2. Fireworks and Fallout #2
“And thanks to everyone for showing up today. There’s a lot happening in Bluepeak.
Some of it exciting, some of it… questionable.
” I grip the podium, keeping my focus steady.
“But none of it matters if we forget who we’re doing this for.
The people who built this town. The ones who keep alive.
” I lift my chin, letting the words land.
“This isn’t just some patch of land for developers to carve up.
It’s our home. It’s the trails, the lake, an d the mountain views we fight to keep wild.
It’s a town built on history, grit, and stubborn as hell people who don’t fold when corporations come knocking. ”
Ugh. That sounded so rehearsed. Can’t I say, ‘Hey, I know shit’s about to hit the fan, but please don’t freak out?’
“Tell that to Cruz!” Mr. Parker’s disgruntled voice booms from the second row, his beer belly resting on the seat in front of him. Arms crossed, he looks like he’s ready to start a brawl.
I pause, trying to keep my cool. No big deal. Nothing like a grown man throwing a tantrum. Somebody get him a juicebox and a sticker.
The fireworks thing’s still fresh, and it ruffles feathers all over again, and a ripple of unease cuts through the room. Harper and I peek toward the wings, spotting Eli, head down, clearly hoping to melt into the floor.
Now I get to fix his mess too. Awesome.
We share a look, both zeroing in on Eli. He looks like he’d rather be anywhere else. If I could throw him under the bus, I would. Politely, of course.
“Keep going.” Harper squeezes my arm. “Before it turns into another shitshow.”
I clear my throat and flip through my speech like it hasn’t already been manhandled to death, the edges soft, the corners folding themselves. Deep breath.
“We’ll have plenty of time to argue about Starlight Festival safety rules,” I say, relieved when my voice carries confidently across the hall. “For now, I need your attention on a more pressing matter. ”
A few people scoff loudly, probably convinced nothing matters more than fighting for their God-given right to light illegal fireworks. No time for sparkler politics today.
Harper leans in, nudging me aside like I’m not even here. “This decides whether Bluepeak stays Bluepeak, or turns into another overbuilt, overcrowded mess with chain stores where the deer used to roam.”
The room quiets so fast it’s almost funny. Almost.
Everyone stares at us like I announced aliens were landing. Question marks might as well be flashing over their heads.
Gram’s eyebrows damn near fall off her face. Grammy Gillespie never married and never had kids, so by default? She’s everyone’s grandmother.
I tap Harper’s arm to reel her in. Last thing I need is the town’s honorary grandma dropping dead on my watch.
“I’d like to bring attention to the matter of Stirling Technologies and the potential purchase of Bluepeak Lodge. Most of you already know the name behind it, Brody Stirling. His face has been passed around enough through news articles and town gossip.”
I pause, waiting for the horror to sink in. The gasp, the wide-eyed looks, the ‘hell no’ whispers. Got ‘em.
"As many of you know, Stirling's plan is to rip out the lodge and replace it with a shiny new hotel." I let that hang there a second, daring anyone to cheer. "Exactly the opposite of what this town’s about. Around here, we value roots, not revenue streams. "
“It’ll help get us on the map for tourists.” The comment comes from somewhere on my left, but by the time I turn to look, the speaker’s already vanished into the crowd.
I plant my feet. I’m not backing down.
“We’re already on the map. Last year’s numbers jumped 6.
4%, highest in Bluepeak’s history,” I say, and Sylvie, front row with her notebook, shoots me a thumbs up.
“People don’t come here for golf courses or chain hotels.
They come for the forests. The lake. The views.
They come for what makes this town real. We lose that, we lose everything.”
Screw the rehearsed speech, the words are pouring out, because this? This is personal. They can dress it up as progress all they want, but I know exactly what it is. A money grab with a shiny brochure, ready to rip the heart right out of this town.
“It’ll be more jobs, that’s for sure,” Mr. Parker stands up, puffed up, apparently in the mood to fight.
I’d be more surprised if he wasn’t stirring shit up.
“What if we’re tired of things always being the same?
What if a little change is exactly what this town needs?
” He gives a little nod as if that seals the deal.
There’s a ripple of agreement from the crowd. But I’m nowhere close to giving up. If he thinks I’m going to allow big tech to swoop in and steal our town, he’s got another thing coming.
“You’d sacrifice what we have for jobs?” My voice spikes, the mic screeching so loud Harper winces—but I keep going.
Maybe now they’ll actually listen. “And before anyone says it, yeah, jobs matter. But not at the expense of the wildlife, the hundreds of acres they’ll bulldoze, or the ancient spruce standing proud on the lake’s island.
That’s exactly where Stirling Tech plans to slap their shiny new data center. ”
That gets them. Voices layer over each other, whispers turning sharp with panic. Yeah, go ahead, picture bulldozers tearing through your backyard and chain coffee shops sprouting up in their place. That’s the future they’re selling you.
My jaw’s locked, pulse thumping under my skin. I’m too fired up to stand still. Harper presses a hand to my back.
“You see, it’s not just a hotel and resort that we need to be worried about,” I say, my voice ringing through the hall that’s gone silent.
If they weren’t listening before, they sure as hell are now.
“Stirling Tech has plans to deplete this town of everything that makes it beautiful and replace it with generic, cold, cookie-cutter creations that are as devoid of character as their CEO.”
That earns a few gasps and a whole lot of side-eyes. Harper mutters a quiet, “Yikes” beside me—right as the unmistakable scrape of a chair cuts through the silence.
My eyes snap to the back.
A sharply dressed man rises from one of the back rows. Designer suit. Ridiculous cheekbones. Stupidly perfect hair that screams trust fund and zero real problems. My stomach drops.
Oh, shit. Brody fucking Stirling.
Heat crawls up the back of my neck.
Naturally, the corporate villain trying to steamroll our town looks like he moonlights in luxury cologne ads. Those ice-blue eyes? Locked on me—or glaring. Hard to tell. It’s infuriating… an d inconveniently hot. Damn it.
And obviously, he’s headed straight for the stage.