasn’t going to actually throw it,” Tucker said. The fuse was still burning, but he didn’t seem worried. It was a long and slow fizz. Those things were hard to put out. She’d once seen Tucker toss one into a bucket of water, and it still exploded. An M-80 wasn’t a firecracker; they were quarter sticks of fucking dynamite.
“Put it out,” Cole told him.
“Ah, seriously, man,” Tucker whined, the fuse still a slow phfffffffzzzz.
“Now,” Cole said, stepping up right in his face. Or as close as Cole could get, being a full foot shorter than Tucker.
Tucker groaned, wrapped the fuse between two fingers, and pulled off the cherry without flinching, even though it had to have burned him.
“Pack of six costs me ten bucks,” Tucker said.
“Here,” Cole said, pulling a beer out of a cooler that’d appeared at their feet while they’d been talking. “Even?”
“Cream ale? Seriously?”
“Fuck you.” Cole laughed. “Just drink it.”
Order restored, Cole gave Janet a nod and she started the process to go live again.
“Hey, guys and gals,” Cole said. He had his YouTube voice on and Janet couldn’t help but smile. Such a doofus. Cole wasn’t tall and broad-shouldered. He was compact and angular. Perfectly proportioned. He could throw a ball, but that was as blue-collar as he got. He’d never be working the fields or the production line at Baypen, but it didn’t matter. The rich boy was not destined for real work. “We’re coming to you live from an undisclosed location,” he continued.
Janet couldn’t figure out the need for secrecy. Everyone would know they were at the Kettle Springs Reservoir.
“Worldstar!” someone on the far end of the reservoir yelled, then did a sloppy somersault from one of the two concrete stacks across from them. The stacks flanked either side of the pool’s overflow waterfall, and it usually took a few more drinks before boys were scrambling up their algae-slick sides. But tonight people were eager to party, apparently.
Janet caught the kid’s flip in the background of the stream but didn’t zoom in or pull focus away from her main subject. This was Cole’s moment and she knew not to cut away.
“As you can see,” Cole said, pivoting and indicating for Janet to do the same so she could catch more of the walkway behind him, “summer weather has overstayed its welcome, and the crew and I are celebrating the only way we know how.” He came to a stop beside Ronnie. The girl leaned in and put her hand on his bare stomach, just above his bathing suit line. Ronnie Queen was shameless. And where did she get that bikini? Whether it was online or at the mall on Route 70, Janet and Ronnie usually did their shopping together. Janet kinda couldn’t believe Ronnie would wear something so stringy without, at least, sending a snap to Janet for comment. Janet’s approval. Whatever, that was probably why Ronnie had done it. The bathing suit and wearing it was a deliberate snub.
Janet could see in Ronnie’s eyes that she’d gotten what she wanted: Cole was noticing. Not in a pervy way—he was too cool for that—but a slight blush in his cheeks, a glint in his eyes that he knew what would keep people in their stream engaged.
“You’re looking good, Ronnie,” Cole said.
“Well, uh, thank you, Cole,” Ronnie said, her delivery not nearly as smooth as his, a hand on his forearm, not to steady her but to flirt.
Dream on, Ronnie. He’s out of your league. I can’t even get with him.
Ronnie looked nervous, and she should have been. They were only a minute and thirty seconds into the feed, but Janet knew without having to check that the bikini wasn’t enough . . . their audience was already starting to click away.
This shit was getting boring.
“You are looking good, Ronnie. But I will also say . . .” Cole smiled into the camera. He was a pro, seemed to have a natural sense that something needed to happen in their video and quick. “You’re looking a little dry.” He whistled through his teeth. Tucker appeared, scooped Ronnie onto one big shoulder, and flung her over the edge. There was very little theatricality to it, no buildup, but the toss played well because, even on the small screen, you could tell from her expression that Ronnie wasn’t in on the joke. If she’d conspired with the boys beforehand, she definitely wouldn’t have worn that bathing suit.
“Thanks, Tuck,” Cole said, patting his friend on the shoulder as Tucker walked back to his circle of drinking buddies.
Cole looked beyond the camera: “So, Janet, out of a possible ten, what do we give Ronnie’s dive?”
There. She was given permission to be catty, to do what she did best, and after that desperate bid on Ronnie’s part to try to grab Cole’s attention, the girl knowing that Janet herself had been chipping away at that mountain for years, Janet let loose.
“Her legs were all over the place. Never mind the thigh jiggle. I’m going with a four-point-oh-no,” Janet said, happy, finally vibing with the party atmosphere.
“Nah, my girl’s a ten. Even when she’s a rag doll,” Matt said, interrupting, his own phone out in selfie mode. He had his uniform top off now, not that it would take much of a detective to figure out who let them in. Was he serious? Splitting their audience like that? And who would be watching his stream when they had the choice of Cole’s? Janet scowled at him.
“We’re getting live comments,” Janet said, bringing things back, reading the screen. “Dee says that you’re starting to look mighty dry yourself, Cole.”
Cole smiled, gave a bashful laugh, and started to make flirtatious conversation with the camera. But Janet couldn’t focus on what he was saying.
Victoria Hill hadn’t worn a bathing suit to the reservoir. And why would she? Cole’s sister never went in. But now Janet could see that Victoria had stripped off her clothes. In just her underwear she was balance-beaming her way around the lip of the reservoir’s pitched east side, headed for the stacks. Nobody walked the sides of the reservoir. If you wanted to get to the other side, you took the long way around on the dirt, not on the narrow concrete lip. Victoria had a half-empty bottle of strawberry vodka in hand and was wobbling like she’d drunk it all herself. Janet watched, her breath held for the second time tonight. But Cole’s sister made it across safely. She was on the other side without slipping, without skinning her knees and elbows, before splashing into the water.
Janet continued watching Cole’s sister because this—whatever this was—wasn’t over. After taking a swig and tossing the bottle down, Victoria tiptoed to the ladder that led up to the first concrete stack.
This wasn’t a public swimming pool and the stack wasn’t meant to be a diving board, but as Victoria climbed, Janet found new respect for Cole’s chronically basic little sister. Whatever she was doing, it wasn’t easy.
Victoria Hill was quietly making a scene without making a scene.
Ignoring Cole’s continuing monologue to the camera, Janet zoomed in on his sister’s ascent.
“You with me?” Cole said, finally realizing the focus wasn’t on him.
“Check it out.” Janet pointed. Victoria had made it to the top of the concrete stack and had both her arms out.