orchestra playing a familiar tune Jack had heard a mil ion times on commercials and TV shows. But
music.
And then the cannons started blasting. Jack jumped and almost dropped his
Pepsi can. He looked at Steve who was looking back al wide-eyed and
amazed. The explosions were so real and so loud Jack could feel them vibrating
through the floor into his butt. He started laughing with the pure excess of the sound.
When the cannons stopped, Steve’s father turned off the music and hit a button
that popped a little drawer out of one of the components. Then he turned to them.
“Ever hear anything like that? You’ve just experienced state-of-the-art tweeters
and mid-range speaks plus a sixteen-inch subwoofer.” He held up a
silvery plastic disk. “Al playing this.”
“What’s that?” Steve said.
“It’s cal ed a compact disc, or CD, for short. It’s the latest thing in music.” Steve’s father was known as a gadget freak. As soon as anything new came out,
especial y in electronics, he’d be on it.
Jack had never heard of a CD, but he wanted to hear more. The sound quality,
the bone-rattling bass … the possibilities …
“Do any of these CDs have real music—I mean, rock music?” He looked at Steve.
“Just think what Def Leppard would sound like.”
Steve grinned. “‘Foolin’!’ Yeah. That would be awesome!”
“Sorry, guys. Not much available yet, and it’s mostly classical. But in the future …
who knows?”
“Can you play that again, Dad?”
He popped the disc back in the tray, slid it closed, and did his thing with the
buttons.
“You listen. I’l be right back.”
As soon as his father left the room, Steve hopped up and rushed to the nearby
liquor cabinet. While the cannons boomed and shook the room, he
pul ed an unlabeled bottle from within and poured a long shot into his Pepsi. He
replaced the bottle, closed the door, and was back at Jack’s side just as the music began to wind down.
From upstairs he heard Mrs. Brussard yel ing, “Would you
“Okay, guys,” Mr. B said as he hurried back into the room. “I’ve got some cal s
to make, so why don’t you two hit the basement and get to work on that computer.”
Steve jumped up. “Okay. Let’s do it.”
As Jack fol owed Steve toward the basement door he glanced back and saw Mr. Brussard standing by his rack of stereo equipment, staring off into
space with a worried expression.
Though the music had been awesome, he wondered if Mr. Brussard had used this new CD player as an excuse to get him over so he could quiz him
about the body.
9
“Are you
Steve grinned at him. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, that just makes it more fun.” He offered his Pepsi to Jack. “Sip?”
Jack hesitated, then took the can and swigged.
Awful.
“You do know how to ruin a good Pepsi,” he said, handing it back. “What’s in there this time?”
Steve tended to grab whatever was available from the liquor cabinet. He didn’t seem to care.
“Applejack.”
Jack shook his head. Dad had given him a taste once—”To take the mystery out of it,” he’d said—and he’d hated it. Burned his tongue and nose and
