Eruption (Yellowblown™ Book 1) Read Online Free PDF Page A

siding. Not sure where to go, I stepped to the left of the door. The interior smelled like sour beer and sweat, and when I looked around, I could see why. A generous collection of empty cans and dirty socks dotted the orangish carpet of the living room. An enormous guy with a shaved head yelled from the ugliest green couch I’d ever seen, “The Cornhuskers are kicking Wyoming’s ass.” A tattoo of two snakes contorted into the number fifty-two decorated the folds on the back of his neck. The cinderblock head rotated to look at me. “You must be Violet. Do people call you Violet?”
    “Umm, sometimes Vie.” I don’t know why I admitted that to him. I didn’t like being called Vie ’cuz it sounded pissed-off and contentious. Of course, being named Violet in the twenty-first century represented a curse of epic proportions, in and of itself. I might as well be the wilting heroine in one of Mia’s Gram’s romance books.
    “This is Cramer,” Boone said. “He played center until he cracked a vertebra in his neck last year.”
    “Oh, sorry to hear that,” I said, wondering how hard you had to hit a neck like a tree trunk to actually injure it.
    “House of misfits here,” Cramer said with a smile that didn’t effectively disguise how much his injury had taken away from him. “Want a beer?” He pointed to a cooler at his feet.
    “Not yet. Thanks.”
    He turned back to the game.
    “Dude, you are the worst host ever.” Boone slapped his friend on his shiny head. “And lay off the b rews. It’s barely past one.”
    “Screw you. The game’s on , so go babysit some freshman.”
    Boone l ed me to the kitchen. The soles of my flip flops clung to the mung coating the vinyl floor between us and the brown refrigerator. Boone pointed to some drinks on the shelf of the dark interior. “I brought some soda and water over before. You want anything?”
    I grabbed a cola, and he did, too. We went to the back porch where more people hung out, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder on a vinyl sofa under the sagging roof or lounging in mismatched lawn chairs on mossy dirt in the shaded narrow area that passed for a yard. A tall wooden fence with flaking paint prevented the crazy from spreading to the neighbors on either side.
    Farther back, near the alley behind the lot, four guys played beer pong, their red party cups marking the corners of the table. Mr. Bodacious grunted in time with pull-ups he performed from a low tree branch. Fate being cruel, Twyla cheered him on.
    Of course , she would have to be here. Luckily, she only had one of her clones in tow. The other girls here were normal, like me.
    She took a sip from a cup as she turned. Her gaze flicked over Boone, from the top of his spiky hair to the tips of his Vans. The predatory smile that started to bloom on her perfect face froze when she saw me. Eyebrows tweezed into near-nonexistence, arched.
    “Boonie !” she called.
    Boonie? I glanced over to see what Boone made of the nickname, trying to hide my smirk behind the soda can. I didn’t know Boone well, but I sure knew he wasn’t a Boonie. He acknowledged her with a casual wave. His chin jutted forward, and somehow I knew he knew he wasn’t a Boonie, either.
    “I ’m so bummed you can’t play anymore. I loved to watch you play.” She gave this compliment in a tone suggesting she’d watched him do porn or something.
    “Not cheering this year?”
    She sniffed. “I hate the new coach.” Her ideal American bust strained the confines of her layered camisoles.
    One of the guys on the couch spoke up. “ The coach wanted her to be a base.”
    Mr. Bodacious groaned. “Oh, don’t get her started again.”
    Twyla flicked her golden hair over her shoulder in a motion reminiscent of my ex-BFF from home. A shudder vibrated my spine
    “I’ve never been a base. I’m a flyer,” she insisted.
    Bodacious grabbed her by the waist to lift her as high as his muscle bound arms would allow. “Fly down to the mini-mart and get