Fire With Fire (10 page)

I’ve got my back pressed up against a wall of
hay bales, and the sticks are pricking through my nun habit.
It’s a dead-end part of the maze, but I don’t care. I’m hiding
out here so no ghouls or zombies or whatever can get me from
behind. Every so often, I crane my neck and peer around the
corner and keep my eyes peeled for Mary.

Obviously I’d find her faster if I actually
looked
for her, but
I’m not moving from this spot. Mary can come to me. I didn’t
pay thirty dollars to die of a heart attack in this damn maze.

I hope she’s having fun. Kid deserves to have a good time.
I’m glad that little doofus was trying his pathetic best to chat
Mary up while we were in line. She could use a boost to her selfesteem, big time. Sure, I’m no guidance counselor, but Mary
needs to realize that she’s not the girl she used to be.

A pack of people creep past the alley where I’m hiding out. A
girl in a ballerina costume breaks off from the group and heads
toward me, walking cautiously on her tiptoes. She’s got on a
pink leotard, pink tutu, pink everything. Of course it’s Lillia.

She jumps and screams a horror-movie scream, but she’s smiling, too. Scaredy-cat Lillia loves this stuff—who’d have known?
She must think I’m one of the workers, because she’s about to
run away, back to her friends. But then I say her name again and
she stops cold. It takes her another second to recognize me, I
guess because of my costume.

“Taketh not the Lord’s name in vain!” I say in a booming
voice.
She giggles. “Where’s Mary? She was coming with you, right?”
I nod. “Wait till you see her costume. She looks amazing.”
As I say it, I realize that I wish it were the three of us hanging out together tonight. But I push the thought out of my
mind, because it doesn’t make sense to feel sad about something you can’t do shit about. I quick change the subject. “Did
everything go okay at the elementary school tonight?”
“It was fine. I think the kids had fun. The parents were
happy.”
“Cool.” I felt bad, seeing how stressed Lillia was all week.
“Hey. You know, I would have come and helped. But you didn’t
say anything, so—” Her cheeks get flush, so I back off. “I’m not
upset or anything,” I clarify. “I mean . . .” I don’t know what I
mean. I’m babbling.
“Don’t worry. It all worked out. I didn’t think to ask you,
though. I know it’s not your thing. But thanks for offering to
help”—she smirks—“when it’s too late to actually, you know,
help.”
I touch a finger to her shoulder and make a sizzle sound.
“Nice zinger, Lil. I like how I’m rubbing off on you.”
She looks like she’s about to make another joke at my expense
when we hear Reeve say, “Shit!”
His voice sounds like it’s coming from the other side of the
hay wall.
We both roll our eyes, because Reeve’s such a douche, but
then there’s Mary’s voice, all tiny and small and Mary-like.
“I . . . I didn’t see you.”
In half a second, Lillia and I both have our ears up to the wall,
listening.
She whispers to me, “Mary’s talking to him.”
I whisper back, “Eff talking. Kick him in the nuts!”
That makes Lillia laugh, and she quick puts both her hands
up to her mouth so no one hears it.
We listen to Mary lead Reeve through the conversation. And
I’m like, why isn’t this dummy apologizing to her, once and
for all?
Instead we hear Reeve say, “Go fuck yourself.”
Suddenly I’m burning a thousand degrees inside. Fucking
Reeve Tabatsky. He’s as much of an a-hole as he was before his
accident, if not a bigger one. I start heading over to rescue Mary
and to take out Reeve’s other leg, but Lillia grabs my arm.
“Kat, don’t. Give her a chance to stand up for herself.” Her
eyes are big and hopeful. Either that or she’s nervous.
I don’t want to, but I do what Lillia says, because I know
deep down that she’s right. Mary hasn’t had a chance to tell
Reeve off. She’s basically been in hiding from him since coming
back to Jar Island. Hopefully, she’ll do it, right here, right now.
It’ll help her. I know it will. I say a prayer that she does, ’cause
I’m a nun and all.
Lillia and I both stop breathing as we listen to Mary fall into
her bad habits.
“I’m sorry,” she says.
Lillia closes her eyes and drops her chin to her chest.
Damn.
And then we see Mary sprint past our alley.
I go to race after her, and Lillia makes a move like she’s going
to come with me, but I shake my head. “No. Stay with your
friends. We shouldn’t let anyone see the three of us together!”
She doesn’t listen. She runs right alongside me.
“Mary!” We’re both screaming her name, pushing people out
of one way. I see her pink-streaked hair a hundred feet or so
ahead.
Finally we catch up. Lillia grabs hold of Mary’s shirt. “Mary!”
Mary spins around. She’s crying. She tries to tell us what happened, but she can’t get the words out.
“We heard it. We heard everything.” Lillia gently pushes some
of Mary’s hair out of her face. “You look amazing, by the way.”
The compliment doesn’t even register on Mary’s face. It’s
blank. Like she has PTSD or something.
I turn her by the shoulders and make her look me in the eye.
“What do you need?” I say, quick. “Just tell us.”
I think she’s going to answer me, but instead she breaks free
and runs off.
We let her go.
“This feels wrong,” I say, and chew on my finger.
Lil’s perfect ballerina bun has unraveled. Strands are falling
out of the coil, but she doesn’t seem to notice. “We’ve got to
give her space if that’s what she wants.”
“I guess . . . But what if she does something to herself?”
Lillia looks unsure now too. “We’ll go over her house tomorrow and check on her.”
I nod my head. That’s a good idea. “I’ll text you in the
morning.”
“Great.” Lillia takes a deep breath and sighs. “Poor Mary.”
I don’t even know what I’m doing, but I lean in, like I’m
going to give Lillia Cho a hug. And she leans in, like she’s going
to give me one back.
“Lillia! Lil! We’re lea-ving!”
It’s Ashlin.
“Go,” I whisper. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Lillia frowns, but she walks backward away from me.
As I head toward the maze exit, some ghost gets in my face.
I’ve got so much anger inside, I shove him and say, “Enough
already.” A few people look at me like I’m insane. And that’s
exactly how I feel. Insane with worry for my friend.
CHAP
TER F
OUR
TEEN

I head toward Ash’s voice and run into her and
a few of other girls from the squad. She’s all tipsy and happy,
and she shrieks my name and threads her arm through mine.
I guess because Rennie’s hasn’t caught up yet, she can be as
friendly as she wants and act like nothing’s wrong. Ugh. But
whatever. I’ll take what I can get.

Ash and Deb are giggling about some zombie guy who
accidentally touched Ash’s boob, but I stay silent. I can’t stop
thinking about Mary. I hope she’s okay.

Everyone’s heading for the parking lot, and then we’ll drive
over to party in the big cemetery in Canobie Bluffs. Since we
have
off
the next two days for a teacher conference. It’s the oldest cemetery on the island; there are gravestones that go back to
the 1700s. All the old Jar Island families have plots here. Lots of
weird names like Ebenezer and Deliverance and Jedidah.

In the lot, people are starting to pile into cars, and I spot
Reeve alone, leaning against Alex’s SUV, staring off into space.
Just the sight of him makes me sick.

I break away from the girls and march right up to him and
say, “Hey. Reeve.”
Reeve turns to me and smiles. Freaking jerk actually smiles.
“Hey, Cho. Are you headed to the cemetery?”
My voice shakes as I say, “You’re cruel. I knew you could be
mean sometimes, but I never knew you could be so incredibly
cruel.”
Bewildered, he says, “What are you talking about?”
“I heard you,” I say. “I heard what you said to that girl in the
maze. ‘Go
eff
yourself’? Seriously?”
“Wait a minute—”
“What did she do to you to deserve that?” My voice is getting louder and louder.
His face goes hard. “Don’t worry about what girls I talk to.
That’s none of your concern.”
“I’m not
concerned
—”
“Then mind your own business.”
I want to scream,
It is my business!
but I can’t and still protect
Mary. So instead I say, “You know what? I’m glad you broke
your stupid leg. I’m glad you can’t play football and that no college wants you on their team anymore. You deserve everything
you’re getting, because you’re a bad person.”
Reeve goes the color of a sheet, but I don’t let myself feel bad
for him. Instead, I give him the dirtiest look I can conjure up,
and then I turn on my heel and run toward Ash’s car.
CHAP
TER FIF
TEEN

I tear through the open field, weaving between
rows of parked cars and clusters of people, trying to put as
much distance between me and the maze as I can. My heels keep
getting tripped up by field rocks and the soft ground, and at
some point I end up falling to the ground in between two cars.

I want to get right back up, to keep going, because the woods
are only a few feet away. But I can barely breathe. Luckily,
there’s no one around to see me. So I sit there on my knees in
the dirt and cry. I cry my eyes out all alone.

That’s what I came back here for?
That’s what I deserve, after everything?
After a few minutes of sobbing, I hear Lillia’s voice. At first I

I stay low and use the car for cover, peering through the windows. I end up spotting them a few rows away. Lillia and Reeve,
toe-to-toe. I can’t hear what she’s saying, so I stay crouched
down and scurry from car to car, trying to get closer to them.

“You know what? I’m glad you broke your stupid leg. I’m
glad you can’t play football and that no college wants you on
their team anymore. You deserve everything you’re getting,
because you’re a bad person.”

To see what kind of jerky thing he’ll yell after Lillia.
He doesn’t do anything. He just stands there, watching her go.
And most shockingly of all, he wipes his eyes on his sleeves.
It’s another punch to the gut. Reeve couldn’t care less about

seeing me and the nasty thing he said; he didn’t even care
enough to apologize. But Lillia Cho calls him a bad person and
he’s in tears.

I hate that I’m jealous, but I am. I really, really am. It’s sick.
I’m sick.
I want to go home but I can’t. Not when I’m upset like this.
Not after how weird Aunt Bette was acting earlier. I can’t bear
to hear her say,
I told you so, Mary.
Not when I still feel like
I could explode at any second. I stand up, wipe the dirt from
myself, and head straight into the woods.
CHAP
TER SIX
TEEN

The boys are throwing around a football, using
the tombstones as markers. Someone put on Michael Jackson’s
“Thriller,” and Rennie and Ash and some other girls are putting
on a show, doing the zombie dance. A few weeks ago I would
have been front and center, right by Rennie’s side. Now it’s me
alone on a blanket sipping Ash’s “witch’s brew”—basically rum
punch with cinnamon sticks and oranges and cider. It’s so sweet;
I’ve been drinking it like it’s Kool-Aid. That, and I have nothing
else to do but drink.

Reeve’s sprawled out in the center of the other blanket, his
legs stretched in front of him. He’s surrounded by junior girls in
slutty costumes. Slutty cavegirl, slutty mouse, slutty Pocahontas.
They’re practically feeding him grapes. I can’t believe I ever in a
million years felt bad for him. He’s horrible, a monster. For him
to talk to Mary that way, after all he’s done to her . . . it makes
me want to puke. I’m glad I said something to him in the parking lot. It felt good to give him a piece of my mind.

The song changes, and Rennie comes running up to Reeve,
making room for herself on the blanket and edging the other
girls out. “Do you need anything?” she asks. “We have snacks
and stuff.”

Rennie’s head bobs up and down and she scampers over to
the cooler. Ugh. It makes me sick to see her wait on him hand
and foot. Puke puke puke.

She brings him a beer and he looks at it and goes, “Is there
no Bud Light?”
“‘Is there no Bud Light?’”
I mimic to myself. I call out,
“Reeve, how about you get your lazy butt off the ground and
go look for yourself? Last I checked, you’re not a paraplegic!
It’s a broken left fibula!”
Reeve whips his head around and throws me the meanest look
ever. Like I care. “Shut your mouth, Cho,” he says warningly.
I’m about to take a sip of my witch’s brew, but before I do, I
say back, “No, you shut yours.” He thinks he can push around
whoever he wants. Well, he’s not pushing me around. He should
know that by now.
Suddenly Alex plops down next to me, breathing hard from
running around. “Did you see that play?” he asks me, blocking Reeve from my view. “I almost made it all the way down
to the end zone. Beat three guys with my spin moves before I
got tackled.”
I sigh. Sweet, dear Alex. Alex who made sure there were enough
cupcakes for the little kids, and he never ever did anything to hurt
me. He shows up for me every time. Sighing again, I let my head
droop onto his shoulder. “You are so nice,” I whisper.
“Are you drunk?” Alex asks me, a little amused and a little
concerned and mostly surprised.
“Yes. No. Okay, yes.”
“You never drink,” he says.
“I did,” I say, sitting up and looking at him. It takes a couple
of seconds for him to come into focus. “One time I did and it
was the worst, worst mistake of my life. Sometimes I think . . .
sometimes I think I’ll never be the same.” My eyes keep closing
on their own. “Never mind. I shouldn’t have said that. My eyes
are sleepy.”
Alex takes the thermos out of my hands and puts my head
back on his shoulder. “Are you cold?”
I shake my head. I’m not. The punch is very warmth inducing. Plus I put an off-the-shoulder sweatshirt over my leotard.
It’s still ballerina-ish, though, like I got back from rehearsal.
“Warmth inducing?” Alex says.
I clap my hand over my mouth. “Did I say that out loud?”
“Yeah,” he says, laughing. I tilt my head up and look at his
face. His eyes are so nice.
“So nice,” I say, touching his glasses.
“Thanks,” he says solemnly.
I shiver, and Alex shrugs out of his suit jacket and drapes it
over my shoulders. “Feel free to lean against me,” he says. So I
do. I let my weight fall against him, so relaxed. Boneless, almost.
He puts his arms around me, and I feel safe, like the safest I’ve
ever felt. It’s the exact opposite of that bad time.
We watch as PJ kicks the football high into the air. “Field
goal!” he crows.
Derek goes, “No, dude, the end zone is the Zane plot.” He
points to a collection of moss-covered white stone crosses, dead
center in the cemetery.
The Zanes. That must be Mary’s family. I didn’t realize they
were old-school Jar Islanders.
They argue back and forth, and I say to Alex, “I can’t believe
that next Friday’s the last football game. Are you upset you
guys aren’t going to playoffs?”
“No way. The season could’ve been over when Reeve got
hurt, but we turned it around. I’m proud of what we pulled off.
And you know what, it’s awesome Lee got to play so much this
season. He’s really come into his own. I bet you next year the
Gulls make it all the way to state.”
“You’re such a good guy,” I say, nodding. I glance over at
Reeve. He’s struggling to his feet, balancing on one crutch.
Rennie says to him, “Where are you going?”
His face is red. “Home. This sucks.”
Rennie makes a pouty face, but he isn’t even looking at her.
He’s already leaving, swinging away on his crutches. “Reevie,
just stay a little longer,” she pleads. “I’ll drive you home in a bit.”
I call out, “Byeeee! Don’t let the door hit you on the way
out!” and then laugh hysterically.
He ignores me and lurches off into the night. As soon as he’s
gone, Rennie comes over and gets in my face. She hisses, “Are
you serious right now?”
Before I can say yes, I am totally 1,000 percent serious right
now, Alex says, “Dude, she’s drunk. She doesn’t know what
she’s saying.”
“I do too!” I say, poking him in the chest.
Rennie’s face is flushed as she says, “I don’t care if she’s
drunk. She’s being a bitch.”
“Takes one to know one,” I mutter.
Rennie blinks. “Excuse me?”
I sit up straight. “You bailed on the Fall Fest and then you
made it so no one else would help me.”
Her eyes practically glow red. “Don’t you dare put that on
me. If you can’t handle being in charge of something, it’s not my
responsibility to bail you out, Lillia.”
I’m not her
responsibility
? Her words ring in my ears, over
and over.
My voice shakes as I say, “Gosh, I’ve heard that one before.
Stupid me, I thought friends were there for each other. This is
the second time now you’ve been nowhere to be found when
I needed you most.” I watch the realization dawn on her face,
that I actually took it there. Back to that night at the rental, with
Mike and Ian. The thing we were never, ever supposed to talk
about again.
“We are so done,” she breathes. Then she turns on her heel
and runs off in the direction Reeve went.
Alex puts his hand on my shoulder. I’d forgotten he was still
there. “You guys will make up tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to make up,” I say, fighting back tears. “We are
done.”
CHAP
TER SEVENTEEN

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.

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