Fire with Fire (Burn for Burn 2)

I reach out and touch his arm. His shirt is so unbelievably soft, and I feel his bicep underneath. It’s big and tight and cut, probably from the weeks he’s spent on crutches. I say, “I’m so sorry you got hurt at the dance.” And despite everything Reeve did to me, it feels good to apologize. Because I truly did not mean for him to be hurt so bad that his whole life might be screwed up.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Shit happens, you know?”

“Yup,” I say, nodding, because it is true. “Shit happens.” It happens to all of us.

There’s an awkward second, where neither of us knows what to say. Reeve rustles his hand through his hair. “I should go find my friends. Hope you make it out of here alive.” He positions his crutches and goes to take a step forward, but I shift my body so he can’t. It gives me a surge of adrenaline.

Put myself out there. That was Kat’s advice.

What do I have to lose?

“It’s, um, been a long time, huh?” The words get kind of caught up in my throat.

Reeve’s head falls slightly to the side. “Yeah . . .”

The wind picks up and blows my hair around. I tuck as much as I can behind my ears. “I’ve always wondered if you ever thought about what happened.” Reeve lets out an awkward laugh and then blinks a few times. I can’t tell if he’s embarrassed or blindsided. “If you felt bad about what you did. I hoped so, anyway.”

And then I hold my breath, because it’s the perfect opening. I’m giving him the best shot to apologize to me, to finally take responsibility for his actions. To make things right between us, once and for all.

Reeve’s eyes narrow in confusion. He’s trying to place me.

Which throws me off. Sure, I’m wearing a Halloween costume, but it’s weird. It took him five seconds to call me Big Easy at the dance. Does he really not recognize me now?

“I mean, calling someone Big Easy? Making everyone at Montessori hate them? I know people say middle school is the worst, but you took the cake on that one.” Reeve’s whole body stiffens, and he stares at me hard, this time with cold eyes. I feel him peeling back the layers I’ve got on. The makeup, the pink hair extensions, the crazy outfit, until I’m stripped clean to the bone. I’m shaking. Shaking like a leaf in the wind. “Aren’t you sorry? Even a little bit?”

He wets his lips and growls, “Go f**k yourself.” The three words come out like they are sentences. Punches.

Tears fill my eyes, and I worry my legs might give out underneath me, as Reeve pushes past me and down the long corridor.

“I’m sorry,” I call after him. I don’t even know why. But I immediately hate myself for saying it. Twice. Because those are the words I deserve to hear. Not him. Only I’ll never get an apology from Reeve, because he isn’t sorry.

Not one little bit.

And then I feel it coming. A tidal wave. A tsunami. The surge inside of me. Anger, sadness. Like on homecoming night. I close my eyes, but I don’t see darkness. I see the hay maze lighting up, walls of fire penning in all these people.

Oh God, oh God.

I have to get out of here before I explode.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

I’ve got my back pressed up against a wall of hay bales, and the sticks are pricking through my nun habit. It’s a dead-end part of the maze, but I don’t care. I’m hiding out here so no ghouls or zombies or whatever can get me from behind. Every so often, I crane my neck and peer around the corner and keep my eyes peeled for Mary.

Obviously I’d find her faster if I actually looked for her, but I’m not moving from this spot. Mary can come to me. I didn’t pay thirty dollars to die of a heart attack in this damn maze.

I hope she’s having fun. Kid deserves to have a good time. I’m glad that little doofus was trying his pathetic best to chat Mary up while we were in line. She could use a boost to her selfesteem, big time. Sure, I’m no guidance counselor, but Mary needs to realize that she’s not the girl she used to be.

A pack of people creep past the alley where I’m hiding out. A girl in a ballerina costume breaks off from the group and heads toward me, walking cautiously on her tiptoes. She’s got on a pink leotard, pink tutu, pink everything. Of course it’s Lillia.

“Lil,” I say, stepping out of the shadows. She jumps and screams a horror-movie scream, but she’s smiling, too. Scaredy-cat Lillia loves this stuff—who’d have known? She must think I’m one of the workers, because she’s about to run away, back to her friends. But then I say her name again and she stops cold. It takes her another second to recognize me, I guess because of my costume.

“Kat! Oh my God! Is that you under there?” “Taketh not the Lord’s name in vain!” I say in a booming voice.

She giggles. “Where’s Mary? She was coming with you, right?”

I nod. “Wait till you see her costume. She looks amazing.” As I say it, I realize that I wish it were the three of us hanging out together tonight. But I push the thought out of my mind, because it doesn’t make sense to feel sad about something you can’t do shit about. I quick change the subject. “Did everything go okay at the elementary school tonight?”

“It was fine. I think the kids had fun. The parents were happy.”

“Cool.” I felt bad, seeing how stressed Lillia was all week. “Hey. You know, I would have come and helped. But you didn’t say anything, so—” Her cheeks get flush, so I back off. “I’m not upset or anything,” I clarify. “I mean . . .” I don’t know what I mean. I’m babbling.

“Don’t worry. It all worked out. I didn’t think to ask you, though. I know it’s not your thing. But thanks for offering to help”—she smirks—“when it’s too late to actually, you know, help.”

I touch a finger to her shoulder and make a sizzle sound. “Nice zinger, Lil. I like how I’m rubbing off on you.”

She looks like she’s about to make another joke at my expense when we hear Reeve say, “Shit!”

His voice sounds like it’s coming from the other side of the hay wall.

We both roll our eyes, because Reeve’s such a douche, but then there’s Mary’s voice, all tiny and small and Mary-like.

“I . . . I didn’t see you.”

In half a second, Lillia and I both have our ears up to the wall, listening.

She whispers to me, “Mary’s talking to him.”