The Complete Burn for Burn Trilogy: Burn for Burn; Fire With Fire; Ashes to Ashes (41 page)

What feels like hours later, I stumble out of
the woods and onto a residential street. I’m not sure what time
it is, or even how long I’ve been out walking. The moon is still
high in the sky, and there’s no sign of dawn.

From the look of the houses, quaint cottages on tiny plots
of grassy marshland, I think I might have gotten all the way
to Canobie Bluffs, which means I’m on the complete other
side of Jar Island from where I live. It’s going to be a long
walk back to Middlebury. And the thought of doing the big
hill in these heels, well, it makes me want to cry all over again.
But I can’t, even if I want to. I don’t have any tears left.

The only thing I have to be grateful for is that I didn’t hurt
anyone. I . . . I couldn’t live with myself if I had. The energy I
felt tonight, it was like homecoming times a hundred. Even now
it’s not all gone. I can still feel some of it inside me, simmering,
like the ocean at low tide.

I’m walking in the middle of the street, wishing I could close
my eyes, snap my fingers, and be in my bed. It’s quiet out in the
neighborhood. The trick-or-treaters are long gone. Nothing
but the last of the summer locusts that haven’t died and the
occasional car a few streets away. Nearly all the houses have
their lights off. You can tell the ones that are empty summer
rentals—they don’t have pumpkins or mums or any fall decorations. Everyone else is asleep, so it must be late.

I walk for a few blocks. Then a car turns down the street and
catches me in its headlights. It slows down as it passes me. Then
stops.

I can’t see who’s inside; the glass is tinted. The window reflects
my face, the punked-up, tearstained Halloween version of myself.
Luckily the tears haven’t done much damage to my makeup. If
anything, they make me look even tougher. But it’s completely
fake, because I’m not tough. I’m not strong. I’m an epic mess.

The driver’s-side window dips down.

 

“Hey, punk rocker.”

It’s the boy. The boy from the maze line. His mummy bandages are off, unrolled in a pile on his passenger seat. Now he’s
in a long-sleeved jar island high cross country T-shirt and jeans.
Without the bandages I can tell for sure: He’s cute. He’s black,
light-skinned, light eyes, dimples. He’s lean and tall, too tall for
his car. His knees nearly touch the steering wheel, even though
he’s got his seat all the way back.

He might even be taller than Reeve.
“Can I give you a ride somewhere?” He takes the heels from
my hands and places them carefully in his backseat. He throws
his mummy bandages back there too. I walk around the front
of the car, eclipsing one headlight and then the next. He reaches
across and opens the door for me, like a gentleman.
“My name’s David.” He clears his throat. “David Washington.”
“Doesn’t ring a bell.”
“What’s yours?”
I turn toward the window, so I don’t have to look at him.
“Elizabeth” is what I say. It just comes out, and I’m glad. I don’t
want to tell this guy anything about me. He might be friendly
with Reeve, for all I know.
Tensely he asks, “Did you get lots of Halloween candy
tonight, Elizabeth?”
“Nope,” I say with a sigh, and unclip one of my hot-pink
extensions from my scalp. “In fact, my Halloween was the exact
opposite of sweet.”
“Well, let’s fix that right now.” He points down at the cup
holders in his console, which are both packed full of goodies.
“Pick anything you want.”
I can’t remember the last time I ate candy. But why should
I even care about getting fat again? It’s not like Reeve is ever
going to look at me.
I pick out a lollipop for myself, then slowly unwrap it. The
bulb is bright pink. I put it in my mouth, and it tastes so so
sweet it’s almost sour. David gives me a funny look. “I haven’t
had candy in forever,” I explain. And then, because that
doesn’t make much sense, I add, “I used to be fat.” He laughs,
as if I’m making a joke. I twirl the lollipop in my mouth, let
it dissolve. “It’s true. And I used to get teased all the time.
Bullied, actually.”
David looks slightly uncomfortable at that. I wonder if
maybe he’s bullied people, in his lifetime.
I turn and face him. “Do you think I’m pretty? My friend
thought you were flirting with me at the maze.”
David looks taken aback. He doesn’t know what to make
of me, which I’m okay with. Tonight I can be whatever I want.
“Yeah. You’re pretty. Real pretty.”
“Well, I don’t look like myself tonight,” I tell him, with more
urgency than I intend. “I don’t wear this much makeup.”
He shakes his head. “But that’s the point of Halloween,
right? To wear a disguise?”
I realize that I have been wearing a disguise. I might not look
like the sad little fat girl anymore, but that’s definitely who’s
underneath it all.
He looks nervous. I can tell he’s not sure what to say. “You
know what? I used to have a lazy eye. I had to wear a patch for
three years to build up the muscle.” He smiles as he confesses
this. “Can you pick which eye? I bet you can’t.”
I stare into his face. His handsome face. I can’t tell, so I don’t
even try to guess. Instead I say, “Can you take me home?”
David does most of the talking on the drive. He moved here
from California two years ago, with his mom, after his parents
got divorced. Mostly we talk about how weird it is to live here.
I appreciate that David doesn’t bash it. He’s not like Kat, who
I know can’t wait to move somewhere else, because everything about Jar Island annoys her. David is very measured. For
example, he hates the fact that there is no good Mexican food,
which I guess is a California thing. But he loves that he can
still surf here.
He offers to give me a lesson.
At a red light he takes one hand off the steering wheel and
slips it into mine. “Your hands are so cold.” He seems embarrassed; the words kind of fall out. I fight the urge to pull my
hand away. I think,
This is who I was supposed to be. A girl who
isn’t afraid to flirt with boys, a girl who is confident and fun and
down to have a good time.
And really, I never used to be shy.
Not until Reeve broke me.
I have him drop me off in front of my house. He pulls up to
the curb, puts his car in park, and then leans over.
He kisses me.
I kiss him back.
It’s my first kiss, my very first one. David puts a hand through
my hair and gently cups the back of my head. His mouth tastes
sugary, like candy corns.
I kiss him because this is the life I should be living.
Except the only part that feels good is the part of him wanting me. I only wish I could want him back.
He pulls away from me and says, quietly, “I’m going to look
for you on Monday, Elizabeth.”
I don’t say anything. My eyes are on the clock—it’s almost
midnight. David closes his eyes and leans in for another kiss.
Slow motion, movie style.
This time I turn my head.
The disappointment on his face is immediate.
“I should go,” I say.
“Wait. Give me your number.” He turns to the backseat,
looking for his phone.
In those few seconds I bolt from the car and run up to the
house. I don’t like David; I don’t want to kiss him. This isn’t my
life; this isn’t who I am. I’m not . . . normal. I can’t pretend I am,
not even for a night.
I sneak in the back door. I figure Aunt Bette is already asleep,
but then I catch sight of her in the living room, peeking out the
curtains.
“Were you
spying
on me?”
Aunt Bette gasps like she’s been underwater. She spins
around and stares at me. “Who was that boy?”
I’m annoyed that she was watching me. It’s creepy! Don’t I
deserve some privacy? Like Kat said, I’m a teenager now; I’m
not a little girl anymore. “He’s no one. I’m going to bed.”
Aunt Bette follows me up the stairs. “You shouldn’t do that,
Mary. These things you’re doing . . . it’s not right. You could
hurt someone.”
I want to laugh. “So what? It’s not like anyone’s ever cared
about my feelings!”
Aunt Bette sets her jaw. “He’s not the boy who hurt you.”
Aunt Bette’s the only person I’ve ever told about Reeve.
How I felt about him, the way he treated me. “I know that!”
“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because of that boy. You
need to forget him, Mary. You have to let him go.” She reaches
out to touch my arm, but then pulls her hand back fast, like I’m
raging hot. “You have so much anger inside you. It . . . radiates.”
I stare her down. “Don’t talk about him, and you know
what? I am angry. At you.” I fold my arms. “What are all those
books in your room? Are you putting spells on me?”
“Mary, I—”
“Those freaky strings you’ve got hanging up on your bedroom wall. What are they for?”
Aunt Bette is shaking. “Mary. It’s for protection.”
“What do you mean, ‘protection’?” Aunt Bette looks like she
doesn’t want to tell me, which makes me want to know even
more. She starts backing up through the hall, but I keep closing
the distance. “What are they
exactly
?”
Aunt Bette puts up her hands. “They aren’t working, anyway.”
I suck in a deep breath and scream,
“What are they?”
at the
top of my lungs.
Aunt Bette sinks to the floor. “They’re binding spells,” she
tells me, in a whisper of a voice.
Binding? My mind immediately flashes back to that morning when I couldn’t open my bedroom door. And the way that
smoke made me feel so sick.
Could her spells have worked?
I shake these insane thoughts from my head. How could
I believe this nonsense for even a second? Aunt Bette isn’t a
witch. These aren’t actual spells. She’s just . . . crazy.
I crouch down so I can look her in the eyes. “Aunt Bette,
you need to get out of the house. You need to start painting
again. You need to go out and live your life, not try to keep me
locked up in here with you.” Aunt Bette cradles her head in her
hands. She won’t look at me. There’s no reasoning with her. I
don’t even know why I’m trying to talk sense to a crazy person.
“I want that string thing taken down. Tonight. And I want you
to stop burning your little smudgy things, the chalk stuff . . . it
stops, or else I’m going to call Mom and Dad and tell them all
about the weird things you’ve been doing to me.”
She starts crying. And maybe it makes me a terrible person, but I don’t want to hear it. Not tonight, when my heart is
already broken.
CHAP
TER EIGHTEEN

I wake up to the sweet, sweet smell of toaster waffles.
Usually, I have to wait until Saturday to have breakfast with
my dad, but we’ve been given Thursday and Friday off for
some kind of teacher conference. I fire off a quick text to
Lillia, about going us to Mary’s house later to check on her,
and then head downstairs in my big sleep shirt and socks.

“Did you have fun last night?” my dad asks as I step into
the kitchen. Of course Pat isn’t awake. He’s not up until noon,
whether or not it’s a weekend.

I give Dad a quick hug. He’s always been a big guy,
Dad-shaped, and it’s satisfying to wrap your arms around
him. “Not really,” I say, because honestly, last night sucked
a nut. I’ve barely slept. I know it’s not totally my fault, but
I feel guilty for leaving Mary on her own in the maze. If I’d
been with her, standing next to her, that shit with Reeve never
would have happened. Not without me breaking his other leg.

I pour us each a cup of coffee. I like mine with milk; Dad
takes his black with two teaspoons of sugar. I secretly give
him only one teaspoon, though, because his doctor wants him
to cut back. Dad sets our plates down on the table, along with
the butter dish and a jar of raspberry jelly. I prefer my toaster
waffles with jelly, not syrup, and I’ve made him a convert.

“Any trick-or-treaters come by last night?” I ask.
“Just the two girls down the street.”
I drop into my seat. “What were they dressed as?”
Dad hunches over his plate, his classic eating posture.

“Princesses, maybe? I don’t know. They looked like pink
disco balls to me.”

“I hate that pink garbage,” I say. “It offends my inner
Gloria Steinem. Aren’t there any little girls left in the world
who want to dress up like race-car drivers or doctors?” I lift
the lid off the butter dish and frown. The butter is sprinkled
with someone else’s crumbs. And there’s gunk from older
butter sticks congealed on the bottom, because the dish hasn’t
been washed in a while. I take my knife and scrape the stick
into the trash, put the butter dish on top of the pile of dirty
dishes already filling the sink, and then get a new stick out of
the fridge. It can stay in the wrapper for now.

Dad looks up. “You okay?”
“Fine,” I say, and reach for the jelly. The jar is sticky, and
the lid isn’t on right. This is Pat’s doing; he always makes PB
and Js when he’s high. I set it down on the table with a thud.
“What’s the problem, daughter?”
“Nothing,” I say, even though I clearly am pissed. “How’s
the canoe? You going to finish it this week?”
Dad nods. “The guy who bought it doesn’t even want to
sail it. He wants to hang it on the wall in his beach house. Isn’t
that nuts? All that money for a decoration. She’s seaworthy,
though.”
I’m not listening. I’m looking around our kitchen. It’s
freaking gross. A pile of unwashed dishes in the sink, old
newspapers and mail stacked on the counter, the front of the
stove splattered with hellfire chili.
Dad downs the rest of his coffee. “You cheated me out of
my sugar, Katherine.” He pushes back from the table, and
that’s when I notice what he’s got on his feet.
“Daaaad, what the hell?” I start laughing. “You’d better
not go out in public like that.”
He looks back at me, confused. I point to his feet—he’s
paired a black athletic ankle sock with a light blue dress sock
that’s supposed to be worn with suits.
Dad shrugs and gets the sugar bowl. “I couldn’t find clean
socks that matched—so what? What do I care? I’m not looking to impress anyone.”
Poor Dad. It’s true. He’s not looking to impress anyone.
He hasn’t had one single date since Mom died. Not that I’m
jonesing for a stepmom, but it’s been five years now. I don’t
want him to be alone forever. He deserves a good woman.
I guess the problem is that we both know there isn’t a
woman out there that could ever be better than Judy.
“I’ll do the laundry today.” It’s not like I have set chores or
anything, but I tend to take care of the laundry, because I’m
the only one who gives enough of a shit to sort colors.
Dad waves me off. “Kat, I know you’re busy with school.
Don’t worry.”
He’s right. I have been busy. But that’s not a good excuse.
I need to make time to help out around the house while I’m
still living here.
I hammer my two waffles, finish my coffee, and then go on
a cleaning tear. I wipe down the kitchen, do dishes until the
drying rack is full, change out the towels in the bathroom,
put in a load of laundry for Dad. All the while, Pat is asleep
on the couch in the den. When I come in with the vacuum, he
barely rolls over.
Freaking scrub.
I get so pissed, I ram the vacuum cleaner into the couch and
basically shake him awake.
“Oh, pardon me,” I say in my bitchiest voice, when he
finally opens his eyes.
“What’s your problem?”
“You need to start helping out around the house more.”
“Whatever, Kat. Go take a Midol. Shouldn’t you be at
school anyway?”
He reaches for the afghan but I pull it off him. Freaking
scrub is in his tighty-whiteys.
“There’s no school today! Look around, Pat! Our house is
a shithole. What would Mom say?”
“Mom wouldn’t say anything. She’d clean it up.”
“Yeah, well. Guess what? I’m not Mom. And I’m about to
peace out for college, and I don’t want to have to worry about
you and Dad living in a pile of garbage!”
Pat stretches his arms over his head and growls. “Fine.
What do you need me to do?”
I point down at the coffee table. It’s covered in Pat’s racing magazines and some carburetor parts laid out on a greasy
page of newspaper. “Clean up your shit.”
Pat sniffs the air. “Is that toaster waffles?” He groans to his
feet and shuffles out of the den.
I go to my room before I explode. I pick up my phone.
It’s been almost two hours, but Lillia hasn’t texted me back.
I text her again, and then get dressed. When she still hasn’t
responded, I start calling her over and over.
She finally picks up on the fourth try. Her voice is scratchy.
“Hey,” she says. “What time is it?”
“Almost noon. Why are you still sleeping?”
She moans. “I’m hungover.”
I don’t know why, but this pisses me off. “Well, I’m going
to Mary’s house. You coming?”
“Of course I’m coming.” She starts coughing. Or maybe
dry heaving. I can’t tell. And it makes me feel bad. “Do I have
time to shower?”
“Sure. I’ll pick you up in twenty.”
To kill time, I head to Milky Morning and pick up three
cupcakes, one for each of us. I stop and get Lillia a bacon, egg,
and cheese sandwich, too, because the grease will be good for
her hangover.
On the way to pick up Lillia, I try calling Mary’s house,
to tell her we’re coming, but no one answers. Shit. Maybe
we shouldn’t have let her go on her own last night. I get this
nervous feeling in my stomach. What if her fight with Reeve
sent her off the deep end again? What if she . . .
I don’t even want to think about it.
Lillia’s waiting for me on the front steps. She’s got on a pair
of loose-fitting jeans and a hoodie, and sunglasses over her
eyes. Her hair is still wet. She walks slowly up to my car, like
she’s a zombie. I give her the egg sandwich. “Here.”
“Oh, awesome,” she says. “You’re the best, Kat.”
“Wild night?” I ask, watching her out of the corner of my
eye.
“Kind of. A bunch of people went to hang out in the cemetery. I got a little tipsy . . . I kept yelling at Reeve about what
a jerk he is until he finally left.”
I give Lillia a high five for that.
“I got into it with Rennie, too. We’re officially frenemies
now.” Lillia smiles, but I can tell her heart isn’t in it. “It’s the
end of an era, Katherine.”
I can’t help but feel a surge of vindication. Rennie’s pure
evil. She knows it now without a doubt. Lil’s much better off
without her.
Tremulously Lillia says, “I’m just glad we found each other
again. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have you and
Mary.”
Gruffly I say, “Well, that’s not something you have to
worry about,” and Lillia smiles a real smile this time.
Lillia wolfs down the sandwich while I drive us to
Middlebury. As she’s licking her fingers, she says, “Do you
think Mary is okay?”
“She’ll be okay.”
“No . . . I mean, like, do you think she’s
mentally
okay?”
I get quiet because I’m not sure.
“I was thinking maybe we should try to get her to talk to
someone.”
“Like who? A guidance counselor?” I think immediately
of Ms. Chirazo and shake my head like a big
Hells, no
. “We’ll
keep a closer eye on her. If things get bad, okay, we’ll force
her to talk to someone. But I don’t think we’re at that point
yet.” At least, I hope we aren’t.
Lillia looks unsure, but she nods. “Okay. Deal.”
We drive to Mary’s house. I don’t see her aunt’s car in the
driveway, thank God. We go up to the front door and ring the
bell a few times, but no one answers. I’ve got a bad feeling in
my stomach when I say, “Maybe she went out for breakfast?”
Lillia calls out, “Mary! Mary!”
“I’m around back!”
Lillia and I walk over to the garage. Mary’s inside, her
bicycle turned upside down. She’s greasing up her chain.
The garage is dark, save for one raw bulb dangling down
from the rafters. The place is full of stuff. Furniture covered
with sheets, a telescope collapsed and leaning against an old
bureau. “Wow. There must be an entire house worth of stuff
in here.”
“It’s mostly my family’s things,” she says. “From when we
moved.”
I walk over and look at the telescope. It’s super nice. High
end. “They didn’t want this?” It seems crazy to me that a family would leave all their things behind. But then again, I’m not
rich. Maybe Mary’s family has money.
Mary shrugs. “Dad liked to try and spot whales from the
front window. There’s no ocean view where they live now.”
“We brought cupcakes,” Lillia announces, and takes the
box from my hands.
I take a seat on some old patio furniture. “We wanted to
make sure you were okay, after what Reeve said to you in the
maze last night.”
Mary stands up and pulls her hands inside her sweater
sleeves. “I’m embarrassed that you guys heard all of that.
How I apologized to him.”
I say, “You have nothing to be sorry for, okay? Nothing.”
“I guess.” Her bottom lip starts quivering, but she bites on it
to make it stop, and sucks in a deep breath. “I don’t understand
why I can’t get over it.” Lillia and I both nod. “I’m like a shadow
of a person. I feel like I’m disappearing.” Mary wrings her hands.
“I’ve been trying so hard . . .” Her voice gets all shaky. “I’ve been
trying to join clubs at school to give myself something to focus
on, start thinking about my future. But even though I’ve been
working to put myself back together, I’m always seconds away
from falling apart. I had the worst fight with my aunt last night.
I know it’s terrible to say, but part of me wishes I’d just gone
through with killing myself, because this is no way to live.”
In that moment, all the air is sucked out of the garage, and
I’m suddenly aware of how fast my heart is beating. This is
our worst nightmare come true. I glance over at Lillia. She’s
fiddling with the strings on her hoodie. She doesn’t know
what to say.
Neither do I.
It’s too quiet. So I say, “Mary, this isn’t a case of ‘if at first
you don’t succeed,’ okay?” My bad joke tumbles out along
with a hollow, nervous laugh. Lillia shoots me a look, but
what the hell? I didn’t see her opening her mouth. “You need
to quit saying that kind of stuff.”
I don’t even know if she hears me, because she’s so upset.
Her whole body has crumpled, like all the bones holding her
up have gone soft. I push my bangs out of my eyes, lean forward, and tell her, “You’ve been through a lot, but someday
this isn’t going to seem so devastating. Next year you’ll be a
senior, and after that you’ll head off to college. One day you’ll
look back on this shit and laugh.” I wish I could give Mary
more hope than that, something that could help her in the
here and now, but that’s all I’ve got.
In her quiet way she says, “The funny thing is that Reeve
wouldn’t care if I died or not. Do you know how that feels,
after everything I’ve been through? And it’s not because he’s
heartless. He does care about some people.” She lifts her head
and looks at Lillia. “But not me.”
Lillia turns bright, bright red. Pleadingly she says, “Mary,
you can’t do this to yourself. He’s not worth it.” She pushes
her hair over to one side. “Like, not at all.”
Mary locks eyes with Lillia. “I heard you guys last night in
the parking lot. I heard the things you said to him. Nobody’s
ever stuck up for me that way before, not ever. You’ve been
like a big sister to me. Both of you.”
I’m touched, but I don’t like the way she’s talking. It’s as if
she’s saying her good-byes.
Lillia gives her a shaky smile and tries to say something, but
Mary keeps talking, and her voice gets louder, more intense.
“Did you know that Reeve cried? He cried after you told him
off in the parking lot. That’s how much he cares what you
think of him.”
I watch the shock cross Lillia’s face. “Reeve cried?”
Mary nods her head, resolute. “It’s because he likes you.”
“There’s no way,” Lillia says. “That’s just . . . gross.”
It’s gross, but I’m starting to wonder if it’s also the truth.
I chime in, “Remember at the dance? How he kissed you in
front of everybody?”
“I don’t want to remember that, thanks.” Lillia makes a gag
face. “Can we please get off this topic and go back to talking
about you, Mary? We want to help.”
“I’m not upset about it. In fact, maybe it’s a good thing.
Maybe we can use this.”
“For what?” Lillia asks, her eyebrow raised.
“Here’s what I realized last night. I can’t ever hurt Reeve,
because he couldn’t care less about me. The broken bones
didn’t stop him. He’s already working on a way to get back
to football. It’s crazy, but I bet he’ll do it. Reeve gets everything he wants.” Mary’s eyes are practically glowing, she’s so
excited. “But not this time. Don’t you see? I have the one
thing he’ll never get. You.”
Lil’s mouth drops open. “Even if what you’re saying is
true—and I don’t think it is—but if it were, if Reeve did like
me, I’d never give him the time of day. Never ever ever.” She
shudders.
I kind of love the idea of Reeve pining after a girl he can
never have. And I’m about to say so, but Mary doesn’t even
blink as she says, “Him liking you and you not liking him
back isn’t enough. Don’t you see? The thing that made it
so bad for me was that Reeve made me believe there was a
chance. He drew me in; he spent all that time with me; he told
me his secrets. He made me feel special. He made me think I
had a chance.”
I grimace.
“So when he betrayed me that day, when he pushed me in
the water in front of those boys from our school, I was blindsided. I broke into a million pieces. Because it was all a lie,
every moment we’d spent together. He didn’t care about me,
not at all. Not one bit. He used me for his own entertainment,
so he wouldn’t be bored on his ferry rides.” She clears her
throat. “Reeve broke my heart, and now you’ve got a chance
to break his. Will you do it, Lillia? For me? Please?” Mary’s
voice breaks on the word “please.”
Lillia’s pinky finger goes to her mouth, and she chews on
her nail. “Mary . . . I want to help you. I do. But . . .” Her
voice trails off, and then she sighs. “Rennie would make my
life a living hell for this. Things are already so bad between
us . . .”
Mary nods sadly. “No, I understand. I wouldn’t want you
to get hurt.”
“Hold up, you guys!” I shout, charging in all excited like
the bull I am. “Lil, if you get Reeve to fall in love with you,
you’re
untouchable
. Nobody could say dick to you if you
were Reeve’s girl! He’s the fucking king of the island. Reeve’s
the one with the real power, not Rennie!”
“And then what happens to me when I break up with him?”
Lillia challenges. “Where does that leave me?”
I smile a wolfy smile. “I’ll tell you exactly where that leaves
you, Cho. That leaves you as the Head Bitch in Charge. Any
girl that could reel in Reeve Tabatsky and then reject him is
the
boss
, dude. People might not like it, but they’re sure as
shit gonna respect it. It’s a power move, the ultimate power
move. Shit, I wish I could be the one to pull it off.”
“Lillia shakes her head slowly. “I said some really horrible
things to him last night. I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me for
that.”