“How does he look?”
Cristina pauses. “Can a person look angrier than a volcano?”
“Considering that volcanoes are filled with lava, I don’t think so.”
“Then he’s officially hit world-obliterating anger level.”
This is not good.
I peek through the slats in the small fence sectioning off part of the sidewalk for Gloria’s diners, and spot Stone Maddox, looking biggerthan life, being escorted by a kicking and bleating lambicorn that I think may have just passed gas and shot a rainbow from its butt.
I turn my face back to my plate.
A second later, a shadow falls over me. I squeeze my eyes shut. I do not want to look up. I do not want to look up.
Then comes Stone’s casual voice. “Whatcha doing?”
I don’t answer, thinking maybe he’ll go away if I ignore him.
“Baaaaaaaa,” the lambicorn bleats beside him.
I feel a tap on my shoulder. “You. Whatcha doing?”
It appears I don’t have the power of invisibility, which to be honest, is really too bad. I would trade my blue sparky fingers for it in a snap.
I slowly unfold and look up. The jade of Stone’s eyes has turned molten with fury and a shadow falls over his jaw, making his scowl look even gloomier, darker, more foreboding. And why, under all this fury, does his sharp gaze rattle me more than the fury does?
I wipe my nose with a napkin and play dumb. “Are you talking to me?”
He sneers in disgust. “Was I talking to you? Yeah, I was talking to you. You got my project shut down.”
“It’s not my fault,” I argue. “The materials you’re using—”
“Look at this town!” He throws his hands up. “It’s fine. It’s perfect! There’s nothing wrong with it.”
He’s so loud people turn to look. At him. At me. At us. Arguing. I spot Mrs. Malfree walking her portly black pug, who wheezes with every step. Mrs. Malfree knows my mom, which means she’ll be ratting on me within five minutes. A call from Mom will be incoming by the top of the hour.
I can just hear her now:Brittany’s never gotten into a street fight before. Does your sister need to have a talk with you?
I want to scream.
Stone shoves his finger in my face. “You need to march over to that building”—he cocks his head toward city hall—“and un-file your paperwork. Then I never want to see your face again.”
I grind out, “No.”
He blinks. I guess he’s not used to someone standing up to him. “What did you say?”
“I said, no. I won’t do it. I stand by my filing.”
“All right.” He drums his fingers impatiently on the white fencing. “Then show me.”
“Show you what?”
“Where my construction is ruining this town.”
“What?”
He pushes away from the fence with very muscled forearms. Muscled fingers, too. “If you’re so certain I’ll destroy Mystic Meadows, prove it.”
