Fire with Fire (Burn for Burn 2)

Each time our eyes met, I’d touch the daisy pendant necklace he’d given me for my birthday, smile, and wait for him to figure out who I was. Meanwhile the teachers would be watching Reeve act more and more crazy. They’d sense that something was off. And as he realized who I was, they’d haul his butt off to the principal’s office and he’d get the punishment he deserved.

Only that wasn’t what happened. Not even close.

Reeve knew who I was as soon as he laid eyes on me. Despite all the ways I’ve changed since seventh grade, he saw the fat girl who’d been dumb enough to believe he was her friend. Reeve saw Big Easy. Hearing him say it knocked the wind out of me, the same way it had when he’d pushed me into the dark, cold water. I’d only ever be one thing to him. Nothing but that. I was so angry. So hurt. And I snapped.

I can hear Aunt Bette breathing shallow breaths a few steps away from my bed. “Was it . . .”

I roll back toward her. “Was it what?” It comes out so mean, but I can’t help it. Can’t she tell I’m not in the mood to talk?

Aunt Bette’s eyes are wide. “Nothing,” she says, and backs out the room.

She’s scared of me. And the truth is, I’m scared of me too.

I can’t deal. So I get up, wrap a sweater around my nightgown, slip on my sneakers, and creep out the back door.

I walk down to Main Street and head toward the cliffs. There’s a big one I used to love to look out from, because you could see for miles.

But tonight there’s nothing but blackness beyond the cliff. Blackness and quiet, like the edge of the world. I shuffle my feet until the tips of my shoes hang over the rock. Some gravel tumbles over the edge, but I never hear it hit the water. The fall goes on forever.

Instead I hear Reeve whisper to me at the homecoming dance. Big Easy. Like an echo, over and over and over.

I ball my fists, fighting to push the memory of what happened next out of my head. But it doesn’t work. It never works.

I remember the other times too. Like when Rennie fell off the cheering pyramid. Did I make that happen? Or did she slip?

Same with the locker doors that slammed closed all at once. Could it have been the wind? Or was it me?

If it was me, how did I do it? Was it telekinesis? Telepathy? Some kind of power transference?

The scary thing is . . . I don’t know. And if I don’t know what it is, how am I supposed to know how to control it, so it won’t happen again?

A cloud pulls away from the moon, like a curtain in a play. Light reflects off the wet rock and makes everything glisten. I catch the caps of waves rippling against a cove down below. Above it there’s a ledge where a couple of beer bottles lie empty in a pile. There’s some graffiti, too. And the ashy remains of a small campfire. Someone else was looking for a place to hide.

I didn’t go to school today. Truthfully, I don’t know if I’ll ever go back.

It takes me a minute to figure out how to get down to the landing. But then I trace a path where the rocks stagger down the side of the cliff in crooked stairs. When I was a kid, I’d scamper along the rocks in bare feet, searching the pools for hermit crabs or seashells, without any fear of falling. Tonight I feel clumsy, stiff, unsteady. I pat around with shaky hands for places to hold on, but everything is slick and cold. But I manage to scamper all the way down. The waves in the cove are still a good bit below me, and they beat against the rock and fill the air with mist.

If only I could talk to Kat and Lillia. But what would I say, exactly? That I’ve got some kind of power? That the strangest things are happening to me and I don’t know why?

They’d think I was crazy. That it’s all in my head. They’d show me the article from the Jar Island newspaper, how the inspectors determined it was an electrical fire. An electrical upgrade had been in the works for a long time, but our principal was more interested in getting the swimming pool redone. He’s probably going to be fired for it.

But I don’t care about that guy. I care about Reeve. He’s the only thing I care about.

That’s how truly, truly pathetic I am.

Suddenly there’s a gust of wind and a splash of water. It nearly knocks me over the edge. I fall to my knees and crawl backward to the path, my heart in my throat.

And that’s the real reason I can’t talk to Kat and Lillia. Because I’ve got an even bigger, more shameful secret than what may or may not be going on inside me.

I love Reeve.

I love him in spite of everything he did to me. I love him even while I hate him. I don’t know how to stop.

And the worst part is that I don’t even know if I want to.

CHAPTER ONE

When the Monday morning sun streams through my window, something tells me to get out of bed instead of rolling over toward the wall like I’ve been doing for the past week. It’s funny. I’ve known I should go back to school for a while, but I couldn’t quite muster up the energy to make it happen. So I stayed in bed.

But today feels different. I’m not sure why. It’s just a feeling I have. Like I need to be there.

I braid my hair and put on my corduroy jumper, a button-up shirt, and a cardigan sweater. Sure, I’m nervous about seeing Reeve; I’m nervous about . . . something bad happening again. And I don’t want to think about how much schoolwork I’ve missed. I haven’t even tried to keep up with my assignments. My books, all my notebooks, have stayed zipped away in my backpack, untouched, in the corner of my room. I pick it up by one strap and hoist it over my shoulder. I can’t worry about how I’ll catch up right now. I’ll figure something out.

But when I put my hand on my doorknob and try to turn it, it won’t budge.

This happens a lot in our old house. Especially in the summer, when the wood swells up with the humidity. The doors are original and the hardware is too. It’s a big glass doorknob with a brass metal plate and room for a skeleton key. You can’t even buy that stuff at the store anymore.

It usually takes a little jiggling to get it to work, but I try that and it still won’t move.

“Aunt Bette?” I call out. “Aunt Bette?”

I give the door another try. This time a much harder shake. And then I start to panic. “Aunt Bette! Help!”

Finally I hear her coming up the stairs.

“Something’s wrong with the door,” I say, breathless. “It won’t open.” I give it another shake, to show her. And then, when I don’t hear anything happen on the other side, I sink down to my knees and press my face up to the keyhole, to make sure she’s still standing out there. She is. I can see her long, crinkly maroon skirt. “Aunt Bette! Please!”