Celadon Bay - Book One

Richter Scale, Explained

Mr. Sanders, our history teacher, is taking a day-off. Now add all the cussing you can possibly fit into that particular sentence, and voilà, that's what Martin says as he plops down on the stairs between Veronica and I.

Two girls walk past us, one of them turning around to wink at my cousin, even though he pretends not to notice. His attention is still focused on Veronica, who continues to read our work as if Mr. Sanders is on his way.

"This is actually good," she says, her sixteen decibels raised to nineteen so we can actually hear her above the noise in the high school hallway. "There are a few parts that are still a bit shaky."

I try not to get excited that our project thingy still isn't done, because it means I get to spend more time with Veronica.

"Come on, Vee." (Martin's been calling her that since yesterday like they're besties.) "I'm positive you can stop reading that at least for the next twenty minutes." He purposefully inches closer to her, leaning in a little bit so when she looks up (which she does), they're practically touching noses. It's one of Martin's many courtship rituals; one I've seen him pull off flawlessly several times already. Their eyes will meet for a couple seconds, then he'll inch even closer, and BAM! Next thing you know, he'll be kissing her.

Not today, bud.

I grab him by his shirt and pull him back to place before he can actually try.

"Keep your distance, Romeo." I look away from them because I know how this sounds and it's so damn embarrassing it feels like I've just gone and set myself on fire. "I mean, have you ever heard about personal space bubbles?"

Martin unleashes his unholy grin again. "Why, cousin? Don't tell me you're... you know... jealous?"

I feel my body temperature rise, my blood rushing through my veins and straight to my head like lava in an active volcano. I open my mouth to release the Complete Insults Collection, Mini Pocket Edition, but no sound escapes my lips. My murderous eyes scan Martin for blind spots. My fists tremble with rage; I'm ready to fill his face with knuckles, throw him down the stairs, and kick him all the way to Croatia and back. And then some.

But here's what actually happens: overwhelmed by my own sinful instincts, I turn my back on Martin and Veronica and let my anger stew without uttering a word. If I don't let this one slip, I'll become a slaughterer. Moreover, a pretty bloody one.

Seriously. I love my cousin. I do! Nevertheless, ninety percent of the time he makes me want to put him out of his (and my) misery.

On the other hand, Veronica's soft and shy laughter can be heard above the noise, which makes me look back at her.

She looks at us; first Martin and then me. And when her eyes meet my own, I don't want to choke Martin to death anymore. It's just so unfair. Why is this girl so irresistible?

"There's no reason for him to be jealous," she says, and her smile gets wider and wider, covering her face, the stairs, the aisles, the streets, the beach, the ocean, the sky and the clouds. Even the bright nine a.m. sunshine suddenly becomes shy. The whole world stops. People stop walking, cars stop their engines. Birds no longer fly, neither do they chirp. The whole world silently reveres this one smile which hasn't lost any of its original intensity, and is still directed at me. And even if my first impulse is to look away, I can't. I blink and blink and blink trying to dispel the mirage, but there's no mirage to dispel. This is real!

I can feel Martin's mischievous smile savoring this moment: the locked eyes, Veronica's now even wider smile; one that is one-hundred-percent dedicated to me. He's enjoying it almost as much as I am, and I hate him for it. I'm admitting to him, and worse, to her, how much I like her, how much she shakes my ground. I mean, just a little; something like a twelve or thirteen in Richter Magnitude Scale. Just a little tremor, right?