In the Unlikely Event... (25 page)

“I’m going to get the wet-dry shop vacuum. You’re going to build dikes by rolling up towels and fastening them with duct tape. This will keep the water in and then we’ll hose down the floor with an eighty-five percent water, fifteen-percent detergent mix. The dilution of the ice cream will make it much easier to vacuum up,” Bud said.

“Wow,” Gitana said, staring with apparent admiration. She pulled a bucket out from the cleaning closet and filled it.

“Got it.” Chase ran for the towels and duct tape.

It took them twenty-three minutes to clean up the kitchen and that included the oven.

Bud smacked her hands together. “I think I may have found my dharma—spill management.”

Chase blanched.

“I’m kidding. But I do think it went well.”

“What about the dessert?” Gitana said, pulling off her rain boots.

“We still have ice cream,” Chase said, putting her arm around Gitana’s shoulders.

“Maybe you should take a cooking class instead of going solo,” Bud said.

Gitana shot her a perturbed look.

“I’m just sayin’,” Bud said.

“It’s not a bad idea. You’ll be with other like-minded people,” Chase said.

“You mean other people who are dangerous to themselves and their kitchens,” Gitana said.

“Look at it this way, you want to learn to cook and taking a class is not a defeat. Rather it’s a proactive solution to mastering your desire,” Bud said.

“Why does she always sound so sane and well grounded?” Gitana said.

Chase backed up to the cabinet and, making sure Gitana didn’t see, grabbed the
Joy of Cooking.
She kept it hidden behind her back as she replied, “Because she is.” She beamed at Bud for Gitana’s benefit. As soon as Gitana turned her back, Chase quickly handed the cookbook off to Bud. Bud shoved it behind her back a split second before Gitana turned back around.

Bud shrugged innocently, saying, “I want to put this on YouTube in case someone else needs to know how to clean up Baked Alaska.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Chase said, pushing Bud backward out of the room.

Once out of the kitchen, Bud yelled, “I’m all about community service.” Bud and Chase dashed down the hallway, stifling their laughter.

“Safety goggles?” Chase said.

“Check,” Bud said.

“Rubberized gloves?” Chase said.

“Check,” Addison said, adjusting her gloves so they firmly fit in place.

“Helmets?” Chase said, putting hers on. They didn’t have construction hard hats so they were using their skateboarding helmets, one of which was Bud’s camera helmet, and Addison was wearing her bike helmet.

“Check,” Addison and Bud said, simultaneously.

“We are good to go then,” Chase said.

They were standing in the garage. Addison wore coveralls purchased at Nevell’s Uniform Emporium. Chase and Bud wore old clothes and leather aprons meant for welding. Chase had put together a makeshift table using a sheet of plywood set on two sawhorses. On top of the table sat an old microwave. Next to it was a tray containing items in sets of three—three peeled tangerines, three eggs, three sulfur matches, three rolled up balls of tinfoil, three CDs and finally a box of Peeps left over from last Easter.

“We’re really going to do this,” Addison said, looking uncertain.

“Yes,” Chase said.

“It’s part of her new approach to life,” Bud said, turning on the camera and looking down at the remote hand-held screen she had installed so she could view what the camera was taping.

“Tempting fate and throwing caution to the wind is not exactly a good life strategy,” Addison said, eyeing the table warily.

“We’re wearing safety equipment, aren’t we?” Bud pointed out.

“Exactly,” Chase said. “We are approaching risky behavior with a well-thought out plan to minimize the fallout.”

“Let me get this straight. You’re creating a disaster so you can practice damage control?” Addison said.

“No,” Chase said, putting a tangerine inside the microwave. “We are experiencing a risky behavior so I can conquer my fears.”

“You’re afraid of microwaves?” Addison said.

“No. I want to know how it feels to defy the rules, to do the things that warning labels advise not to,” Chase said.

“She’s already removed those labels on mattresses that say, ‘Do not remove.’”

“What is the deal with that?” Addison asked, her interest obviously piqued.

“See, you’re curious,” Chase said, studying Addison. She was so grown up now, but she had managed to retain her manners during the psychotic period known as adolescence. For Chrissakes, she drove a car now and she’d come to their house in the boondocks to see the science experiment. Chase hoped they didn’t let her down. Here Addison was dressed in black jeans and a gray cashmere sweater and her lab coat from science class. How much more could a parent want in a child? She was cute with her button nose, fashionable with her bobbed hair and best of all she wasn’t slutty. In fact, she wasn’t even interested in boys, only saying she was waiting for them to grow into decent human beings with sensitivities and better hygiene. Chase had to agree with her. She hoped Bud would grow up to be like her.

“So here’s the plan. We start small with the tangerines and see how that goes. Then we move up the scale until we perform the ultimate showstopper with the CD. That is supposed to seriously rock and will probably blow up the microwave,” Chase said, noticing she was more excited than both of them.

“Okay,” Bud said, zooming in on the tangerine.

Chase pushed the quick time button for one minute. She took a step back so she was standing next to them.

The tangerine sizzled and kind of oozed open, leaking juice but not exploding. They all looked at each other disappointed.

“I think we should increase the temperature and adjust the time,” Bud said.

“Is that why you have three of everything?” Addison said.

“Yes, we counted on the learning curve,” Chase said. She opened the microwave and stared at the tangerine. It was split on four sides but far from blown to bits. She removed it and put in the second tangerine. This time she pushed the button for the popcorn setting, figuring if it blew up kernels of corn, a tangerine should be no problem. She hit the button and in a minute and fifty-three seconds the tangerine went from a solid state to blown to smithereens. They jumped as the fruit screamed and then burst. Orange particles splatted everywhere inside the mircrowave and the pungent odor of burnt citrus filled the garage.

All their faces lit up.

“High fives!” Chase said, holding out her hands.

“I’d call that successful,” Bud said.

“Okay, that was cool,” Addison said.

“I’m stoked for the egg,” Bud said.

Chase felt like a cutting edge mad scientist. She put the egg in and tried the popcorn setting—which didn’t do anything. The egg just wobbled and rolled around. They contemplated the
settings.

“If it takes several minutes to boil an egg we’re going to need to amp this way up,” Addison said.

“I think we should use the turbo inverter defrost button,” Bud said.

“Won’t it be slow?” Chase said.

“No, defrost starts at the inside and works out and that should work better for the egg because it will heat the yolk to a higher temperature than the shell and explode it quicker,” Bud said.

Addison and Chase stared at Bud in awe.

Bud shrugged.

Chase adjusted the setting to defrost. “Ready?” she asked, before pushing the button.

They nodded. Bud made a final adjustment on the camera.

The egg blew with a loud bing and pop and the inside of the microwave resembled a Jackson Pollock painting. Bud dubbed it “Egg in Yellow—1.”

“Let’s do the Peeps next,” Addison said, getting excited.

“Should we put them all in?” Chase said, staring at the twelve-pack of yellow Peeps.

“Definitely,” Bud said. “We haven’t explored the concept of mass explosive devices. This could be very interesting.”

They took them out of the box and put them in the microwave. Chase pushed the high button for five minutes. They watched as the Peeps grew and grew like some alien spawn baby, getting bigger and bigger until there was a succession of pops and then an ooze of something resembling meringue. It stank like chemical waste.

Chase was pleased. “Okay, that was definitely an example of metamorphosis if I’ve ever seen one, and I don’t think I have,” she said, taking the microwave tray out. “I think we need to decontaminate this.”

Bud took the tray outside and hosed it off before the Peeps had a chance to solidify into a sticky mess.

They made the preparation for the magnum opus—the CD surrounded by balls of tin foil. Chase was loading the microwave when Lacey’s car pulled up in the drive.

Lacey got out. She looked terrible. She’d been crying and her hair looked like she’d been pulling it. Could she be any more prosaic in the nervous breakdown
department? Chase thought, as Lacey entered the garage, sure to ruin their fun.

Addison and Bud had similar looks of disappointment. “We have to finish our research,” Addison said as if Lacey’s arrival threatened their chance of getting a Nobel Prize.

“We will,” Chase said.

Lacey raised a limp hand in greeting. “Hi, whatcha doing?”

Chase was about to say, “What’s wrong?” when Bud interceded.

“We know something horrid has just happened, and it looks like your entire life plan has been derailed, and we will help if you will just let us blow this thing up first. Agreed?” Bud said.

“Far be it from me to stand in the way of greatness, being the lowly worm at the bottom of the manure pile or a bottom-sucking sturgeon, a cockroach in a subletted basement apartment with a moldy ceiling from the shower upstairs’ that’s always leaking…”

She would have gone on had Chase not interrupted by handing her a bike helmet, safety goggles and rubber gloves. “You have to put these on if you’re going to be on the workroom floor.”

“What exactly are you doing?” she said, looking around for the first time and seeing the equipment. She put the helmet on backwards.

“We are stretching the boundaries of risk management,” Bud said. She took the helmet from Lacey. “It goes this way.”

“Thank you. Why do I have to wear all this stuff?” Lacey asked, peering down at the table, which resembled a graveyard for the misshapen.

“In case the microwave explodes and something in it comes flying out,” Addison said.

“Oh, well, I’m not having a good day anyway so getting hit by a microwave wouldn’t be a surprise,” Lacey said, putting the bike helmet on correctly and donning her safely goggles with the resignation of the damned.

“Just wait until you see the light show,” Bud said.

“Okay, everybody ready?” Chase said.

Three simultaneous “readys” echoed back at her.

Chase pressed the button for meatloaf and stood back. Seven hundred watts of electricity arced across the tinfoil balls and hit the CD. The inside of the microwave looked like the lights of the aurora borealis. Rainbow arcs of light danced around in the microwave, making pinging and sizzling sounds, and then there was a high-pitched whining and an enormous popping sound like The Almighty Herself had opened a bottle of champagne. It was loud.

“Wow,” Lacey said.

“See, this is fun,” Bud said.

And then the microwave started on fire. It belched smoke, and the door flew off in the direction Chase had planned on so it hit the back wall, which was good. But the force behind it sent it flying at such high speed that when it hit the wall, it went halfway through it. The microwave door now looked like a shelf. Chase considered this. She would find something to put on it—a jar of screws, a potted air fern. A small fire was raging inside the microwave, sitting on top of the CD like it was a backyard firepit. Chase popped the ring on the fire extinguisher and sprayed. The fire went out after one good blast. Chase wiped her hands on her flame retardant apron. “Come on, baby, light my fire,” Chase sang and did a little jig.