Fire with Fire (Burn for Burn #2)

Fire with Fire (Burn for Burn #2) Page 25

“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.”

CHAPTER 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.

The driver’s-side window dips down.

“Hey, punk rocker.” 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.”