Fire With Fire Page 5

  I feel Alex’s eyes on me. I immediately turn in the opposite direction, toward Gary Rotini, who’s sitting on my other side. Unfortunately, he’s already partnered up with some chick from my gym class. I’m surprised she’s here. Maybe they require you to fill out an application for beautician school.

  Alex puts a hand on my shoulder and gives it a squeeze. “You’re up, Kat. Tell me your deepest, darkest secrets.”

  I force a swallow. If Alex only knew what I’ve been up to this year, he’d never talk to me again. Again, not like I’d care.

  “You couldn’t handle it,” I say.

  “Then I’ll go first.”

  “You’re a vanilla wafer. Your boring-ass secrets will put me to sleep.” I look around the room for someone else to pair up with.

  Alex turns his seat so he’s facing me. “Hey, I’ve got darkness in me. I’m no vanilla wafer.”

  I roll my eyes. “Prove it.”

  He looks over both his shoulders. “One time, when I was seven, I tried to make out with my babysitter when she put me to bed.”

  “Oh my God!”

  “What? She was really pretty! Her hair smelled like cherry Slurpee.”

  I lean back in my chair. “Un-tell me that right now, pervert, or I’m never speaking to you again!”

  He puts his head down on the table, embarrassed.

  I reach out to ruffle his hair, but then think better of it and pull my hand back. I don’t need to confuse things between us. I don’t need to be flirting with Alex Lind, even though it is kind of fun. I can’t let myself get sidetracked from my ultimate goal, which is to get the eff off Jar Island for good.

  * * *

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  * * *

  LILLIA

  AFTER SCHOOL, ASH CALLED AND guilt-tripped me into coming over to her house. She kept saying how we haven’t had alone time in ages. Which is true—we haven’t. I’ve barely seen her outside of cheering practice.

  So imagine my surprise when I pulled into her driveway and saw Rennie’s Jeep. I almost turned right around and drove back home, but I didn’t want to hurt Ash’s feelings. And, deep down, maybe I hoped that Rennie was in on it, that maybe she wanted to make up.

  But when I rang the doorbell and Rennie opened the door, she looked like she wanted to slam it in my face. She didn’t, but I could tell she wanted to.

  Now here we are in Ash’s rec room watching TV and doing our nails on the beanbag chairs she won’t let her mother throw away. We had to come down here because her mother doesn’t like the fumes; she says they give her migraines.

  Ash is trying to get a conversation going, but nobody’s really talking. We’re all concentrating on our nails.

  “Pass me the nail-polish remover,” Rennie orders. Dutifully, Ashlin hands it over.

  I’m painting my toenails mint green. Ash has the best colors of all of us. I’m on my second coat when Ash asks, “Have you guys started on your college apps yet?”

  “Hardly,” I say, unwrapping a fun-size Snickers I found in my purse. Even though she has the best nail-polish colors, Ash’s house never has any good snacks. Her mom’s on a gluten-free diet. “I’ll probably spend every weekend until January first working on my personal statement.”

  Ash turns toward me. “Are you still applying to Boston College, Lil? ’Cause I’m thinking I might apply too, for my reach school. If I get in . . . roommates?”

  “Duh!” I say. “Matching comforters and everything.”

  Ash is a total pig, and there’s no way I would ever, ever room with her. Plus, I doubt she’ll get in. But I don’t care, because Rennie’s looking at us with narrow eyes.

  Doesn’t feel good to be the odd one out, does it, Ren?

  Ashlin squeals and claps her hands together. “Yay! Would you want to live on campus or get an apartment off campus?”

  This is too easy. “I think on campus, at least for the first year. That way we won’t miss out on all the fun stuff. You know, late-night study sessions and, like, flirting with boys on our hall and ordering pizza at four in the morning. We’ll want to have those experiences together, you know? Then we can move off campus sophomore year.” Instantly I feel mean and petty and small for trying to make Rennie feel bad. I feel like . . . Rennie.

  “What about you, Ren?” Ashlin asks. “Are you done with your application?”

  “Yup. My app took me, like, two seconds.”

  I guess the Jar Island Community College application is extra easy. I wonder if she even had to write an essay. When Rennie used to talk about going to the community college, she was sour about it. She’d say how she was the only one that was going to be stuck here. But today she doesn’t look sour at all. In fact, she’s practically humming to herself.

  She’s putting on a top coat, her hair falling in her face, when she says, “There’s no point in me even applying to a four-year college right now. Reeve and I won’t know where he’s going to play until his leg is healed, and he’s talking to recruiters again.”

  I want to say, Oh, and there’s just the small matter of how your grades suck and you have no money for college, but I bite my tongue.

  “I’m going to do a semester at JICC and get straight As and transfer to wherever he’s at.”

  Ashlin pipes up, “You and Reeve are so gonna get married. You pretty much saved his life by carrying him through this whole tragedy.”

  Tragedy? A tsunami devastating an entire village is a tragedy. Reeve is a jock who broke his leg. He’ll be fine.

  “He’d do the same thing for me,” Rennie says, and I can’t believe she can keep a straight face saying it. As if Reeve would lift a finger for anybody but himself! “Oh, and speaking of that, I’m not going to be at practice for the rest of this week. Reeve’s got a few appointments off island to see a sports-medicine specialist.” She smiles to herself, pleased. “He’s getting his hard cast off tomorrow, right on schedule.”

  My head snaps up. “Why do you have to miss practice for that?”

  Rennie ignores me and says, “Ash, can you be in charge?”

  Ashlin shoots an uneasy look my way. “Sure. Lil and I can do it together—right, Lil?”

  Incredulously I ask, “Are you quitting the squad or something?”

  “No, I’m not quitting the squad,” Rennie snaps. “That’s not what I said.”

  “Well, you have missed, like, three practices already,” I say, and my voice shakes a little as I say it, because I’m scared. I’m actually calling her out on her BS for once.

  Rennie’s cheeks heat up. “When I signed on to rep Reeve’s number, I signed on for the whole season. I’m not abandoning him now.”

  Ridiculous. Abruptly, I stand up. “I’m going to get a soda.”

  Rennie doesn’t look at me as she says, “I’ll have a Diet Coke, no ice.” Like I’m a waitress and she’s placing her order with me.

  Ash gets up too. “I’ll help you, Lil. I hid some ice cream behind my mom’s soy pops. It might still be there if my dad didn’t find it.”

  As soon as we’re in the kitchen and out of earshot, I go into the fridge and grab two cans of Diet Coke and say, “I wish you’d told me Rennie was going to be here.”

  “But then you wouldn’t have come,” Ashlin whines.

  “Exactly,” I say.

  Ash hops up on the kitchen island. “I hate that you guys aren’t getting along. That’s why I invited you both over here today.”

  I know she doesn’t mean it. There’s nothing Ash likes better than playing the middle. “It’s not that we aren’t getting along. It’s that Rennie’s being a total bitch to me for something that’s not even my fault.”

  Ash says, “I know she misses you.”

  Hope flickers in my chest. “Did she say that?” I ask.

  “Not in so many words. But I can tell.”

  Hmph. I take a sip of soda. “Are she and Reeve, like, together now?”

  “Basically,” Ashlin says. “She’s his ride-or-die chick, you know? I think the
accident is what made him realize how much she’s been there for him all these years.”

  “I’m happy for her,” I say, and I mean it, I really do. If Rennie and Reeve are officially a thing now, maybe she’ll finally get over what happened at homecoming and things can go back to how they were before. And at the very least, they deserve each other.

  * * *

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  * * *

  MARY

  IT’S MONDAY AFTERNOON AND I’M in chemistry, working on a lab with my group. The two boys do most of the work, while another girl and I record the results in our notebooks. This arrangement is fine by me; I’ve never been so great at science. We’re standing around the table, waiting for some concoction to come to a boil, when I overhear two junior girls talking behind me.

  One girl whines, “I’m so ready to quit yearbook. All we’ve gotten to do is make photo collages of freshmen. That’s not what I signed up for.”

  What I immediately think is: Yearbook is the sort of thing Kat was talking about! I have to put myself out there, find my own happiness. I’ve had a lot of good days, full days at school where I’ve seen Reeve and haven’t gotten upset. And I’ve had no issues with, um, my issues.

  Also, I love making photo collages.

  I used to make them all the time, back when I was a kid. I’d never throw out a magazine unless I cut out the pretty pictures first. I’d spend hours arranging them like puzzle pieces; then I’d glue them to a piece of poster board and hang them up in my room. We didn’t take them with us when we moved off Jar Island. I wasn’t in any state to pack, obviously, so it was up to Mom and Dad. I wonder if they threw them out, or if they might still be in the garage someplace.

  I draw circles in my notebook and keep listening.

  “I know,” the other girl says with a huff that makes the flame on her Bunsen burner flicker. “But we have to hang in there if we want a chance at editor-in-chief next year. You know how it is. So political.”

  Yearbook committee. There. I’m joining yearbook committee.

  After class, I pack up my textbooks and head to guidance to ask where and when the yearbook meetings are held. I end up spotting a flyer stapled to the bulletin board outside the offices. It has a picture of a camera on it and the words YEARBOOK IS A SNAP! MEETINGS EVERY MONDAY IN THE LIBRARY!

  Today is Monday. I feel lucky, like this is some kind of sweet serendipity. It’ll be good, I think, to have a club to put down on my college applications next year. College apps are all Lillia and Kat talk about these days, and they’ve definitely got me thinking about the future. It’s not that far off, honestly. Junior year is almost half-over.

  I need to start thinking about what I want to be when I grow up. My mom said she always knew she wanted to be an archivist, ever since she was a little girl and found a bunch of old Zane family papers tucked away in the attic. She cataloged them and put them into a special binder between layers of acid-free tissue paper. And this was when she was seven.

  By that logic, I might be destined to be a veterinarian. It’s what I’ve always wanted to be. One time, Montessori arranged a field trip to a zoo and I got to watch a vet give antibiotics to a sick baby penguin. It was amazing. After that I used to pretend with my stuffed animals, giving them shots and wrapping up their legs with bandages I found in our medicine cabinet.

  I debate calling Aunt Bette to say that I’ll be home late, but decide against it. I don’t need her on my case about where I’ve been and what I’m doing. I swear, she starts up as soon as I come home from school.

  I’m halfway across the courtyard when someone almost knocks me over.

  Reeve.

  I manage to step out of his way in the nick of time. Thank God he doesn’t see me. Actually, he doesn’t seem to notice any of the people darting out of his way as he catapults himself forward on his crutches. He’s too busy growling into his cell phone, his forehead wrinkled and tense. He has the phone cradled between his ear and his shoulder, since he can’t use his hands, not with his crutches.

  Only one thing has improved—his big white leg cast is off. Now he’s got a black Velcro thing. A soft cast, I think it’s called.

  I end up following him. Not on purpose. He’s just walking in the same general direction that I am. Even though I give him a ton of space, I can still hear what he’s saying into his cell phone.

  “I keep telling the dude I can do more, Ren,” he says passionately. “Yeah, well, if he can’t get with our program today, he’s fired. I’ll take over my PT my damn self. I’m almost a week behind where I should be according to our schedule.”

  Reeve abruptly stops at the chain-link fence, the one that runs along the football field. Practice is underway. The team stands in a big circle at midfield, stretching out together, clapping on beat every time they switch positions. Alex is in the center. I wonder if he’s the captain now.

  None of the guys notice Reeve watching them. They don’t see him standing there, and they don’t notice when he walks away.

  Don’t feel bad for him, I tell myself. Don’t feel anything for him.

  Reeve slips off the path and heads toward the pool building. There’s a guy standing near the door, an older man in a full windbreaker suit. I don’t think he’s a teacher here; I’ve never seen him before. He’s got a clipboard with him and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.

  “Reeve. Hey, pal. You ready to get to work?”

  After clapping Reeve on the back, the man tries to get the door for Reeve, hold it open for him. Reeve gives the guy a cold hard stare. “I’m always ready to work. Are you?”

  * * *

  The yearbook committee turns out to be a pretty popular club, especially for girls. I guess because if you’re on yearbook committee, you can make sure no bad photos of you get put in. That is a bonus. The library is filled with people sitting in small clusters, working on their tasks. Some are sorting through contact sheets; some are working through page layouts; some are contemplating cover treatments and working out the costs per person.

  There are a few boys here too. I get the sense that they’re more into the technology aspect, because they’ve already claimed spots at the computers. The girls mostly stand behind them and point at where they want things to go.

  I see the girls from chemistry, sharing a chair with frowns already on their faces, sorting through piles of color pictures. They point and laugh at some of them, making gross-out faces and snickering to each other. “Let’s put in this one of Carrie sneezing,” one girl says. I sort of hope these girls do quit. They’re so mean. If I’m lucky enough to work on any collages, I’ll make sure not to let any unflattering photos in of anyone. Even people I don’t like.

  It’s intimidating, though, to see that everyone already has a set job. What’s a newbie like me supposed to do? I lean against one of the library shelves near the back of the room and try to think of things I can say to the adviser, Mr. Kraus, when he arrives and the meeting officially gets started. I should probably introduce myself, maybe tell him about my collage experience, if I can even call it that. I wish I knew how to use some of the fancy school-owned digital cameras that kids are passing around the room, so I could help out with the photography, too. Maybe he’ll offer lessons on that sort of thing.

  A few more people trickle into the library after me. One of them is Nadia Cho. She’s in her cheerleading practice clothes, and she hangs out near the door, like she won’t be able to stay long.

  I like Nadia. She looks sweet, like a young Lillia, but with bigger eyes and freckles.

  I think about going up to her and saying hi, since we’ve never officially met each other. But then Rennie comes in behind her. Rennie’s not in her cheering workout clothes. Oh my gosh. Has she quit the squad, now that Reeve isn’t playing anymore? I could totally see her doing that.

  Rennie wraps Nadia in a hug. It’s a tender one and it lasts for a few long seconds, definitely longer than the ones I see girls give each other between classes. Rennie peels hersel
f away a bit and fusses with Nadia’s bangs while she tells her something I can’t hear. Nadia smiles up at Rennie and nods pertly. She hands Rennie a memory stick and bounds out the door.

  At the stables, Lillia mentioned to Kat and me how weird and tense things have been between her and Rennie since homecoming. I bite my lower lip. It worries me to see Nadia being so chummy-chummy with Rennie. She’s not a good influence. Not at all. Plus, Lillia is Nadia’s big sister. Nadia should be loyal to her, not to Rennie.

  Mr. Kraus comes into the room. He’s an art teacher, so it makes total sense that yearbook is one of his responsibilities. “All right, everyone! Listen up!” The room quiets, but only a little bit. Most people keep talking. “We need the homecoming spread done this week, as well as foreign language clubs and fall sports.” He scans the room briefly. “If you’re new today, find someone and help them with their project.” Then he disappears into his office and closes the door.

  Oh. Okay.

  So it looks like yearbook is pretty much left up to the students.

  I meander my way over to some girls who are uploading photos directly from the cameras, hoping I might pick up some pointers. I end up within earshot of Rennie. She’s working on the homecoming spread with another girl.

  “We got more homecoming pictures today,” Rennie says, handing her the memory stick.

  The other girl keeps her eyes on the computer screen. “I doubt we’ll need them. You’ve collected, like, more homecoming photos than senior pictures. It’s only a one-page spread.”

  “We want to make sure we get the perfect shot,” Rennie insists, her voice sharp.

  “I think I have,” says the girl, with a smile. She clicks the mouse, and a picture of Lillia and Reeve pops up on the computer screen. Them dancing onstage. Him holding her tight, gazing at her with a big grin. Before he saw me. Before I went . . . crazy.