I drag a hand down my face, but my fingers come away sticky. I blink and look at my hand to see tomato sauce. Why is there tomato sauce on my face?
I sniff the air. Oh no.
“Oh no, no, no—”
I lunge for the oven and yank it open just in time to be blasted with smoke. Whatever I was making is officially beyond saving. I grab the tray, immediately regret that decision, and hiss as I drop it back onto the stove.
“Shit,” I mutter, shaking my hand. “Shit, shit.”
I turn, knocking into the counter, which sends something metal clattering to the floor. I can’t even look, because I’m too busy trying to remember if I ever learned how to put out an oven fire.
I grab a towel, wave it uselessly, and in the process knock over a bottle of something. It hits the sink with a loud crack. Andthen—water splashes in my face. Not a drip. Not a polite leak. Aspray.
“Oh my god,” I say, staring as water shoots out from under the sink. I crouch, fumbling blindly, trying to twist something—anything—that looks like it might turn the water off, but it does not help. The water only comes out harder.
“Okay,” I say, voice climbing. “Okay. This is fine. I can fix this.”
The floor is already soaked, my socks are getting wet, the towel is useless, and everything is loud and wet and getting worse.
Noah and Dad are like, an hour and a half away—at least. So they are useless.
I scramble for my phone. Liam goes straight to voicemail. Mel doesn’t pick up. I try Kiara. Nothing.
Why is no one picking up their goddamn phone?
I stare at my screen, water pooling around my feet, heart racing. I squeeze my eyes shut.
Guess there’s only one option left.
33
RYAN
Tasting cherries in the kitchen
I ring the doorbell. And almost immediately, there’s a loud thud from inside, followed by a string of swearing that is… impressively creative.
I blink at the door.
“…Okay,” I mutter.
Something else crashes. There’s a very distinctoh no oh no oh nocoming from the other side.
I shake my head, trying not to smile.
Ten minutes ago, Maddy called me, voice tight and breathless, and said,I need you to come over. Like. Now. No explanation. Just that. So I have no idea what I’m walking into.
I shift my weight, waiting, and think vaguely that she’s probably flooded the house or something, but then the door flies open and I immediately have to press my lips together, trying not to burst out into laughter.
She looks… wrecked. Hair sticking out her ponytail everywhere. Like, not cute-messy—actualmessy. Her apron is soaked, her clothes are splattered with water and sauce. There’s a streak of red on her cheek. Tomato sauce.
Of course.
She stands there, out of breath, clearly trying very hard to look like this is all completely under control.
“Thanks for coming,” she says, too calm. “I just have a minor problem.”
I can't help but raise my eyebrows. “Minor?”
