Burn for Burn (11 page)

Because I work at the club, I get to park my boat for free. But not here with these boats, obviously. Mine’s tied up back behind the gas pumps on an older stretch of dock where my boss keeps his junkers, the broken old boats he’s bought cheap to strip for parts.

“Be careful,” I tell them. “The planks along this dock are half-rotted, and there’s lots of rusted nail heads poking up through the cracks. I think I still have a splinter stuck in my heel. This jerk pulled his yacht in too fast and made a wake so big that it rocked me right off my boat.”

“That sucks,” Mary says.

I nod. “And he barely even said sorry. Rich people never say sorry.”

Lillia rolls her eyes but keeps her mouth shut.

I take the tarp off my Catalina daysailer, fold it up, and put it in the hatch. It’s been a while since I’ve had it out on the water. Maybe not even since June, which is crazy. But the thing is, Alex and I would always hang out on his boat, because it had a fridge to keep our drinks cool and leather bucket seats that reclined, and an amazing stereo system. For some weird reason I feel guilty about this. About forgetting who I was before I met him. The things that used to be important to me. Fixing up my boat, hanging out with my real friends. I never thought I’d be one of those girls, those girls that compromise who they are just for a guy. Especially some two-timing wannabe player like Alex Lind.

“Get in,” I say, hooking my floodlight up to the battery. It sends a bright beam out through the night, lighting up the caps of the waves. Perfect.

Lillia takes one step on board and freezes as the boat sways. Then she hops off like a scared bunny rabbit. She almost backs right into Mary, who looks nervous too. Crossing her arms, Lillia says, “Let’s just talk out here.”

Laughing, I say, “I’ve been sailing ever since I was old enough to turn the steering wheel on my own, for God’s sakes! I feel safer driving this than a car.”

“I said I’m not getting on that thing,” Lillia snaps. “Either we talk out here or I leave.”

Under my breath I mutter “Diva,” unhook my floodlight, and then join them on the dock.

The three of us sit in a semicircle.

It hits me right then that I’ve already won. Because Rennie’s best friend is sitting here right now, pledging to help me take her down. And Alex is going to get his, too. I could give two shits about Reeve, but it’ll be nice to see him get what’s coming to him. It’s like a freaking three-for-one deal.

I stretch my legs out in front of me. “We’ve got to set some ground rules. First off, I think each of us has to participate in all three acts of revenge. That way no one can back out or blame someone else.”

“Obviously,” Lillia says.

I shoot her a look but keep going. “Second, we can’t be seen talking to each other in public. Ever.”

Mary nods. “Yeah. I guess that makes sense.”

I continue, “In fact, I even think texting each other is too risky. Lillia, what if Rennie picked up your phone and saw my number?”

Lillia looks down at her lap. “Not that Rennie’s, like, snooping around on my phone, but yeah, I guess you have a point. We’re going to have to be careful.”

“We have to be
more
than careful,” I say. “No one can ever know what we’re up to. What we do together lives and dies with us.” Then I clear my throat, because this is the most important part. “And if we’re really going to do this, no one can bail halfway through. If you’re in, you need to be in until the very end. Until we all get what we want. If not, well . . . consider yourself fair game. It’ll be open season, and we’ll have a hell of a lot of ammo to use against you. If you can’t swear to that, we might as well just pretend like tonight never happened.”

Mary nods first, then Lillia. I smile, because, holy shit, we’re doing this.

“All right, then,” I say. “I think that’s it. Now we just have to figure out what we’re going to do to Rennie, Alex, and Reeve.”

“Alex first,” Lillia corrects.

We look at each other. No one’s saying anything.

“So what’s the plan?” Lillia asks.

“Don’t expect me to do the heavy lifting,” I say, defensive. “I just came up with the rules!”

Lillia purses her lips. “Are you serious? I thought you’d be all over this. I figured you’d already have, like, a notebook with everybody you hate and lists of things you’ll do to get back at them.” She actually sounds disappointed, which gives me a weird sense of pride.

Off the top of my head, I start riffing. “Okay, well, Alex is obsessed with his SUV. We could spray paint it, mess with the engine—”

“Not big enough,” Lillia interrupts.

Mary asks, “Does he have a pet or something? We could kidnap it . . . and kill it!” Lillia and I exchange a horrified look as Mary giggles. “I’m just kidding about that last part. I love animals!”

I keep going. “We could hack into the school computer and mess with his grades. Make it so the only college that will take him is Jar Island CC. His dad will beat his ass if he doesn’t get into an Ivy.”

Lillia sighs and says, “I don’t know how to hack into anything, and I doubt you do either, Kat. Do you, Mary?”

Mary shakes her head.

“I think I have a better idea,” Lillia says. I start to bristle, but she goes on. “I want to make it so no Jar Island girl will ever hook up with Alex Lind again. So . . . how do we make that happen?” There’s something about the way Lillia says it. Leaning forward in the dark, her eyes are wide open and calm. She means business.

“Hell yeah!” I clap my hands. I can’t help myself.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

LILLIA

A
FTER CHEER PRACTICE ON
F
RIDAY,
R
ENNIE LOOPS HER
arm through mine as we walk together through the parking lot. “So, what do you want to do tonight?”

“Oh, you aren’t working?” I’d figured she was. I’d hoped she was.

Rennie shakes her head. “Terri said she’d switch with me. I want to do something fun!” She says this last part in her baby voice.

“Hmm,” I say, pretending to think. But I just want to go home, lie on my bed, and dream up more stuff to do to Alex. I kept zoning out in class, imagining how amazing it will feel when we start messing with him. It’s, like, therapeutic. I haven’t been this happy since . . . well . . . for a while.

During lunch yesterday Rennie noticed me smiling to myself and asked, “What’re you all smiley about?” I almost choked on my chicken wrap. I’ve never had to keep a secret this big before. When my mom planned a surprise fiftieth birthday party for my dad, I worried so much I’d spill the beans that I had a stomachache for two weeks. When my dad tucked me in at night, I would be thinking,
Don’t say anything, Don’t say anything.
I had this fear that it would just come out because I was concentrating so hard on keeping it to myself.

But I managed to pull it off. I told Rennie I was thinking about where we’d take our graduation trip to in May. That’s always been our plan. Go somewhere together, just her and me. I said, “Fiji could be awesome. Or the Maldives.”

I’m never going to look at Rennie the same way again, but in a way I’m glad not to have to do anything about that just yet. My true beef is with Alex, and that’s where I’m focusing all my attention.

Part of me—the nostalgic part, I guess—wishes I could tell Rennie what I’m up to. She’d get a big kick out of what we’re doing. I bet she’d think of lots of sick, twisted things we could do to Alex, things I’d never come up with in a million years. But of course I can’t say anything. Because when we’re done with Alex, Rennie’s next.

For now I just need to keep playing it cool. The more normal I seem to everyone, the less they’ll suspect that I’m behind anything. That is essential. No one can find out. Ever.

Rennie asks, “You want to come eat dinner over at my house, and we can figure it out there?”

I smile and say, “Totally.”

I leave my car in the school parking lot, and Rennie drives us to her condo in the Jeep. Her complex is called The Gulls, and the sign is lit up by spotlights. The front entrance is nicely manicured, with flowers and some big bushes of sea grass. But when you pass that and get to the gate, it’s a lot less nice. You used to have to punch a code to get in, but the gate has been broken all summer. It’s tied open with rope. Ever since there were a few break-ins at The Gulls last spring, my dad doesn’t like me coming here.

“Someone should fix that gate,” I say as we drive through. I dig a grape lollipop out of my purse and unwrap it. Then I offer it to Rennie for first lick. She shakes her head and I add, “It’s not safe. Anyone could just come in.”

Rennie shrugs. “The management here sucks. Remember how long it took us to get the shower fixed? Mom’s been talking about moving off island again once this year is over.”

I stop sucking on my lollipop. “Seriously?”

“Hello! She wanted to move us last spring, when they raised our rent.”

I remember. We cried and begged Ms. Holtz to change her mind. We even came up with a plan for Rennie to live with me for senior year. Ms. Holtz finally gave in when she saw how dead set Rennie was on staying.

“Anyway, now she’s dating some guy on the mainland. Rick the restauranteur.” Rennie makes a face. “He owns a sub shop or something tacky like that. My mom’s there, like, every weekend, and she’s spending a fortune on ferry tickets. And she’s been looking into a real estate class. I bet she breaks her lease on the gallery before June.”

“Your mom loves the gallery too much to let it go.”

“She does love it, but things have been super-tight lately,” Rennie says. “Don’t forget I just turned eighteen. That was the end of child support checks from my DBD.”

I stay quiet. I never quite know what to say when Rennie brings up her dad. He left when she was three, and she’s only seen him twice since then. He used to call on her birthday, but not since he got remarried and had kids. Now he’s out in Arizona someplace. Rennie hardly ever talks about him, and when she does, she calls him her DBD—deadbeat dad.

She sighs. “It’s just crazy that when we’re both on Thanksgiving break from college next year, we won’t be living ten minutes away from each other. There’ll be an ocean between us.”

“You’re not moving to another country,” I point out, relieved she’s not talking about money or her dad anymore. “The ferry ride is no big deal.”

“It’s a huge deal, and you know it,” Rennie says. “Everything will change.”

I was thinking about this even before things got so messed up between us. When we go away to college, we’ll drift apart. We won’t need each other so much anymore. Maybe that’s a good thing. If Rennie’s not home for breaks, it will just make it easier.

In the complex there are three identical buildings positioned around a small pool in the center courtyard. We walk around it on our way to the front door of Rennie’s building. As long as Rennie’s lived here, I’ve never gone into the pool. It feels weird, to swim in front of a hundred people’s kitchen windows. And my pool is, like, three times the size. So we always just swim at my house.

Rennie’s fumbling for her keys when the door to her condo swings open. Ms. Holtz has her hair blown out smooth, and she’s in a gray and white wrap dress, a big chunky beaded necklace, and silver hoop earrings. “How do I look?” She does a spin.

“Cute!” Rennie squints. “But you need different lipstick. Something brighter.”

“And I think the tag is still on,” I say. I go to the silverware drawer, get the scissors, and clip it for her.

“I should tell your mom about this shop, Lillia,” Ms. Holtz says. “It’s full of deals on designer clothes. Check the tag. This is a five-hundred-dollar Diane von Furstenberg dress that I got for sixty bucks!”

Rennie groans. “I already told you, Mom. That print is, like, from two years ago. Right, Lil?”

“I’m not sure,” I say, even though Rennie’s right. My mom has it in the blouse version. She doesn’t wear it anymore, though. “It looks great on you.”

“Thanks, hon.” Ms. Holtz spins me toward her and gives two air kisses, one on each of my cheeks. “Hey! You girls should stop by the gallery tonight. I’m showing an amazing local artist who makes stained glass representations of water.” I guess neither Rennie or I look that excited about that, because she adds, “I’ll let you two drink some wine if you promise to stay hidden in the back room.”

“Maybe,” Rennie says, but she gives me a secret look that says
No way
. The booze isn’t even a pull. First off, wine is gross. Second, Rennie has at least three bottles of vanilla vodka hidden under her bed. She gets them from the bartenders at Bow Tie.

Ms. Holtz orders us a pizza—half mushroom and onion for Rennie, half cheese for me. Rennie and I go into her room to do our nails while we wait. I pick Ballet Slipper. It’s light pink, so pale that it’s almost white. Rennie picks Cha Cha, a fiery orange. When her nails dry, she goes to take a shower. I flop onto her bed.

An entire wall of Rennie’s room is dedicated to our friendship. There are pictures of Ashlin and Reeve and everybody, but it’s mostly us. We are at the center of it all. The strip of pictures we took in a photo booth at the fair one year, a subway card from when my mom took us to New York for my fourteenth birthday. The Broadway Playbill from the same trip. I feel sad looking at it. Like the memories are from a long, long time ago.

Ms. Holtz sticks her head in the door. “Pizza’s here, Lil.”

“Okay,” I say, and beam her a big cheerful smile. “Thanks, Paige.” I feel a little weird calling Rennie’s mom Paige, but she always insists.

Instead of leaving she slouches against the doorway. “I’m so glad you came over tonight. It’s funny I was just saying to Ren this morning, ‘I haven’t seen my Lillia in forever!’” It’s been a week, which wouldn’t be strange, except Rennie and I practically live together, we hang out that much. There’s a pause, and I’m not sure if Ms. Holtz expects me to explain. But then she says with a funny laugh, “Don’t look so scared, honey! I’m not mad at you! I know how busy you girls get with school and cheering.”

I nod, like that’s the reason exactly.

“You know I love you. You’re my favorite of all Rennie’s friends, hon. I just want you girls to always stay close.”