Firecracker

Chapter 1

CHAPTER ONE

When life gives you lemons, cut them open and squeeze the juice into the eyes of your enemies.

Show no mercy.

Never accept the sour.

Keep pushing for the sweet.

Victory tastes sweetest when it comes from hard work, creative thinking, and a refusal to accept the crappy hand life has dealt you.

My mom used to say this to her synchronized swimming team.

It was her go-to speech—she was ruthless, one of the many reasons I admired her—and it stuck.

I tried to live by this rule. In my seventeen years of life, it helped me through a lot.

For example, my parents' divorce three years ago.

Okay, lemons, I see you, but I'm not going to cry—much.

At least not in front of anyone. Second grade when Rich Travers tried to stab me with a pencil because I wouldn't give him my favorite book.

Said book came in handy when I used it to slap his hand away.

My 14th birthday when no one showed up except my family because the kids at school thought I was weird and stuck-up for practicing violin so much.

All good. I didn't need friends. I had music, and my cousins were my favorite people anyway.

My dad always said, "Freya, baby, you're a firework. You can do anything."

He's a big pop music fan.

I didn't know why, but I believed him. Maybe it was because I thought my dad hung the moon. Also, he'd never lied to me, so…

I never questioned my ability to do and be anything I wanted to be.

And yet, my parents' words of wisdom were tempered by my own life lessons and beliefs.

Like…

Lesson 1: Never get your hopes up.

Hello again, 14th birthday party.

Lesson 2: Never expect anything of anyone, and you'll never be disappointed.

My first and only boyfriend, now ex, Wayne, taught me that one.

In a way, I was grateful to him.

Hoping for the best was all well and good, but I always tried to manage my expectations. It was necessary. I read somewhere that life could—and would—throw anything at you at any moment.

I just hadn't realized they meant it literally.

I was sitting outside at my usual table, minding my business, writing in the journal my dad got me last Christmas.

My love for stationary was well-known. He said it was to keep track of all the adventures I'd be having, which had been his way of encouraging me to go out and have some.

Thaddeus Kent was a lot of things but subtle he was not.

Unlike basically every other summer of my uneventful life, this one was looking promising.

I added one more lesson to the others I'd already written.

Lesson 3: Storms will come no matter what. The future belongs to those who refuse to sink.

Nodding to myself, I pocketed my pen then flipped to the previous page. This one contained all the things I was looking forward to and hoping to accomplish in the coming months. It was a pretty expansive list, but…shoot for the moon, right?

Wasn't every day you got invited to tour as a guest musician for a famous band, and I was determined to make the most of it.

My list was coming together slowly but surely.

Slowly because there was a basketball court nearby, and the constant sound of dribbling, groans, and shouts was a soundtrack I could've lived without.

Surely because I was me, and I wasn't about to be distracted.

By anything.

But especially not by a jock.

Never again.

Shaking myself out of it, I scanned my list.

Summer Goals

1. Play violin 24/7

2. Be there for Aurora and make our (her, me and my cousins') dream of playing as a legit musician come true (even if they can't be here). *Bonus: Leave town thus avoiding the drama of normal life*

3. Travel, travel, travel!

4. Take pics of all the cool places/sights

5. Share the love of music

6. Connect with other musicians

I bit my lip, unintentionally tapping my finger along to the beat of the dribbling, looking at the next numbers on the list.

This was where my goals got a little out there, but so what? Contrary to popular belief, a girl could have it all, and though chasing my musical dreams was my #1 life mission, I also had another objective. One that was slightly related.

7. Meet Ryker Cordova <3

8. Make him see how amazing I am (shouldn't be too hard)

9. Fall in love

Him, not me. I was pretty sure I was already in love—even though we'd never met. Yes, HERS's surly drummer was my celebrity crush. Yes, I was slightly obsessed with him. Yes, I was a hopeless romantic. Sue me. I narrowed my gaze, feeling like there was something missing…

Retrieving my pen, adding one last item then sitting back, I smiled.

10. Live happily-ever-after with my person

And there it was.

My goals in a nutshell, though I knew there would probably be more, this was an awesome adventure list. I was sure my parents would be proud.

I laughed quietly to myself—actually Dad would just focus on the Ryker Cordova of it all, and Mom would no doubt ask me (again) when I was finally going to give up this music thing and switch my focus to a more practical career.

I massaged my temples, trying to ease the headache I felt coming on.

Wasn't sure if it was from the direction of my thoughts...

…or the non-stop dribbling.

It had gotten louder.

And more erratic.

The tempo was all over the place.

No rhyme or reason to it whatsoever.

The randomness of the sounds grated on my nerves.

I shot a scowl over my shoulder.

Why did people even like sports? There was no beauty to it, no grace, no deeper meaning. I just didn't get it.

When my phone alarm went off, letting me know it was time to meet up with Aurora and the band, I jumped into action. Packing my stuff quickly, picking up my violin case—I hadn't wanted to leave it in the car—I stood and started walking to the parking lot while giving myself a pep talk.

"I'm ready. I'm worthy. I'm young, scrappy, and hungry," I repeated my Hamilton-inspired mantra quietly. "I'm going to meet my destiny—and possibly my one true love."

I shook my head.

"But whatever. This is my chance. I won't throw it away."

Taking a deep breath, I glanced at my phone, noting the texts.

My cousins, Viola, Lottie, Scarlett, and Aurora, were all there, blowing up my cell with well wishes—or in Ror's case just one text sent super early this morning.

It read "Are we actually doing this?" followed by three wide-eyed, OMG emojis.

I chuckled at that—then saw the ones from my parents.

I'd begged them not to see me off. I didn't want Dad crying or Mom frowning as I drove away.

We'd said goodbye this morning and that was more than enough guilt, thank you very much.

Surprisingly, there were even a few texts from my writers group, girls I'd only grown closer to recently.

"They remembered," I breathed, feeling my eyes get misty for some reason.

We weren't tight, not like I was with my cousins. But I could definitely see myself hanging out more with them.

"I've got this," I said. "I am a freaking amazing musician." With a grin, I added, "HERS won't know what hit them."

I was about to start walking again when...

"Hey! Look out!"

That was all the warning I got.

Something hit me in the head.

Hard.

And I went down like a stone.

Didn't even have time to catch myself. The force of whatever hit me knocked me clear off my feet.

My head bounced off the pavement, my right wrist, the one I used to control my bow, was crushed beneath me as I tried and failed to slow my fall.

There was no other way to say it. I was ambushed.

By what I didn't know, but as I looked around in a daze, I saw a human-sized blur running toward me.

Fast. The person didn't slow, and suddenly, a pair of eyes came into focus.

Blue.

Light blue like the sky.

But also deep like the ocean.

Possibly the prettiest blue I'd ever seen. Right now, those eyes were filled with turmoil.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

No, I thought. I'm on the ground, looking up at what was quite possibly the most attractive guy I'd ever seen. Well, besides Ryker Cordova.

I tried to nod, but that made my head hurt, and a groan escaped instead.

He winced. "Do you need help getting up?"

"No," I mumbled.

"You sure? You look kind of…"

"What?"

"Rough," he finished.

"Thanks," I scoffed.

It turned out standing wasn't an easy task. As I struggled, finally getting to my feet, my head still felt like I'd been struck by a brick. Speaking of…

"What hit me?" I muttered, looking around.

"Well…" the guy-who-thought-I-looked-rough said. He was acting suspicious, seeming guilty as he glanced away.

I spotted the basketball, rolling harmlessly on the ground feet from us, a second later and scoffed again. "Wow. You threw a ball at my head then decided to double-down with an insult."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"What did you mean?" I lifted my head to look up at him, but that was a mistake.

The move made me sway backward. He was way too tall.

And big. No, that wasn't the right word.

My sluggish mind searched and came up with brawny.

Yeah, that was it. Tall and brawny with broad shoulders that blocked out the sun.

When he held out a hand as if to steady me, I slapped it away. "Well?"

He shrugged. "I meant…rough in a good way."

I narrowed my eyes. "That doesn't even make sense."

"Does to me."

This guy had the audacity to grin.

I pointed to his face. "You know, any other day, I might've found that look charming."

"Thanks, I like your face too."

"I didn't say that."

"Kinda sounded like you did."

Was he…flirting with me, right now?

After possibly giving me a concussion?

The nerve.

"Nope, not today," I said.

"Why not?"

"Because I was just blindsided by a blue-eyed, basketball-playing bad boy with dubious intentions."

"That was a lot of words," he said. "Also, what makes you think I'm a bad boy?"

"The fact that you tried to take me out wasn't enough?"

"I wasn't trying to hit you. I shot a three-pointer, and yeah…" He cleared his throat before saying, "Didn't go as planned."

No kidding.

"I'm sorry," he said, sounding sincere. "Really sorry."

"It's okay," I said, waving that off. "Might want to work on your aim though. I know next to nothing about sports, but I'm pretty sure the goal is to get the ball in the hoop."

His lips twitched. "Thanks for the tip."

"Yeah well, I've got somewhere to be. So, bye."

Spotting my violin, lying unharmed in the grass less than a foot away—I was so glad I'd chosen one of the practically indestructible case models—I scooped it up and went to walk around him.

But a sudden dizziness made me stumble. I knew I was going down, was trying not to be too embarrassed about doing it for a second time in front of Mr. Tall, Dark, and Insulting.

But with surprisingly quick reflexes, he caught me.

"You okay?" he said.

"Mm hm," I replied, ignoring the way his touch made my heart race. It was probably just adrenaline from the near faceplant. "You can let me go now."

"I think you should go to the hospital."

"No can do, TDI. I have places to go, people to see, a cousin I made a promise to."

His hold relaxed, but I only got two steps away before losing my balance again.

He was there in an instant.

"Thanks, I—what are you doing?" I said.

Before I knew what was happening, he had one arm under my legs, the other around my back, and was striding toward the parking lot.

The guy had lifted me off my feet like it was nothing.

Which it absolutely wasn't. Mom always said I got my generous hips and ass from her side of the family.

How he managed to carry me like this without breaking a sweat was a mystery.

Did I hit my head harder than I thought?

"You hit your head pretty hard," he said, and I looked at him in confusion.

"Did you just read my mind?" I asked.

"No. And I am taking you to the hospital."

"But…"

"No buts," he said. "I've seen guys take softer hits than the one you just did. We need to make sure you don't have a concussion."

"I'm not getting in a car with you," I argued.

"Why not?"

"Um, let's see: because we just met? You could be abducting me? You're a basketball player with terrible aim, and I don't even know your name? Take your pick," I said.

For some reason, that made him laugh.

"What is funny about this?"

"Nothing," he said, getting himself under control. "It's just you're so talkative."

I jerked my head back. "And?"

"I'm trying to figure out if that's your normal or a result of the possible concussion."

"Not that it's any of your business, TDI, but I talk the appropriate amount, using the correct number of words, no more, no less."

"Noted."

He readjusted me in his arms, pulling me tighter against his chest, causing me to gasp.

"And just so you know, I wasn't complaining," he said. "I like the sound of your voice."

That brought me up short.

How was I supposed to respond to that?

"Just take me to my car," I said with a sigh. "There's this big, amazing, life-changing opportunity, and I can't miss it. Plus, if I'm not there, my cousin, Aurora, will kill me."

He was already shaking his head before I finished.

"Hospital first."

"I—"

"You can't drive like this, and I need to make sure you're okay."

"I don't even know what kind of driver you are," I sputtered.

"A good one," he said, gently setting me on my feet beside a big black SUV. He reached over and opened the door. "I got a 100 on my driver's test. Also, I'm not a basketball player. I'm a hockey player."

"Explains the bad aim," I muttered.

He chuckled. "And my name's Tolliver. Not TDI. What does that mean anyway?"

"Tall, Dark, and Irritating," I replied, switching the I to something more appropriate for this moment.

"Awesome. So, are you getting in, or do you want me to pick you up again?"

I rolled my eyes then got in the car.

"Good choice," he said.

I wasn't so sure.

My head was killing me; my legs still felt like jelly; and my heart sputtered whenever Tolliver touched me.

Maybe he was right.

Maybe I did need to go to the hospital.

Then they could give me the all-clear, and I would escape the jock with the bad aim and beautiful eyes and finally go live my dream.