Fire With Fire (4 page)

I do homework until I can’t stand the sight of my textbooks,
and then I go for a walk down to Main Street. A ferry pulls into
the dock, and the first vehicle to drive off is a school bus packed
full of football players. The windows are painted with different
numbers and trash talk like Drown Those Gulls!

Sheesh.
I guess we’ve got a football game tonight.
I wonder if Reeve will go.
I make my way over to the field. I don’t plan to stay for long,

but it’s easy to find a seat in the bleachers. There’s about half the
crowd, maybe even less, than showed up to cheer on the team
at homecoming. I guess that’s what losing your star player will
do. The first game after homecoming weekend, after Reeve got
hurt, we lost. Badly. Our backup quarterback, Lee Freddington,
didn’t complete a single pass.

A group of cheerleaders is huddled together, practicing their
“De-fense! De-fense! De-fense!” clap. I figure we’ll be hearing
that cheer a lot more now that our team no longer has an offense.
The rest of them mill about casually on the sidelines, like this
is a practice and not a game night. Rennie’s sitting cross-legged
on the grass, looking at her phone. Lillia and Ashlin are near the
players’ bench, talking to each other. Lillia sees me and beams
me a smile. I smile back.

The announcer welcomes the opponents, and then our cheerleaders line up and make their way toward the field-house gate,
to great our team as they take the field. I watch Teresa Cruz
navigate her way to the front of the pack. I guess since she cheers
for Lee Freddington, the backup QB, she’s more important now.

Rennie sees this, and she positions herself right in front of
Teresa.
Reeve is the first one out of the field house. He has his jersey on and a pair of warm-up pants, the same thing he wore to
school today. As soon as he appears, everyone in the bleachers
stands up and cheers for him. It’s not the level of enthusiasm
that Reeve got at the start of the season. This is more muted
applause. Respectful. A courtesy.
Reeve tries to go as fast as he can on his crutches, but the
ground is soft from the rain we got this week, and his crutches
sink into the turf. The faster Reeve tries to go, the deeper he
sinks, and it slows him down.
The other players burst out of the locker room. They try to
stay behind Reeve, letting him still be their leader, but Reeve is
going so slow they bottleneck behind him.
Then along the side of the pack comes Lee Freddington. He
passes right by Reeve, as if he isn’t even there, and takes the lead.
It’s like Lee Freddington grants them all permission, because
then the rest of the players pass Reeve too. Reeve ends up being
one of the last in the pack, with Alex, PJ, the team trainer, and
the water boys who have to lug the coolers. I can see Reeve getting more and more frustrated. At one point the toe of his cast
drags against the field, filling the space between it and his toes
with clumps of grass and dirt. His face turns bright red, like he’s
about to boil over.
I stop clapping and sit on my hands. It’s stupid. I know it
probably makes me weak. It’s just that Reeve is so completely
unprepared for this. He doesn’t know how to handle being
on the outside. He’s so used to being the center of it all. It’s
almost painful to watch; it’s as if the moon and the stars have
been banished from the heavens and forced to be mortal like
the rest of us.
I wanted Reeve to get in big trouble, to lose what made
him feel so confident, so superior to everyone else. And he did
deserve what was coming to him, I know that. But a part of me
wishes it never had to get to that point. That we didn’t have to
break him for him to learn his lesson.
The first quarter of the game, we play as terribly as expected.
Lee Freddington gets the ball back at the start of the second
quarter. On his first chance to pass, he almost gets tackled by
the other team. Our coach calls a time-out and starts yelling at
the guys on defense.
I watch Reeve seek out Lee Freddington on the sideline and
give him some tips. He’s been doing this all game long. But Lee
hardly looks at him. He barely even makes eye contact. And
not because he’s embarrassed. Because he thinks he doesn’t
need the help.
Right before the time-out ends, Lee Freddington walks over
to Alex Lind. He drapes his arm over his shoulder and seems to
whisper something. Reeve is watching this, his jaw set.
A second later, our team rushes back on the field. Lee leads
the huddle, and when the ball snaps, he pulls his arm back like
he’s going to really go for it. Way downfield, Alex Lind is outrunning another player. Lee throws the ball, a tight spiral, and it
lands right in Alex’s arms.
Touchdown.
I get up to leave while PJ kicks the extra point. As I pass by
the sideline, the cheerleaders are lining up to do their individual
player cheers for that play. Teresa Cruz steps to the front, and I
see Rennie charge up and grab her by the sweater.
“What are you doing?”
“Lee threw a touchdown. I’m doing his player cheer.”
Rennie gives her a look like she’s an idiot. “Alex
caught
a
touchdown. He’s the one who scored the points.”
Teresa huffs. “But we always do the QB cheer—”
“
Reeve’s
our quarterback. Lee is second-string trash.”
Rennie steps up and shouts Reeve’s cheer so loud I see him
shrink on the bench.
Rennie thinks she knows what Reeve needs, but she doesn’t
have a clue. He doesn’t want everyone looking at him. He wants
to be left alone.
I get up from my seat and begin my walk home. That’s exactly
what I’m going to do. Leave Reeve alone. Even more than that,
I’ll rewire my brain so that I don’t think about him, don’t feel
anything for him. It’s the only way.

Back at the house, I find Aunt Bette in the living room. She’s in
the dark, sitting on the floor with candles burning all around her.
Wax is pooling in puddles on the hardwood. My dad would flip
out if he saw that. He always says the floors are his favorite part
of the house. They’re cedar, the most beautiful strawberry-blond
color.

Aunt Bette startles. Now that I’m closer, I see that she has a
piece of linen spread out in front of her. It’s covered with piles
of dried leaves and herbs. She’s putting them into small bundles
and binding them up with twine.

She finishes tying a knot before she says, “I didn’t know you
left,” annoyed, like I’m interrupting something important.
“I went for a walk.” And then I add, “Sorry,” even though I
don’t have anything to apologize for. I point down at the bundles and ask, “What is that stuff?”
With one hand Aunt Bette grabs a sprig of something and
rubs a leaf between her fingers. “Ancient herbs.” It looks like
rosemary. Or maybe thyme? I can’t tell in the dark.
“O-kay,” I say. “Well, good night.”
At the foot of the stairs I spot a teacup on the floor. Inside is
a bundle of dried leaves wrapped up with twine. It’s burning red
embers and letting off a twisty curl of smoke up to the hallway
ceiling.
What in the world?
I call out, “Um, Aunt Bette? Is it safe to leave this thing
smoking in the hall?” I worry that I sound like a patronizing
jerk, but really. It’s kind of unnerving.
Aunt Bette doesn’t answer me. Whatever. I step around it,
careful not to breathe in any of the smoke, and make my way
to my room.
CHAP
TER F
OUR

After talking with Mary after school, I go
home, make Dad a microwave dinner and hammer a bowl of
cereal, and then head to the ferry. The sun has gone down,
and the wind is stinging. I zip my sweatshirt up to the neck
and pull the hood tight over my head. I should have started
wearing a coat weeks ago, but I hate the one I got last year. It
was a peacoat, charcoal gray, a real navy-supply one. I found
it at the thrift store, but it wasn’t lined, and the wool made my
skin itch. Maybe, if I get to the mainland early, I can stop by
the thrift store and see if they have something else.

Down at the ferry landing it’s the opposite of what it’s like
in the summertime, when the parking lot is full of cars and
there are lines of people queued up to climb aboard. It’s totally
dead, except for a few delivery trucks and a couple of cars.
Most of the workers I know have left for the season, so I’ll
probably have to pay for my ticket. I go up to the window,
but the ticket guy is friends with my dad and refuses to take
my money. Which is awesome. It happens a lot for me, but I’m
grateful each and every time.

I’d freeze my ass off if I sat on the observation deck, so I
find a seat inside in the café. There’s a table of four old folks
drinking tea and thumbing through a book of birds, marking
down the ones they saw today. I turn on my music and close
my eyes. I swear to God, I hope I die young, because I can’t
ever imagine myself doing that shit.

And then I get this tight-stomach feeling—guilt, I guess—
knowing that it’s been weeks since I’ve been to the store to see Kim.
Not since our little fight, when I needed use the copy machine to
photocopy Alex’s gay-ass poems for our revenge scheme. I was so
wrapped up in getting that done I didn’t give Kim the time of day
when she obviously needed a friend to talk to.

Hopefully she’ll forgive me.
The thrift store doesn’t have winter coats, unfortunately.
Only summer shit from people cleaning out their closets. I
walk the mile over to Paul’s Boutique. Day of the Dogs won’t
come on till late, but it’s better that way, because Kim and I
will have a chance to catch up. I decide in advance not to talk
about any of my shit. Tonight should be about her unloading
on me. Maybe things worked out between her and Paul. Who
knows, maybe his wife didn’t actually know they were doing
it. I hope so.

I walk into the store, and there’s someone I don’t recognize
behind the counter, some skinny dude with a mullet and a full
sleeve of tats. So I head straight to the back, where the shows
are, and try to walk through the door. It’s a lot darker inside
the garage space, and a few people are already pushed up to the
front of the stage to make sure they have a good spot for the
show. Someone grabs my arm.

I turn and see Paul himself. Paul’s hair is cut pretty short,
and it looks more silver than I remember. He’s got on an
old Sex Pistols T-shirt, tight ripped jeans, and canvas sneakers. He’s short for a guy, but in good shape. Kim says he’s
really disciplined about going to the gym since he got clean.
Apparently, years ago he was into some pretty hard drugs.
Like needle drugs.
Anyway, I smile, because I’ve met him before. “Yo, Paul.”
He doesn’t let go of my arm. “Ten-dollar cover.”
I yank myself free and glance over to the sound booth,

wondering if Kim might be in there. But it’s empty.
“You deaf?”
“Where’s Kim?” I say, and I know I sound pissed.
Paul looks taken aback. “You know Kim?”
“She’s a good friend of mine.”
Paul averts his eyes. “She doesn’t work here anymore.”
“What? Why not?”
“She stole from the store, so I fired her.”
I narrow my eyes. I spit out, “You’re a liar.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” I’m so angry I’m shaking. “You’re a liar.

Kim would never steal from you.” I know this for a fact. Kim
would never, ever, ever steal from Paul. She worked so freaking hard at her job. Partly because she loved music, and partly
because she loved him.

He points his finger in my face. “What do you call letting
people in to see shows for free, huh? When’s the last time you
paid to see a band?”

He snorts like he could give two shits, but I can tell he’s
livid. “All right, kid. You’re out of here.” He throws his tattooed arm up and starts waving to Frank, the bouncer, leaning
against a big amp. Frank comes over, and he looks anything
but happy to throw me out.

“I hope your wife knows what a dickbag her husband is!”
I’m screaming at the top of my lungs. “I’d be happy to tell her
myself!”

I start flailing and spewing all the curse words I know in
one long stream.
Frank leads me into a back hallway, near the tiny room
where the band hangs out until it’s time for them to go onstage.
I can hear them now, warming up their instruments, laughing
and talking with each other.
“You okay?” Frank says.
I’m fighting the urge to cry, so I punch the wall hard.
“Where’d she go?”
Frank shrugs. “They had a big fight a few weeks ago and
Paul gave her twenty-four hours to pack up her stuff in the
apartment upstairs. She did it in three, and on her way out she
took all the cash out of the safe.”
So Kim did steal from Paul? I guess Frank can see the shock
on my face, because he shakes his head, like I’ve got the wrong
idea. “Think of it more as an inevitable lawsuit settlement.”
“But it’s not like this place makes that much money. What
could it have been? Maybe a thousand dollars, max? That’s not
going to get her far. It’s not like that’s buying her a mansion or
something. She hasn’t talked to her parents in years. She could
be . . . homeless.”
“She’ll be okay,” Frank says again, but this time he’s less sure.
The tears come right then. I can’t stop, and Frank looks
uncomfortable as shit. Wiping my nose with my sleeve, I say,
“If she calls, will you tell her I came looking for her?”
Frank nods, but it’s the kind of nod where we both know
that won’t ever happen. Kim’s gone for good.
I’m crying my eyes out as Frank leads me out of a side door
and into the alleyway. He tells me good-bye and then shuts
the door in my face. I try to call Kim’s cell, but the number’s
disconnected. Of course.
I think of Kim, going through this shit alone. Wonder if
she thought about calling me. Asking me for help. Probably
not. Probably not once. Because I’m a dumb high school kid.
Because the one time she tried to get real with me, all I cared
about was my own life.
I feel like such a turd. To let down the person I thought of
as my bestie when she needed me most. It’s a sucky lesson to
learn, but I make a promise to myself, then and there, to never
be a shit friend like that again.
CHAP
TER FIVE