Fire Girl Part 1 (16 page)

He looked away and I caught the way he tried
to compose himself.

I couldn't imagine the pressure he felt. The
pressure in knowing your twin sister was coming back from the thing
that would determine everything. Unexpectedly, I wanted to comfort
him. I blinked. “I wanted to take her because I thought it would
suck to be stuck in that chair. But we laughed. We had fun. We
laughed so hard you would . . .” I wiped at my face and thought
about Grace’s brilliant smile. I wouldn’t apologize for that. I
couldn’t.

Zac studied my face.

“Zac.”

Zac and I both jumped.

Grace wheeled toward us.

The knot in my stomach lessened at the proof
in front of me that she was okay.

Zac shot to her side. “Hey.”

She gave Zac a speculating look. “What’s
this?”

Zac glanced at me. “Nothing.”

Grace lifted an eyebrow at me.

“Hey.”

Zac kept his back to me. “What did they
say?”

Grace kept her eyes on me. “Zac, can I have a
minute.”

He turned away. “Okay. I’ll be right
back.”

I moved closer to her. I wanted to know too.
What had they said? What would they do? But . . . I couldn’t ask.
“Hey.”

Grace wore a floral dress and her hair had
been curled around her face. She looked pretty. Really pretty. The
edges around her eyes looked older somehow, wiser. The way
Grandma’s always looked when she pulled off her reading glasses in
the evening before bed. “Hey.”

I swallowed and relief coursed through me. At
least I had that. A ‘hey.’

She sniffed in loudly and her brave face
shifted for a second. She looked down. “Look, about the other
night. I-it’s just I can’t . . .” Her voice broke off and crackled
into her throat.

I wondered if she would cry. My mouth went
parched and dry. I wanted to say something, anything, but nothing
would come.

She sniffed in again. She blinked and smiled
at me, the kind of smile that I’d seen when I’d teased her about
the bodies. She relaxed and leaned back into her chair. “Why should
life be simple, right?”

A strangled laugh choked out of me. “Yeah.” I
looked away and tried to calm the forced pounding in my rib cage
that drowned out everything else. She’d gotten bad news. She had. I
just knew it.

And she was trying to be brave.

“Grace, what did the doctor say?” I had no
right to ask. She had no reason to tell me. But I wanted to
know.

She cast her eyes down as though she were in
trouble.

“I know it’s none of my business . . .” I
back tracked.

“There’s nothing.” Her voice was a
whisper.

I blinked. Nothing. Like nothing, nothing or
nothing . . .

Her face stretched back up. “It’s the ugly,
Maddie.” Her tone carried a challenge.

I tried to keep my face normal. Sudden
emotion caught in my throat.

“Why don’t you come over and help Zac with
that project tonight, then we’ll talk.”

Chapter 14 The Picture

When Grace’s mother answered the door, she
didn’t even look at me. Not really. She reminded me of one of those
zombie chics on an end of days show. “He's not here. You can wait
upstairs in his room. It’s at the end of the hall.”

I nodded.

She sat at the table and stared at
nothing.

I looked around. No one. I went for the
stairs.

At the top, a flicker of light and the low
hum of a television came from one of the rooms. Maybe Grace’s
room—did she go to bed already? She hadn’t been at the football
field after school. I’d looked for her as I’d picked up trash. I
wanted to see her, talk to her, but I didn’t want to wake her or
bother her.

I slowly pushed open the door at the end of
the hall and turned on the switch.

An arrow painted on the wall stared back at
me—judge, jury, executioner.

I shivered.

The sleek black lines curved flawlessly. The
string taut. The target—nothing and everything. Heat radiated off
it like an old, medieval torch. I knew it wanted to slice the air.
It wanted to rip free. It wanted out.

I moved deeper into the middle of his room.
There were no sports posters or country rock stars like in Chance’s
room. No. He definitely had a nature thing going on. Almost every
part of the walls contained different trees, flowers, and animals.
And there were framed canvases.Hand-painted portraits. I squinted
and moved closer. One of Grace and Zac in pencil, his arm draped
over her shoulder. A professional-looking one of his family in
front of their home. A home freshly painted. I squinted and stepped
closer. The way his mother looked so normal. So happy.

Before.

They had their own before.

I frowned. Today would be another one of
those days for them.

I stepped closer to a photograph of Zac in a
frame next to his bed. It had to be fairly recent. Zac had his arm
around another guy, they both wore the shark tooths around their
necks. I didn't recognize the other guy from school. I pressed
closer.

“Hello.”

I jumped around. My hand went to my
chest.

The scarred side of his lip cocked lightly.
He put his backpack on the floor.

“H-hey.”

He looked at the photograph and then back to
me.

The electric zing in the air reminded me of
that first day at the stoplight. “I guess you’ve made yourself at
home.”

I swallowed—the kind of swallow that didn’t
go all the way down. “Your mom told me to come up.”

Zac took a breath and shook his head. “Did
she?” He went straight to a small desk and pulled two books off of
a stack. He held one out to me.

I took it. I could smell the faint smell of
shampoo from his wet hair.

“This will help you do the bio.”

I didn’t know what to say. “Okay.”

Zac gestured to his floor. “I guess we’ll
work here.”

I took a step back and sat. Another smell,
his aftershave, made a gooey layer take over in my stomach. I tried
to focus on the book. Mozart.

He sat. His face tired.

My heart clutched inside my chest. It felt
pointless to work on this when everything was so bad.

I tried to think about something else.
Anything else. Except Zac. I surveyed the double bed with a simple
blue bedspread, the shelves in the corner across from his closet,
the paints that littered a small, wood desk, a tall, covered easel,
a chair that his football jersey lay across. It all formed around
Zac and became all the things that filled in the gaps. I looked
back at the photograph. “Who is in the picture with you?”

Zac tensed. “Someone who left.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“You didn’t mean to? It sure seemed like
that’s exactly what you meant to do.”

“Man you’re a jerk.”

He let out a surprised laugh. “Right—back to
the witty verbal skills.”

My heart pounded. I knew his day sucked. I
got that. But still. “Stop it.”

He clenched his jaw and his lips pressed into
a line.

I stood and looked down at the book on
Mozart. “Look, it’ll be fine. The project’s not due for two weeks,
anyway. I’ll read this and put something together.”

His eyes fluttered. “No. I prepare for
things. I don’t just light a match and hope it all works out.”

I tucked my tongue into the side of my cheek.
I wouldn't do this right now.

He let out a loud sigh. He stood and took the
book out of my hands then chucked it onto his bed. “Never mind.
I’ll write it all up and give you a sheet. Think you can NOT be a
disappointment?”

I stared at him.

“I mean, that’s what you’re good at, right,
disappointing people?”

The words swirled in my mind. Angry words.
Words that would crush him.

A glint of happiness tugged up the edge of
his eyes. “What? Is it too much for you, Fire Girl?” He took a step
closer and shoved his face into mine. “Is your past going to
consume you?”

I suddenly recognized what he was doing. He
wanted to fight. He wanted to take it all out on someone.
“Whatever.”

“Yeah—whatever.” He turned away and lifted a
hand in dismissal. “Get out.”

A light knock sounded on the door.

“Zac.” Grace called out.

Zac wiped his face and went for the door. He
flung it wide.

“How’s it going?” Her face—pale, tired,
thin.

Zac transformed back to the boy wonder smile
from the first day. “Hey.” He gently placed his hand on her
shoulder. “Mom said you were sleeping. Are you hungry?”

Grace smiled at me. “No, I just wanted to
hang out, can I come in?”

My legs wanted to protest and flee, but I
forced them to hold still. If she wanted to hang out, if she needed
a distraction, I would stay.

Zac blinked. “Of course.”

She pushed her hand controls and inched
forward.

Zac bent to pick up his backpack. He lost his
balance for a second and then fell back into the easel.

It crashed to the floor; the sheet on top of
it tumbled away.

And that’s when I saw it.

Me.

I didn’t know how the oxygen instantly shut
off to my brain.

Zac covered it and glared at me.

I rushed forward and ripped the sheet
away.

My parents were etched in behind me. Mom’s
face—happy. I remembered that day with perfect clarity. The last
musical performance I’d ever attended. My mother insisted that my
dad and I hold still long enough for one of the other students to
get us all together. Christmas-time. It had been our Christmas
card.

“Maddie?”Grace reached out to me.

Breathe in, through the nose, breathe out,
through the lips.

Zac ripped the picture away and stalked out
of the room.

Unwanted tears streamed down my face.

“Are you okay?”

I took another breath. “How—” I couldn’t get
the words out.

Grace frowned. “Your Grandpa gave it to
him.”

“Sit down.” Grace gestured to Zac’s bed.

I held her kind, sad eyes for a moment.

“It’s okay.” Grace smiled. “Maddie, it will
be okay.”

I stumbled forward. “I’m sorry, Grace. I have
to go.”

***

I pulled the four-wheeler to the side of the
road and cut the engine. He would answer for this.

Grandpa leaned back against the front of the
truck and watched Bill. He held his pocketknife poised in front of
a fingernail. “Hey, Madds, how did the study session go?”

I rushed at him. I would burst. I would rage.
I would get answers. “How could you?”

Grandpa jerked his head to me. “What’s got
you in such a tizzy?”

“Why did you give him that picture?”

Grandpa frowned. “Good heck, what are ya
talking about? You teenagers and all these quizzical
questions?”

“I saw it. In Zac’s room.” I kept my voice
controlled. I turned the sunflower in my hand until the chain began
to choke me.

Grandpa nodded stoically. “Oh.”

“Why?”

Grandpa flicked his knife shut. “Now hold
on.”

“How dare you!”

Grandpa put up a hand and lifted an eyebrow.
“Now you hold on there. You watch your tone.”

I pushed my hair back and tried to stop the
way every part of me seemed to quake.

Grandpa softened. “Now listen, he was making
money for his mission by making those fancy portraits. I gave it to
him before . . .”

Before.

Grandpa reached out to me. His warm hand
fluttered against my shoulder. “Maddie.”

I didn’t move. I didn’t know why I didn’t
move. I would have . . . before. Not before my parents, but before
Aunt Sylvie had threatened to take me. Before, when my plan to
leave had been so simple.

The fluttering stopped and he pulled his hand
back. “Sometimes a fire is good.”

“What?”

Grandpa gestured to Uncle Bill. He held a
torch and moved slowly down the field. “It’s cleansing. It’s a
chance for the nutrients to re-work themselves back into the
ground. It’s a start over.”

“I don’t know why you’re talking about
this.”

Grandpa looked down at me. His eyes were wet.
“When you started that fire I was so angry, but I’ve watched a lot
of fires in my life and the thing I know is that sometimes fires
are the only thing that can give everything a fresh start.”

I had kept my feelings for Grandpa at bay
since the funeral. I had kept them bottled, stuffed, locked away. I
couldn't let them loose now. Not now.

“I want a fresh start, Madds. It’s been
burned down, let’s rebuild.”

I stared at him and my heart went on triple
speed. I thought of how it used to be. Of how it had been between
Grandpa and I.

Before.

Grandpa pulled me into his chest. “I miss
them, too, Madds. I miss them so bad.”

I shrugged out of his grasp. He didn’t
understand. There were no fresh starts for me. Not here. I ran back
to the four-wheeler. “I can't.”

Chapter 15 The Game

I sat on the charred camp quilt that I had
helped Grandma put over the bleachers. It smelled of deer hunt and
dirt and Grandma’s musty closet where she stored all the
blankets.

Grandma settled beside me. “Sweetie, you need
to remember that a football game is a lot like life, it can be as
interesting or as boring as each person wants to make it. The key
is getting a good seat.”

“What are you talking about, Star? Football
is the nectar of the Gods.” Grandpa’s voice came from the other
side of Grandma.

I kept my gaze on the field. I hadn’t spoken
to Grandpa since last night. In truth, I hadn’t really spoken much
the whole day to anyone. I’d even gone to Chance’s truck at lunch
to sit by myself. I’d almost texted Carrie. But I hadn’t. I hadn’t
heard from her since last Sunday. Five days. That could be
considered a record for her. The bottom of my stomach churned in
worry. Zac Lockhart's picture had made one thing glaringly clear to
me—I could never get away from the past while I lived here. It was
too much. It was too hard. It—was not what I’d become.