Fire With Fire (19 page)

The weekend when Mom had her last round of chemo, nobody
felt much like celebrating. She’d had gone through the treatments,
even though things weren’t looking promising.

A month before, her doctor had said something like, “It’s
your call, Judy.” Which is basically the worst thing a doctor
can say. It means that even he doesn’t have much hope. Still,
at dinner we’d had a family discussion about whether or not
she should do it. Dad spoke first. He thought she should take
it easy, enjoy what she had left, but Mom looked at me and Pat
and said, “How can we not try?” Dad started sobbing. We all
did. Nobody touched the lasagna.

Mom had her last treatment on Thursday, and three days
later Pat had a dirt-bike race. It was his first one since Mom got
sick. Usually Pat’s races were a family affair, and Rennie would
tag along too. Obviously Mom wouldn’t be able to go this time,
and, unspoken, maybe never again. Pat promised her he’d win
her a trophy. He did a good job not crying in front of her. He
waited until he was out in the garage to lose his shit.

I loved watching my brother race. Every other racing family knew who he was, because he was that good. We were like
minor celebrities on the track. Even when I’d be hanging out
on the swings or in line for a hot dog, the other kids showed
me respect. But I didn’t just go to cheer Pat on. I had a job,
too. After each heat I’d wipe Pat’s bike down until it shone
brand-new. I’d get all the grit off. His helmet, too. Rennie
gave herself the job of making sure Pat always had a cold can
of Coke.

Dad and Pat had loaded up the trailer. I went to pack a bag
of rags, and Dad pulled me aside. “Katherine,” he said, setting
his hands on my shoulders, “I want you to stay home this time.
Make sure your mother doesn’t need anything.”

This might have seemed obvious, but it wasn’t to me. I was
looking forward to getting out of our house, away from Jar
Island for an afternoon. Also, there was Rennie. “But Rennie
is supposed to come with us! We made plans weeks ago! She’s
expecting us to come get her.”
“Sorry, kiddo. Next time.” Dad quickly put Mom’s afternoon medications inside a teacup. “Call Rennie. I’m sure she’ll
understand.”

I called Rennie, and she did understand, though I could hear
in her voice that she was disappointed. I watched from the front
window as Dad and Pat drove away.

It was my mom. A side effect none of us had expected was
that Mom was now cranky as hell. She’d never been like that
before. Everything seemed to bother her. How messy the house
was getting, what Dad would make her to eat, the smells coming
from Pat’s bedroom. I had always been Mom’s girl, her baby,
but even I wasn’t immune. She flipped out when I put some
special sweater of hers through the laundry.

Honestly, I was a little afraid of her.
“One sec!” I shouted upstairs. And then to Rennie I said,
“Can you come over?” I hoped it was obvious in my voice. I
didn’t want to be alone with my mom. I needed her.
“Um . . .” I could hear her switching the phone from one
ear to the other. “Actually, my mom needs my help with taking down some wallpaper. Sorry. I’ll call you later!”
I was mad. I was so mad. But not at Rennie. At my mom. I
blamed her for making my friend not want to come over, not
Rennie for being a sucky friend. I trudged upstairs.
Mom was in bed. Her eyes were slits. She’d kicked off all her
blankets; she was sweating in the bed. “Can you please turn off
the heat. I’m dying!”
“Anything else?” I said it so bitchy. So incredibly bitchy.
“No,” she said. “Sorry to bother you.” She said it sadly,
which I knew was my opening to apologize. Instead I walked
out and closed her door, hard.

I blamed the wrong person. Not my mom. She was sick. She
needed me. It was Rennie. And maybe if Rennie had been a better friend, maybe I would have had more patience. Taken better
care of my mom that day. It’s unforgivable, really.

I take the daisy, the one Rennie put in my locker, and I throw
it into the garbage can. I don’t know if she’s still watching, but
I hope to God she is.
CHAP
TER THIR
T
Y - THREE

Tuesday, I’m late leaving last period because
our test goes long. I run straight to the pool, expecting to
see Reeve in the water doing laps. But the pool’s empty; he’s
not there. I wait for a few more minutes; then I go sit on the
bleachers and text him.

Huh. What does that mean, he’s done? With what? With
working out or with me? If we don’t swim today, I won’t get
to spend any alone time with him before Thanksgiving break,
because tomorrow’s a half day.

I think fast. The only thing for me to do is go to him right now
and ask him what he meant. Make a show of how much I care.
I hightail it out of the gym and drive over to his dad’s office.
It’s not far from school. It’s in a small building that looks like
a colonial house. There’s a white-and-black sign that reads
tabatsky property management out front.
Reeve’s truck is parked out front, no other cars. I flip down
my vanity mirror and dab on some lip gloss and fluff up my
hair. Then I grab my purse, hop out of the car, and walk up to
the building.
Reeve’s sitting at a desk; there are keys all lined up in front of
him, and he’s sorting through them. He looks up and starts to
say, “Hi, can I help—” His eyes widen when he realizes it’s me.
“What are you doing here?”
“I was worried when you didn’t show,” I say. I scooch
closer to him and perch on the edge of the desk, which is when
I notice he’s not wearing his walking cast. “Oh my gosh! No
more boot!”
“Yeah. Earlier this afternoon.” Reeve keeps sorting keys,
making piles, and not looking at me. And he doesn’t sound that
happy about it.
“So why the face? We should be celebrating! Pancakes on
me.” I poke him in the side so he’ll finally look at me. “I knew
all your hard work would pay off.”
Flatly he says, “It didn’t.”
“What? What do you mean?”
Reeve stares straight ahead and says, “I asked Coach if he
would time my sprints today. I was pumped to show him how
much progress I was making in the pool, and I figured if I could
win him over, he’d help me train and maybe make some phone
calls for me to the scouts. Tell them I’m back on track, that I’ll
be in fighting shape by the time spring workouts begin, and to
save me a roster spot.” He clears his throat, like the words are
getting stuck, and I feel my heart sink for him. “Well, it was a
complete joke. I’m nowhere near where I used to be. I’m slower
than the defensive line, and those guys weigh like three hundred–plus pounds. It’s over. I need to face facts, figure out what
I’m going to do now. “
“Wait. Maybe you won’t get the top programs, but I thought
there were still a few D-three schools,” I begin. “Like what
about Williams?”
He shakes his head. “I’m not even good enough for a practice
squad, Lillia. I’m done. My ass isn’t going to college. No football scholarship. I’m staying right here on the island.”
I stay still and quiet as he tries to yank open a file drawer.
It’s stuck, and he pulls on it so hard that the keys he’s organized
slide together into a heap. Reeve’s face goes red; he looks like
he’s going to cry or maybe punch a wall. “Fuck!” he yells.
I jump in my seat and he shakes his head. “I’m sorry,” he says,
and he lets out a choked sound. He’s crying. Reeve Tabatsky is
crying.
I’m not sure what to do. Rennie’s so good at comforting him,
at saying all the right things. I’ve never been great at comforting
people.
“Don’t apologize,” I tell him. “You have nothing to be sorry
for.”
I’m the one who should be sorry. Next fall, Reeve should be
a football god at a division one school, doing keg stands and
hooking up with random girls. That’s his destiny. The thought
of Reeve stuck here on the island, going to community college
and living at home . . . it’s too sad to even think about.
Reeve sinks back into his chair; he hangs his head in his
hands, and his shoulders start to shake. He’s sobbing like a little
boy. Meanwhile I keep my eyes on the floor.
He gets quiet all of a sudden and he says, “Remember what
you said to me on Halloween night?”

You deserve everything you’re getting, because you’re a bad
person.
My stomach lurches. “Reeve, I was—”
“No, you were right. I’m not a good guy, Lillia.” He wipes
his eyes with the backs of his hands. “I did something to someone a long time ago. I hurt someone bad.”
“Who?” I breathe. Mary. He has to be talking about Mary.
“A girl . . . The more I think about it, the more I think maybe
this is me getting what I deserve, so I can’t—I can’t even be
upset about it.” He nods to himself. “In a way it’s like a relief.
I’ve been waiting all this time for my punishment. Maybe . . .
maybe this is it.” He sounds so resigned. So hopeless. It makes
my heart hurt.
I rest my head on his shoulder. “Don’t talk like that,” I whisper. It’s crazy, but I feel genuinely bad for him.
He lets me sit like that for a moment and then he says, “Can
you please go?”
I sit up straight to look at him, but he won’t look me in the
eye.
That’s when it comes to me. An idea. And before I’ve really
thought it through, I’m telling him a way to fix things.
“We have this family friend. He’s my dad’s coworker’s son.
He’s a football player. Not a star quarterback like you, but still.
He took a fifth year of high school at a prep school, and it was
like a whole other year for recruits to check him out.” I say all
of this super calmly, like he hasn’t been crying and he didn’t tell
me to leave. I say, “You could do that, Reeve. If you train hard,
and you get your grades up, I bet you could get a scholarship at
a prep school somewhere, and then colleges would look at you
again. It would be your second chance.”
He lifts his head; his eyes are red. “I told you, Cho. I don’t
deserve a second chance. I’m no good. You shouldn’t even be
around me.”
“I don’t want to hear you talking like that,” I snap. I never
thought I’d feel this way, but maybe Reeve does deserve a second chance.
Reeve looks startled. Then he says, “Why would some fancy
school give me a scholarship? My grades aren’t good enough for
a scholarship.”
“Duh, you’re an amazing quarterback. If their team sucks,
they’re basically paying to make it better by having you go to
their school. I could ask my dad to talk to his friend, get more
information. This could be your ticket out.”
He’s shaking his head. “I don’t know. It seems like a long
shot.”
“Don’t give up on yourself. All you need is more time to heal
and get strong again. Sure, spring workouts might be too soon
for you, but what if you had another year to recuperate? You
might not get to go to some big football school, but at least it’ll
be a real college and not the JICC.” Reeve opens his mouth, but
before he can answer, I grab him by his shirt collar. “Listen to
me, okay? It’s worth a shot. I’ll help you study, if that’s what
you’re so worried about.”
Reeve almost smiles, which makes me feel so good. “Oh
yeah? That’s generous of you, Cho. Just so you know, I’m actually not a Neanderthal; I’m a pretty smart guy.”
“I never for one second thought you were dumb,” I tell him,
dropping his collar and smoothing it out. And then, like it’s
already decided, I say, “Tomorrow you make an appointment
with Mr. Randolph and see what he knows. He’s bound to have
some contacts at prep schools; I think he went to one. Then
you register for the December SAT test date.”
“I already took the SAT,” Reeve says. “My score was fine.”
“Fine?” I repeat. I give him a doubtful look.
“Yeah. It was easy. At one point I put my head down and
took a nap. I think maybe I had a hangover that day.”
“Well, what was your score?” I challenge.
“1920.”
Oh. That
is
pretty good. I’ve taken it three times, and it was
only on the third try that I broke 2000. So Reeve is smart. He
does have a chance at going to college. “Then take the test one
more time. If you scored that high without even trying, who
knows what you could do if you studied?”
I tell myself not to feel guilty for helping him. If I can fix
this, if I can help make it so he still gets his football scholarship . . . everything will still end up the way it’s supposed to.
Mary can still have her pound of flesh, and Reeve can still go
to college.
I clap my hands together, cheer-style. “So first we reorganize
these keys and then we go to the library. And if you do a good
job, you’ll get a snack after.”
Reeve smiles for real this time. “You’re a piece of work, Cho.
Did you know that?”
I smile back smugly. “Oh, trust me. I know.”
CHAP
TER THIR
T
Y -F
OUR

I’m practically sleepwalking as I shuffle down
the hall to English class. I can hardly keep my eyes open. I
stayed up super late to finish reading
The Scarlet Letter
for
today’s discussion. I’m too shy to actually talk in class, but Mrs.
Dockerty loves to randomly call on the quiet kids.

I should have been doing a few pages a night, but of course
I left it to the last minute. It’s such a sad story, and I can’t say
that I enjoyed it. It hit a little too close to home. The scars that
Hester carried all through her life, the guilt and shame she felt
even though it wasn’t her fault. And when she died at the end,
I was in tears.

Needless to say, it was not a fun read.
I walk through the classroom door. I’m the first one, which
is odd, especially since my last class was on the other side of the
high school and it feels like everyone is counting off the minutes
until Thanksgiving break begins. Not even Mrs. Dockerty is
here yet. She’s probably in the bathroom or something. I fall
into my seat and lay my head on the desk and rest my eyes for
a minute.

I wake up with a start, my cheek stuck to the cover of the
paperback. I lift my head slowly, trying to figure out how long
I’ve been out. The class is suddenly full; everyone is in their seats.
But there’s no Mrs. Dockerty. Instead a man is sitting on her
desk. I guess we have a sub. I quick wipe my mouth and take
out my paperback.