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“Venezuela is bluffing,” Mr. Curtin said.

“What do you mean?”

“Their oil supply is running dangerously low. They know it. It's a con game to keep the world from bothering with alternative fuels. Saudi
Arabia overreported its oil production for years until its supply of oil was completely gone. In the 1950s, the United States was the largest producer of oil in the world—then it just finally ran out and we became dependent on foreign oil.”

“Now the foreign oil is almost gone,” Mrs. Curtin added. “It's a nonrenewable resource. Our military is fighting for something that's not even there anymore.”

“Then why are they doing it?”

“Maybe we want to get in and see if we can find more oil. It could be a move to corner Bolivia. The lithium is what we need if we're going to be using more and more lithium batteries—though lithium will run out eventually, too,” Mrs. Curtin explained.

“Still…it could tide us over until we come up with something better,” Mr. Curtin allowed. “We're trying to gear up nuclear and wind-power facilities—but, ironically, it's hard to build them without oil.”

Tom absorbed this news with a sense of growing dread. The subject scared him, and it wasn't a good feeling. He didn't want to talk about it anymore. He glanced back at Niki waiting in the car.

“When are you coming back to school?” Tom asked his teacher.

“Next week.”

“Great. Well, I'll see you then.”

“See you then.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mrs. Curtin said with a wave.

“You, too,” Tom replied, pulling open his car door.

“What was
that
about?” Niki asked when Tom got back in the car.

Once again, he found her lemon-and-honeysuckle scent drew him to her.

“What did he say?” she prompted.

“Oh, just about how the world is falling apart and there's nothing we can do to stop it,” Tom said, trying to sound as if it didn't matter. And when he was there beside her, drinking in her citrus-sweet perfume, it really didn't seem to matter—nothing mattered.

“What else is new?” Niki scoffed. “The world's always been about to collapse. But it never does. Isn't that what social studies is all about?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

They drove for a while in silence.

“Didn't we just pass your road?” Tom pointed out.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you—we've moved back into the lake house in Marietta. The electricity stays on all the time in Marietta! It's not like here in Sage Valley, where it blinks on and off and nobody knows when or why. Things are much better in Marietta.”

“How is Marietta managing that?” Tom asked, shocked at the news.

“People in Marietta have connections,” Niki replied slyly. “There's a rumor that they tapped into the power grid down county, where there's still reliable electric. We have constant heat, hot water, refrigeration—just like always.”

“Wow,” Tom murmured. He'd never spent much time thinking about what it meant to be wealthy. Now it hit him, in a much bigger way than before, how much of a difference money could make.

They drove into Marietta. Unlike in Sage Valley's downtown section, here people were on the streets, businesses were open. “Are your gas stations open?” Tom asked excitedly.

“One is. A tanker comes every day and refuels it.”

“Where does it come from?”

“I have no idea. There it is.” Niki pointed to a Shell station on the corner.

Tom let out a low whistle. “Eighty dollars a gallon!” It amazed him that a line of vehicles snaked out of the station and down the road.

“It's not stopping people,” Niki commented.

“Not
these
people,” Tom said. “It must be nice.”

“What must be nice?”

“To be rich.”

“It is,” Niki told him with a grin.

They got on the long road to the beach where they'd run out of gas, and passed the station that had been closed the last time. It was still shut down.

After a few more miles, they arrived at the lake house. Niki opened the front door with a remote-control key, and Tom followed her in. “Wow, this is a cool place,” he said, impressed. He'd never been in such a luxurious home.

“Thanks.”

Niki picked up a note from the glass coffee table and read it. “Mom's out with her friends,” she reported. “So, good—that means nobody's home.” She gazed at Tom boldly. “You know I've always liked you, don't you?”

“No,” Tom admitted with a shaky laugh. “I thought you always liked Brock.”

“I was always going with Brock, so I could never let you know how I felt.”

Tom was struck by the faulty logic of that, but he had no interest in sorting it out—at least not right then. “I've always liked you, too. But I figured you thought I was a loser after we ran out of gas.”

Niki waved his comment away. “That could have happened to anybody.”

Stepping closer to her, he noticed how anxious he felt. He inhaled to quiet his rising nerves. This morning, he never would have dreamed he'd be alone with Niki Barton. Even an hour ago, it would have seemed impossible.

Niki stepped closer and took his hand. “I need a date for the bonfire,” she said. “Want to go with me?”

Was this really happening? “Yeah, sure I would. I'd love to go with you.”

“I'm glad. That's great,” she said, her face softening. Lifting her hand to caress his cheek, she kissed him on the lips.

If this was a dream, Tom didn't want to know.

He placed his hand on the small of her back and pulled her closer, kissing her passionately on the lips.

Though his stomach growled, he was no longer hungry for anything but her. Let the world fall apart; he didn't care. “When are your parents coming home?” he asked.

“I don't know. Not until later.”

Still holding her waist, he kissed her again.

Niki ransacked her top dresser drawer, searching for a box of contact lenses. Her mother always dropped a new box into the drawer when Niki told her she was out. Where was it? Tom was going to come pick her up for the bonfire in less than a half hour. “Mom!” she shouted, leaving her room for the top of the stairway. “Mom! Where is the box of contacts I asked you for?”

Her mother, a petite woman with short blond hair, came to the bottom of the stairs and spoke from there. “BJK-Mart was out,” she explained, referring to the large box store with an optometrist where Niki got her lens prescription filled.

“That's crazy!” Niki cried. “Did you call Dr. Philips?”

Her mother nodded. “He's out, too. He says he didn't get his delivery this week. Apparently, the truckers are refusing to come this far north because they can't get enough gas. Wear your glasses.”

Niki stared at the blurred form of her mother, speechless. This
wasn't
happening!

“Mom! I can
not
go to the bonfire in glasses!”

“Niki, I don't know what to tell you,” her mother replied with a note
of helpless frustration. “Lots of people wear glasses. You look cute in your glasses.”

Niki threw her arms up. “You have
got
to be kidding!”

“It's not the end of the world!”

“Not for you,” Niki shot back. Brock would be there with his new girlfriend. Bad enough she was going to show up with a second-string lineman—now she would be wearing glasses! “Call Dad,” Niki said, coming halfway down the stairs. “Maybe he can find some contacts in the city and Dr. Philips can call for them.”

“Your father is already on his way home.”

Niki's face wrinkled into a bewildered expression. “Why so early?”

“Niki, come down here. I have to talk to you.”

Getting to the bottom of the stairs, Niki trailed her mother into the living room. “What's going on?” she asked.

“Dad was laid off a couple of weeks ago,” Niki's mother said as she sat on the couch in front of the large, stone fireplace.

It was as though the shocking news had physically hit Niki, leaving her unsteady on her feet. “Are you kidding? Why?”

“This oil and gasoline shortage has affected stock prices around the world. People's stock values are plummeting, so they're pulling their money out of Dad's brokerage in record numbers. Because of this, and the cost of keeping their building going, the company is downsizing. Massively downsizing.”

“So we're broke?”

“Not exactly,” her mother said, “but all our savings are also invested in stocks, and our stocks—like everyone else's—are not worth as much as they used to be.”

“That's what I said,” Niki insisted. “We're broke.” That's how it sounded to her.

“We could sell this house,” her mother suggested.

“If anyone has the money to buy it.”

Her mother nodded. “True.”

The expression on her mother's face unnerved Niki. It was crossed with uncertainty, and even fear. Niki felt her mother's dread pass to her like a contagious illness. “How did you and Dad let this happen?” she asked.

Her mother defended herself. “It's happening to everyone. Don't worry. Dad went on a job interview today. It looks very hopeful. Now go get ready for the bonfire. Wear something warm. They say the temperature is going to drop tonight, maybe below freezing.”

“Below freezing? No way. Besides, I'm not going—not wearing glasses.” Crossing her arms, she rubbed the sleeves of her lightweight cashmere sweater. “And, speaking of freezing, it's
freezing
in this house! When are you going to turn the heat on? I thought Marietta was the town with the oil.”

A man's voice cut in. “You still have to pay for it.” Niki turned to see her father standing at the front door.

“Dad, turn the heat on!” Niki demanded.

Her father trudged forward, and Niki instantly knew he'd been drinking. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him drunk, but this time there was something wild and desperate in his expression that frightened her.

“Did you have a difficult time in the city?” her mother asked cautiously, going toward him.

“Difficult?” he scoffed, slurring the word. “This is my tenth interview in two weeks. It's not
dif-fi-cult
anymore. It gets easier every time.”

“Sit down. I'll make you something to eat,” Niki's mother nervously offered.

He shooed her off with a flailing swipe of his arm. “No, our baby is cold,” her father insisted. “We can't have that. I have to get her some heat!”

There was a frightening madness in his voice. Niki could suddenly hear just how drunk he actually was.

“It's okay, Dad,” Niki said, wringing her hands. Her words had set him off. If only she could call them back somehow. “It's not really that cold. I don't mind.”

He stumbled toward a button beside the fireplace and hit it. Gas jets ignited into blue tongues of flame around a ceramic log.

“That's better. Thanks,” Niki said quickly. “I'm warm now.”

“Yes, much better,” her mother agreed. “Now let me get you something to eat, George.”

“I'm not hungry,” her father replied with a rumbling, disdainful laugh. “That flame won't last. Didn't you know? There's hardly any propane left in the gas tank. The price of propane gas has gone through the roof. And you can't get any, anyway. It's all being sent to the war effort.”

George Barton lunged forward and grabbed hold of a straight-back chair. Niki jumped back as her father lifted the chair above his head and smashed it hard against the fireplace, sending its pieces flying. “Here's firewood!” he announced as he pulled open the protective
glass fire window and tossed in rungs of the shattered chair. “This will burn.”

“George! Stop! Please!” her mother pleaded. “That chair was an antique.”

“Get used to it, Kate. This is how we're going to be living now. If we can't eat it, we're going to burn it.” George Barton pulled a mirror off the wall and banged it onto the fireplace mantel.

“Stop it!” Kate Barton screamed, but her husband ignored her as he yanked the wooden frame from the mirror.

“Fire sale—everything must go!” he cried as he threw the mirror frame into the now roaring fire.

Niki clutched her mother's trembling arm. “He's gone crazy! What should we do?”

Her mother began to cry and covered her wet eyes with one hand. “I don't know,” she admitted, her voice quavering, tears brimming. “I don't know.”

 

An hour later, Niki stood as close to the bonfire as she could get. Her mother had been right: The night was unexpectedly frigid for September. In the fire's jumping light, she could see Tom beside her, his face a shifting landscape of shadows. She kept hold of his hand for warmth and also for guidance, since beyond a small circle close by, everything was a blur.

“You okay?” Tom checked.

She smiled tightly and nodded. “It's cold, though.”

He shifted her around so she was closer to the fire. “Better?”

“Better,” she confirmed.

“You sure you're all right?”

She was still shaken by the scene at her house. When Tom had finally rung her front doorbell, she'd abandoned her mother, leaving her alone to deal with her drunken, raging father. Grabbing Tom's hand, she'd fled down the front walkway into his old wreck of a truck. Normally, she'd have been horrified to be seen in such a piece of junk, but tonight anything that would take her away from her house was a welcome sight.

“Are you upset that I was so late?”

Niki hadn't wanted to talk about what had happened with her father, so she said nothing, tried to act like nothing was wrong. But clearly he could tell she was troubled. “No, I understand that you couldn't find gas. Even in Marietta, you have to know exactly when to show up at the station. And that truck of yours must suck up a ton, too.”

“Way too much.”

“The smoke is getting to my eyes,” Niki offered as a partially true explanation for her strained eyes. She hadn't told him that she'd come out without contacts or glasses. No doubt, her unfocused expression was adding to his sense that something was not right with her.

“Do you want to move away from the fire?” Tom asked.

“No, then I'll be cold.” Niki laughed lightly at her dilemma. “I'd rather be warm.”

The night had been full of song and a friendly rivalry between some members of the Marietta Mariners football team, Sage Valley's rivals. The next big football game would be a home game with the Mariners. Technically, the bonfire was a Sage Valley event, but every year a group
of Mariner players and cheerleaders showed up to taunt and be taunted in return.

Tom wrapped his arm around Niki's shoulder and pulled her tighter. She took in his warmth and the pleasantly smoky smell of his jacket. Maybe he was someone she really could like. She hadn't started out to do anything more than make Brock jealous. But, with her limited vision, she couldn't even find Brock in the crowd. And after the time she'd spent kissing Tom the other day…well, Niki was growing to like him more than she'd suspected she would.

From the parking lot, someone hurtled an enraged curse into the night.

A windshield shattered.

“What's happening?” Niki asked Tom.

“I'm not sure,” he answered. He let go of her hand. “Stay here. I'll find out.”

The crowd around the big fire separated to make room for a bunch of Mariner cheerleaders. To Niki, they were just moving blurs, but she could clearly hear them chanting the Mariner cheers. Around them, her classmates booed and heckled good-naturedly.

Would her cheering squad be expected to respond to this? Did they last year? She hadn't been elected captain then, and couldn't remember if they'd assembled to face off against the Mariner squad. Could she get through a routine half blind? She'd have to insist it wasn't one with a pyramid or any kind of throw and catch.

All of a sudden, Niki became aware of a large person standing beside her, tall and square—she'd know Brock just by the smell of the fabric softener his mother used. “Hey, Niki. Are you here by yourself?” he asked, his voice neutral.

“What do you care?” Niki shot back.

“Don't be like that. We're still friends.”

“No, we're not, Brock. You dumped me twice! A friend wouldn't do that.”

“Aw, come on, give me a break. You know it wasn't working out. Maybe we won't fight so much if we're friends. I wanted to know if you're alone because I think there's going to be some fighting, and maybe you should get out of here before it starts.”

A sharp shout carried up from the parking lot on the cold wind. Just as the Mariner cheerleaders were ending their last lines, everyone turned toward the sound. Its sharp, aggressive hostility lifted it above the joking barbs her classmates were pitching at the rival cheerleaders.

“See what I mean?” Brock said. “You should leave right now. I'm going down to see what's going on.”

“Shouldn't you leave, too?” Niki suggested.

“I'll be okay, but you should go.”

“No, don't leave me.” But it was too late. He'd gone.

“They've siphoned all the gas from our tanks!” someone shouted.

Outraged voices rose up on every side. She didn't even know that word—
siphoned
. Niki could see well enough to take several steps forward along with the crowd around her. “What's happening?” she asked a girl who had come into focus to her right.

“Some of the Mariner players have sucked the gasoline from our cars.”

“Are you kidding?” Niki gasped. “How'd they do that?”

“Don't they usually stick a hose into the fuel tank or something like that?” the girl replied before she rushed forward with the rest of the crowd that was running off into the darkness beyond the bonfire.

There was more shouting. Down in the parking lot, motors revved but wouldn't start.

Niki inched her way forward. Most of the shouting was indistinct. She heard thumping and pounding, another crash of broken glass. More curses. Occasionally, she could make out a clear sentence:

“Stop hitting him. Stop! You're going to kill him!”