The Complete Burn for Burn Trilogy: Burn for Burn; Fire With Fire; Ashes to Ashes (52 page)

She nods. “Of course. I’ll try to have it read by the end of
the day.”
“Don’t rush or whatever. It’s fine.” But I’m pleased. I stand
up. “Thanks, Ms. Chirazo.”
CHAP
TER THIR
T
Y -EIGHT

The choral practice room is a windowless room
directly behind our auditorium. The walls are bright white and
completely soundproof, and the door makes a funny suction
sound when it closes. As we file in, it’s so bright it’s like artificial
sunshine.

Mr. Mayurnik, the high school choral director, sits behind his
upright piano. As the students walk through the door, he plays
some jazzy, foot-stomping tune, pounding on the keys so hard
the air feels like it’s vibrating.

He means it as a joke, but that’s exactly how Thanksgiving
felt. One hundred percent.
It seems like everyone has been dragging their feet today, our
first day back at school after Thanksgiving break. I know I’ve been.
But for me it’s not shaking off that happy, overstuffed feeling of
too much food and too much sleep. The truth is that I feel empty.
Drained. I guess that’s why my book bag feels extra heavy on my
back, even though I’m carrying the same textbooks as always.
I spent the rest of the holiday weekend practicing. Seeing
what I could do. Can I roll that pencil off that desk? Yes, barely.
Can I make the wind blow? No. How about the curtains in my
bedroom? Can I make them close without touching them?
Sometimes.
It feels crazy to be doing this sort of thing, and then to also
be here now, back at school, like everyone else.
I am so not everyone else.
A thick packet of photocopied songs has been placed on
every other chair. They have green paper covers with holiday
clip art on them—holly leaves, a snowman, presents wrapped
with bows, candy canes. Pretty much all my favorite things. I
think about seeing if I can’t discreetly ruffle the pages or something, but I fight the urge. I have to be careful with this secret.
Nobody can know. Not even Kat and Lillia.
Especially not Kat and Lillia.
It’s the one thing about this development that isn’t exciting.
What would they say if I told them? Would they still want to be
my friends? If that’s how it’s going to be, I’ll keep it a secret forever. My friendship with Kat and Lillia is the only thing going
right in my life these days.
I take a seat where I normally do, in the last row. Alex Lind
comes in a few seconds before the bell rings and sits in the front.
When the semester first started and I realized that Alex was taking this class too, I thought about dropping, to be on the safe
side. But I don’t think he knows who I am, beyond a girl he
sees hanging around Kat or chatting with Lillia every once in a
while. He’s never spoken to me.
After the bell Mr. Mayurnik stands up and speaks to us over
his piano. He’s tall and broad-shouldered with a shiny bald
head and a silver walrus moustache. His ties are always musically themed—piano keys, violin strings, clef notes.
He says, “Okay, ladies and gentleman. From this day forward, you are no longer turkeys. You’re little elves now. Not
Christmas
elves, mind you, because this is a court-ordered nondenominational, secular celebration.” He sighs deeply. “We
should have been rehearsing these songs for weeks already, but
the town elders wanted to approve the song booklet, and you
know how fast things move in politics.” Mr. Mayurnik bangs
out a slow scale to show what he means. Do. Re. Mi.
I have to share a booklet with the girl sitting next to me. I
lean over her shoulder as she flips through the pages. My favorite classics, like “The Little Drummer Boy” and “Joy to the
World” are nowhere to be found. Instead, it’s mostly “Winter
Wonderland,” “Frosty the Snowman.” Generic holiday songs.
Which is fine. I like those kind, too.
“As always, our class will be singing on Main Street during
the Jar Island holiday tree lighting next Tuesday, which means
we have a week to get these numbers in tip-top shape. So let’s
dive right in!”
He tinkles a few keys and we begin our standard warmups. It feels good to use my throat, to hear my voice blend into
everyone else’s.
Afterward Mr. Mayurnik says, “Great. Now that we’re
good and warm, we need to figure out who will be singing our
solos. Can all the sopranos to come to the front of the room.”
I’m a soprano, so I stand up. As I squeeze through the
rows, I get nervous. Instantly nervous. I do okay singing in
the back of the class, but here, with everyone looking up at us,
I feel my throat close up. My dad pops into my head, because
he always says that I have a pretty voice. So pretty he makes
me sing “Happy Birthday” twice before he’ll blow out his
candles. He doesn’t even care that the cake gets covered in
melted wax.
But that memory doesn’t make things better. It makes me
feel worse.
I take a spot around the piano and end up standing directly
in front of Alex Lind.
Mr. Mayurnik starts playing “Baby, It’s Cold Outside.” I
forgot to take the booklet with me, but I know the words.
I try my best to do a good job. Some of the other sopranos,
I know they’ve been in chorus longer. And a few of them
are in drama club. They’re already practicing songs for the
spring musical. Hello, Dolly! I would love to be in the spring
musical. I can’t compete with their voices, so I just try not to
mess up.
For most of the song, I stare at the ceiling. But toward the
end I look down at Alex. He has his eyes closed and a smile on
his face, like we sound really good.
He’s nice. Alex Lind is nice. I know it.
When we finish, everyone in the room applauds. Alex even
whistles. Mr. Mayurnik picks Jess Salzar to do the solo, and I’m
okay with it. I’m actually kind of relieved. And anyway, she
does have a pretty voice.
“Okay, boys. Let’s hear it.”
Alex and the other guys stand at the front of the room. There
are only four of them. Mr. Mayurnik makes Jess stay up at the
piano to sing the girl part, and when the boys sing, he listens
closely.
I do too.
Alex has an amazing voice. He’s not like some of the musical-theater guys in the class, who you know are bound for
Broadway. His voice isn’t big like that, but you can still pick his
out from the lineup of guys. It’s just . . . sweet. Earnest. And it’s
perfect for the song.
And I’m happy for Alex, genuinely happy for him, when Mr.
Mayurnik picks him for the solo.
Alex looks shocked. “Me?”
Mr. Mayurnik bangs on his piano. “Yes, you! And a little
birdie told me that you’re pretty good at playing the guitar, too.
Can you read music?” Alex nods. “Great. Bring it with you to
school tomorrow and we’ll get started on you playing along.”
“I don’t know . . . I’ve never played in front of an audience
before.”
“You’ll make all the ladies in the crowd faint! Won’t he, girls?”
As if we’re all on cue, every girl in the class screams for Alex
like he’s a pop star or a teen idol or something. Even me. Alex
turns redder than a holly berry.
It’s a good reminder that nice things do happen to good people, every so often.
CHAP
TER THIR
T
Y -NINE

I’ve never stood on a diving platform before.
Reeve wanted me to try it, at least once before the test, but I
couldn’t bring myself to. My knees are shaking. It’s so high up,
and the water looks really deep. There’s a whole line of us on
the blocks. People are crouched and poised in diving positions,
everyone except me. I force myself to breathe. I don’t have to do
a fancy swan dive into the water; all I have to do is jump.

If I can do this, I can do anything. That’s what I keep telling
myself.
Coach Christy is giving the instructions that I know by
heart—up and down the length of the pool twice, then two
minutes of treading water. I fumble with my goggles. They feel
so tight around my eyes. I hate wearing them, but Reeve kept
saying I would feel more comfortable underwater if I could see,
and he was right.
Coach Christy blows her whistle, and I squeeze my eyes
shut. The other people jump first; I hear their splashes in the
water. I count to three, and then I do it. I jump. I hit the water
with a slap. I move my arms; I kick my legs. I try to remember everything Reeve said: Keep your head down, arms against
your ears, kick kick kick. I hold my breath for as long as I can
before I gasp to the surface; then I’m turning my face back down
into the water again. I feel like I’m drowning, but I keep pulling
myself through the water until my fingers hit the wall, and then
I’m turning around and going the other way.
I don’t look over to the lanes on my left and right, because
I’m afraid to break up my rhythm, but I’m pretty sure they’re
already done. I can’t care about that, though, I have to focus on
myself and not worry about what other people are doing.
You can do it. You can do it.
I feel exhausted by the second time I hit the wall, every muscle in my body is burning, but now I know it’s almost over, only
one more length of the pool. I take my time now; there’s no
rush, like Reeve said. Take it easy, one stroke at a time.
And then I’m there. My fingers touch the wall. I made it. I
come up for air and cling to the side of the pool, breathing hard.
I hear clapping, and I look up—there’s Reeve, standing by the
bleachers, clapping and whistling. For me.
I can’t believe he came.
Everyone else is out of the pool, so Coach Christy comes
over with her stopwatch to time me treading water. I keep my
back straight and my knees bent and I do the eggbeater kick that
Reeve taught me last week. I swallow some water, but I manage
to keep my head up.
“Good job, Lil,” she says, beaming at me.
The stopwatch goes off, and I can’t believe it. I did it. I actually did it. I swim over to the pool ladder, and I climb up. My
body is so sore already, but I feel like a champion. I feel like I
can do anything.
Running over to Reeve, I scream, “I did it!”
He’s grinning like crazy. “Yeah, you did!” I launch myself
into his arms and he lifts me in the air. I feel deliriously, euphorically happy.
We’re laughing, but when he sets me back down, there’s this
long awkward pause of us looking at each other. We both start
talking at the same time.
“Thank you—”
“You were awesome—”
We laugh and I try again. “Thank you for everything. I
couldn’t have done it without you, Reeve. The whole time, I
kept reminding myself of everything you taught me.”
“Aw,” Reeve says, cocking his head to the side. “Look at that,
swimming brought us together.” Quickly he adds, “As friends.”
Another awkward silence. “Yup, totally!” I say. “Thank you
so much.”
Reeve hands me my towel from the bleacher bench. “Don’t
mention it,” he says. “Are you gonna go to the library today?”
I shake my head. “No, I have to be somewhere.” I’m meeting
Kat and Mary in the girls’ room at five.
“Ah, okay.” He sounds disappointed, which makes me feel
warm inside. He reaches out and gives my wet ponytail a playful tug. “Good job, Cho.”
“Thanks, Coach.”
CHAP
TER F
OR
T
Y

“Hey, hey, girl,” Kat says. She tosses her backpack on the
floor and plops down on it. “How was your Thanksgiving?”
“Umm . . . not great.” I pick some lint off my sweater. “My
parents didn’t come.”
“Damn.”
“Yup,” I say, and let the
P
pop. “It pretty much sucked.”
The door suddenly bursts open and Lillia comes running in.
“I did it!” she screams. “I passed my swimming test!”
I clap my hands and Kat whoops. “Way to go, Lil!”
She’s practically hopping up and down she’s so excited. “I
was so nervous up there on the diving block, but then I did
it—I jumped right in! I mean, it took me twice as long as everybody else, but I did it. And treading water was the easiest part,
too.” She stands in front of the mirror and takes her wet hair
out of the ponytail holder. “Reeve came to cheer me on. I was
totally surprised.” She fishes around in her bag and pulls out an
ivory-colored comb and starts combing her hair. “Actually . . .
Reeve might have mentioned you the other day, Mary.”
I’m stunned. “Really?” Wow. Just . . . wow.
Kat’s picking at the soles of her combat boots with a pen, and
her head snaps up. “What did he say?” she asks, skeptically.
The comb in Lillia’s hand stills. “It was right before the
break. He found out he can’t play football next year. His leg
hasn’t healed fast enough.” I don’t take my eyes off her; I’m
hanging on her every word, not even breathing. “He was crying; he was upset. And then he said that he deserved it. He said
he had it coming. He said that a long time ago, he hurt a girl
really badly and he’s never forgotten about it. He said it was
almost a relief that he was finally paying for what he did.” She
turns around and faces us. “I believed him, you guys.”
He never forgot me? This whole time he’s been thinking
about me and how sorry he is? Oh. My. God.
“You don’t know that he was talking about Mary,” Kat
objects. “Did he say her name? Did he say what he did to her?
What she did to herself?”
Lillia hesitates. “Well . . . no. I guess not. That’s why I didn’t
say anything. I wasn’t sure.”
“He’s dicked over like ninety-nine percent of the girls in this
school,” Kat says, her arms crossed. “He could have been talking about anyone.”
Lillia’s shaking her head. “Guys, if you’d been there, if you’d
seen the look on his face, you would have believed him too.
Whoever he was talking about, he was sincere. There was genuine remorse. I honestly think he’s sorry.”
Kat jumps up off the floor. “Eff that! Even if he was talking
about Mary, who cares if he’s sorry now? It’s too late. Sorry
doesn’t count for shit. Also don’t forget, like, three weeks ago
he had a chance to tell her how sorry he was to her face and
instead he told her to go fuck herself! He wants to look good
in front of you, Lil. He doesn’t care about Mary.”
My eyes well up. Kat’s right. I won’t be fooled by Reeve
Tabatsky again.
Lillia sighs. “I’m sorry I even brought it up.”
“I don’t trust him,” I say, and my voice comes out thin and
watery. “Lil, I know you said things are going good with you
two, but on Thanksgiving night I saw him at the movies with
Rennie. It seemed like they were on a date.”
“Don’t worry about that,” Lillia assures me. “He only hung
out with her because I couldn’t get out of the house. He texted
me first.”
Kat cracks her knuckles. “Even if Ren’s sloppy seconds,
she’s still a threat. The girl is like a pit bull when she wants
something. We should seal this deal sooner than later.”
Lillia frowns. “Seal the deal? What does that even mean?”
“You guys have been hanging around each other for almost a
month now, swimming and studying and shit, but you haven’t
done
anything. Like, he hasn’t made any actual moves on you
yet, right?”
“Right . . . ,” Lillia says. “But it’s not like we ever decided
what I’m supposed to do. ‘Break his heart’ is kind of abstract.
I want a plan, something with a concrete end game for me to
execute. I don’t want to be dragging this on for another three
months.”
Kat’s nodding. “Okay, okay, so I think it’s a three-step plan.
You’ve definitely baited the hook, but I’m not sure Reeve’s bitten. So, step one is you guys need a hot French.”
Lillia looks aghast. “French? Like in French kiss?”
Kat laughs. “Come on. Haven’t you ever French-kissed
someone you didn’t like? Close your eyes and pretend he’s
someone else.”
Lillia bites her lip. “I guess . . .”
“Maybe you could do it at the tree-lighting ceremony,” I say.
“I’ll be there, singing with the chorus. Alex Lind, too. He got a
solo. It’s next Tuesday night.”
“He did?” Kat looks surprised. It’s nice to have news to share
with the group for once, to know something they don’t.
“He’s going to be doing ‘Baby, It’s Cold Outside,’” I tell her.
“He has a great voice. And he’s playing his guitar, too.”
Kat smiles to herself. “Nice.”
“Lindy must be so happy. But why didn’t he say anything?”
Lillia pouts her lips and puts on some ChapStick. “You know
what, I’m going to get the whole group together to watch him
sing. And plus, I want to see you sing too, Mary.”
“I don’t have a solo or anything,” I say. “But it’ll be nice
having someone in the audience there for me.” There’s no way
Aunt Bette will go. Not that I even want her to.
Kat says, “Lil, this is perfect. Make your move on Reeve that
night. Boom.”
“Maybe,” Lillia says. “If Rennie’s not there.”
“I thought you said that was no problem.”
“She’s not. I—I just don’t want to do it right in front of her
face.” She digs her cell out of her purse. “Let me text Reeve,
make sure he can come.”
We crowd around her as she texts,
Thanks again for coming
today, Coach. Do you want to go to the tree lighting on Tues?
Lindy is singing a solo, we can surprise him!
He writes back right away.
Yeah, let’s do it. Hey. Are we still
studying on Sat?
As she reads it, Kat wiggles her eyebrows at me, and I smile.
“Boom. Then you’re on to step two.”
“Which is . . .”
“Make Reeve think you’re his girlfriend through Christmas.
Be all cozy and shit so he buys you a present. Then we’ll know
for sure that he sees you as girlfriend material.”
“Do you think he would?”
I think of that day, when Reeve gave me my daisy necklace.
How happy it made me. “Yeah,” I say. “I bet he will get you
something.”
Lillia chews on her nail. “Well, what’s step three?”
Kat’s about to open her mouth, but I beat her to it. “New
Year’s Eve. You leave him hanging at midnight.”
“Ah.”
Kat waves her hands. “Ooh! I know! You could kiss someone else at midnight!”
Glaring, Lillia shakes her head at her. “I’m not a slut.”
Kat backs off. “Okay, okay. Then leave him high and dry like
Mary said.”
Lillia thinks it over. And she starts nodding, slowly. “Okay.
Good. And then, January first, I’m done. New year, new
start.”
“Yup. Done.” Kat high-fives her for emphasis, and she’s
about to high-five me when a girl I don’t recognize steps into
the bathroom. Kat’s arm drops and I hurry out before the door
slams shut. As I leave, Kat goes into a stall to pee, and Lillia
leans over the sink and finishes putting on her makeup.
I’m about halfway down the hall when something tells me to
go back. I don’t know why; it’s just a feeling. So I do. I go back
to the bathroom door and press my ear close.
“Did you know her parents didn’t even come to Thanksgiving?
They were supposed to and then they changed their minds.”
Kat. Whispering. About me.
Lillia gasps. “That’s horrible. Poor thing.”
“Shit with her aunt sounds crazy too. If she’s not locked up
in the attic, she’s berating Mary. And have you driven past her
house lately? Thing is practically falling down. I don’t know if
she should be living there anymore.”
“Should we try to call her parents or something? Tell them
what’s going on?”
“But that’s the thing. We don’t even know what’s going on.”
Kat lets out a long sigh. “I doubt Mary’s giving us the full picture of how bad things are. Probably because she doesn’t want
us to worry. Something is definitely going on with her.”
“Maybe we could get her to talk to someone. Like a counselor.”
“Yeah. We probably should. It’s up to us to take care of her.
No one else is.”
I run from the bathroom. I know the conversation is them
being good friends, but I hate the idea of them talking about me
behind my back. And I can’t have anyone, not school, not Lillia
and Kat, talking to Aunt Bette. Because Aunt Bette knows my
secret. And no one else can.
CHAP
TER F
OR
T
Y -ONE