The Complete Burn for Burn Trilogy: Burn for Burn; Fire With Fire; Ashes to Ashes (55 page)

“No way,” Reeve says confidently. “It’s definitely menswear.
It just has a sleeker cut.”
I come up behind and get on my toes to check the label. Ann
Taylor. “You’re right,” I say, trying not to smile. “Menswear.”
Reeve gives me a suspicious look and takes off the jacket.
When he reads the label, he exclaims, “Ann Taylor! My mom
shops there.” He tosses the jacket to me and I put it back on
the hanger. “If I can’t find anything else, I guess it’ll work. The
man makes the clothes; the clothes don’t make the man.”
I shake my head at him in mock wonder. “I can’t even believe
how cocky you are.” I’m giving him a hard time, but the truth
is, it’s nice to see him acting like his old self. I hand him a gray
checked vest with buttons down the front. “You could wear this
with a dress shirt and a tie.”
He unbuttons it and tries it on over his shirt. “Not bad,”
Reeve says, checking himself out.
He does look handsome. Very
GQ
. I take a gray fedora off
the hat rack and place it on his head. “Now you look perfect,”
I tell him, tilting it just so. “Very jaunty. Very Gatsby-esque.”
His cheeks are smooth; he shaved this morning. And he smells
good—not like he doused himself in cologne, but clean, like
Irish Spring soap.
“Cool, I’ll get it,” Reeve says. I can tell he’s pleased. He looks
at himself in the mirror one last time, and then he takes the hat
off and puts it on my head. He’s looking down at me, and then
he gives my side braid a tug, and I have this strong feeling that
he’s about to kiss me.
But behind Reeve, across the store, I spot two girls and a guy
from our high school picking through the racks. They’re drama
kids, probably looking for costumes or something. I don’t know
their names, but I bet they know who Reeve and I are. And if
they spotted us kissing, that kind of juicy gossip would be all
over the school in a heartbeat.
Suddenly I feel dizzy. I take a quick step back and then dart
away from him and head up to the register. Reeve follows,
and I tell the girl at the counter, “We’ll take the fedora and
the vest.”
Then Reeve pays, and we walk back toward his truck. The
sun is bright out, but it’s cold. I tighten the scarf around my
neck. I’m about to hop into the passenger side of the truck when
Reeve clears his throat and says, “Would you want to come to
my family’s open house?”
“What’s an open house?” Is he
moving
?
“It’s a thing my parents do every December,” Reeve explains.
“My mom cooks a bunch of food, and people stop by all day.
Mostly family and neighbors. It’ll be, like, my brothers and
their girlfriends and my cousins. We watch football and decorate the tree, hang lights on the garage, nothing special.”
I wet my lips nervously. “When is it?”
“This Sunday. Drop by whenever. We’ll be around all day.”
“Okay,” I say. I’ve known Reeve for years, and I don’t
remember him ever mentioning an open house. I can’t believe
he’s actually inviting me. It’s really sweet. But it’s also really
real. Like, hanging out with his mom and dad and brothers and their girlfriends? That’s something only a girlfriend
would do.
Which I guess is a good thing.
Reeve’s face breaks into a relieved smile. “Yeah? Okay, cool.
You can stop by whenever. I mean, people start coming in the
morning, and my mom makes these kick-ass sweet rolls, so
maybe come around ten before my brothers eat them all.”
“Cool,” I echo.
He looks so happy that I wonder if maybe he’ll try to kiss
me again.
Reeve opens the passenger-side door for me, and I climb in,
my scarf trailing behind me. Before he shuts the door, he picks
up the end of my scarf so it won’t get caught in the door, and
he winds it around my neck. Then he runs around the other
side and starts the car and turns the heater on. “It’ll get warm
pretty fast,” he tells me, and I nod. I have to keep telling myself
that none of this is real; it’s all going to be over soon. I can’t let
myself get swept away because I have feelings for him. I
can’t
have feelings for him. I have to control it.
Reeve pulls up in front of my house, and before I get out,
he says, “Everything’s set with the kegs. I’m going to pick
them up tomorrow after school. I can grab the pizzas, too.”
Surprised, I say, “Oh, thanks, but Alex said he’d pick them up.”
“I’ll do it. It’s on my way.”
“Okay. Thank you. I’ll give the pizza place my credit card
number when I place the order tomorrow.”
Reeve gives me a weird look and says, “I can afford a couple
of pizzas, Cho.”
Great, now I’ve offended him. I’m trying to think of what to
say to make it less awkward, and then he goes, “I can come early
with everything and help you get set up, if you want.”
I look at him out of the corner of my eye. “People are going
to notice, you know.”
Reeve shrugs. “What?”
“Come on, Reeve. I’m just saying that if we want things to
stay, you know, between us, we should probably be more discreet.”
Reeve reaches out and tucks some of my hair behind my ear.
“We’re not going to be able to hide this forever.”
“I know that. But we can’t, like, throw it in everyone’s faces
either. People will get upset.”
He rubs his eyes. “I’m just going to do what feels right. If
people have a problem with that . . . well, then they can go to
hell.”
I nod. What else can we do? Then I go with what feels right to
me
at that very second. I lean across the center console and give
Reeve a peck on the cheek. I do it so quick I don’t get to see the
look on his face, and then I hop out and run to my front door.
I’m breathless and flushed by the time I run up the stairs and
to my room. I’m brushing my hair in front of my vanity when
Nadia steps inside in one of our dad’s big Harvard sweatshirts
and her fuzzy slippers. “Hey,” I say. “I thought you were going
to the barn.”
“I am, later.” She comes and sits on my bed and watches me,
her arms hugging her knees. “You look happy.”
“I do?”
“Yeah. Was that Reeve dropping you off?”
I notice something in her voice. A sharpness. “Yeah. A bunch
of us were hanging out downtown and he gave me a ride home
because he was on his way over to Alex’s.”
Nadia doesn’t say anything. She knows I’m lying. I know
I’m lying. And so the lie just sits there between us. Then she
says, “I saw you kiss him.”
“On the cheek!”
She shakes her head, looking at me like I am a stranger. “But
you know it’s not right. Whatever you’re doing with him, it’s
not right.”
“Why can’t it be right?” My voice sounds weak, desperate.
I hate that Nadia’s looking at me like that—like she’s
disappointed in me. Like I’ve disappointed her. “Because you
know how Rennie feels about him. He’s hers.”
“No, he’s not. She thinks he is, but he’s not.” I feel tears
spring to my eyes as I say, “I don’t even know how you can
defend her after the way she’s been treating me. Have you really
not noticed? It’s been almost two whole months of her ignoring
me in public, talking about me behind my back. And I know
you and all your friends have been making decorations and stuff
for her New Year’s Eve party. How is that supposed to make me
feel? You’re supposed to be on my side, Nadi. You’re
my
sister,
not hers.”
“It’s not about what she’s doing. It’s about what you’re
doing.” Nadia looks like she is about to cry too.
“Nadi,” I begin. I’m not sure what I can say to make this better. Before I can figure it out, my sister gets up and leaves. I call
out her name again, but she doesn’t come back.
CHAP
TER F
OR
T
Y -SEVEN

My Friday nights are getting less and
less exciting these days. Lillia’s having a big rager and I’m
sitting on the floor of the den, trying to untangle a knot of
holiday lights. It’s a pretty, glowing puzzle. Pat and Dad went
to buy us a Christmas tree from the YMCA with a coupon
from the newspaper. Pat was all, “I want one that smells piney.
Some of them don’t.” I put my hands on his shoulders and
said, “Tall and cheap, Pat. That’s your mission.”

It still feels weird to spend money on Christmas trees. Back
when Mom was alive, we’d go out “tree hunting.” That’s what
she called it, anyway. I think other people might use the word
“trespassing.”

After dinner, when the sun had set, the four of us would go for
a walk in the woods behind our house. Each of us would have a
flashlight. When we’d find a good tree, Dad and Pat would each
take a side of an old-timey handsaw, and they’d push it back and
forth. Mom and I would quietly cheer them on, mittens dulling
our applause, and sip hot cider from a thermos.

This was the only thing illegal my mom ever did. We’d drag
the tree back to the house, and the whole time we’d tease her
about it. Pat would get quiet and say in a whisper, “Judy! I
think I hear sirens!” and then he and I would bust up laughing. But Mom refused, she flat-out refused, to spend money
on a tree when the woods were full of them. Never mind
that the woods weren’t our property. They belonged to the
Preservation Society, bought in an effort to keep parts of Jar
Island undeveloped.

My cell buzzes on the coffee table. I reach over and click
open a text.

 

Can we talk? Please?

I feel my lip curl up, like I’ve tasted something sour. This is
the second time Rennie has reached out to me. First the daisy
in my locker, which was so beyond emotionally manipulative
I can’t even, and now this. I never responded to the daisy. I’ve
looked straight through her when I’ve seen her at school. And
I’m definitely not going to write back now. I mean, come on.
Why the eff would Rennie think that I’d want to open that door
again? It was barely a month ago that she was trying to start shit
with me at the Greasy Spoon.

I know why she’s doing it. She’s on the outs with Lillia. She’s
probably not even invited to the party tonight. If things were
okay between them, she’d never reach out to me. Um, yeah.
Thanks but no thanks, you witch.

Another text comes, before I can delete the first.

 

Pleeeease?

Why is she refusing to take the hint? The fact that she keeps
trying, even when I’ve blown her off . . . well, it’s making
me
feel
bad, which is total BS. Because I don’t owe her anything. She’s
the asshole. Not me. She needs to get that straight.

I write back.
Go fuck yourself.

 

I figure that’ll be the end of it. But she texts me back again,
almost immediately.

 

One coffee. Java Jone’s in ten minutes?

My jaw drops. Girl has serious balls.
There’s no way in HELL I’m meeting you at Java Jone’s!!!
My fingers tap the screen so hard I’m afraid I might break my
phone.
For all I know she could be planning some grand humiliation
of me à la Stephen King’s
Carrie
, complete with a bucket of
pig’s blood that’ll crash down on my head when I walk through
the door.

Fine. No coffee. Can I stop by your house? For five minutes?

Classic Rennie. She’ll browbeat you until she gets her way.
She pulled that shit all the time when we were kids. Once, Rennie
wanted permission to go to a midnight screening of a horror
movie that was rated R for being extra, extra gory. Paige said
no, but Rennie kept asking until the answer changed. Which, of
course, it did.

I write back, all caps,
DIE BITCH!!!!
Then I cram my cell between couch cushions, because I’m
over it. I’m over this damn knot of lights, too. It’s Pat’s fault;
he’s the one who chucks them in a bag every year instead of
wrapping them up carefully. I dig in the boxes, looking for our
tree topper. Instead I end up unwrapping the white porcelain
angel from a shell of newspaper. I use the sleeve of my black
sweater to dust the windowsill and then set it down. There’s a
place inside to put a candle, one of those tea lights that come
inside a metal cup, but we’ve never done that. I make a mental
note to buy some of those candles. I’m not even sure where we
got the angel, if it was ours from before or a gift after, but when
I see it, I always think of Judy.
The doorbell rings. Shep slides off the chair and barks his
way to the front door.
Oh no. No no no no.
I peek through the curtains and see a white Jeep in my driveway.
Hell no!
The doorbell rings again. And then there’s knocking.
Impatient knocking.
I stand a few feet from the front door and shout, “Get off my
property, Rennie!” through the wood. I wish Shep was a guard
dog that I could sic on her.
“Kat, come on. Please talk to me!”
I press my back against the door. She keeps knocking.
This is ridiculous. Rennie’s somehow found a way to make
me look like the idiot. The girl hiding inside, afraid to face down
her tormentor. I swear to God . . .
I pull the door open, hard.
“You have sixty seconds. Go.”
Rennie smiles shyly. She’s got on an olive-green sweater, dark
jeans, and some fringy suede Sherpa boots that look utterly
ridiculous. “Hey,” she says, casual.
I don’t say anything. I stand there and wait for her to start.
Except that Rennie doesn’t do anything but stare at me, like
she’s a person with amnesia, trying to remember who I am.
I burst out with “Say what you’ve got to say!” to get this
moving along.
She bites her lip and nods. “Kat,” she says, and then pauses to
take a big breath. “I’m sorry.” She raises her arms up like she’s
offering me something, I don’t know what, and then lets them
fall back limply to her sides.
I laugh, I can’t help it, and it makes a cloud in the cold air.
“That’s it? That’s what you came here for?”
She lets out a sigh, and it sounds almost annoyed, like I don’t
know how hard this is for her. “I know the people I hang out
with haven’t made things so easy for you. Lillia, Ashlin . . .”
“Don’t.” I shake my head. I’m shutting this shit down right
now. “Don’t you dare blame anyone else for what you’ve done
to me the last four years.” I don’t say it; I growl it.
Her eyes flutter, and then she stares at the ground. “I . . . I
. . .”
“Oh, come on.” I start pushing the door shut, because this is
ridiculous.
Rennie takes a step toward me and uses her foot to block the
door from closing. “Wait. Okay. Okay. I wish I could go back
to the first day of high school and do everything over. I wish I
could take it all back, Kat.”
“Well, you can’t,” I tell her. It’s way too late for that.
“I know I can’t. And that’s what sucks.”
I lean against the door. “You know what sucks? Your timing. I love that this apology is coming now, now when your
whole circle of friends is completely fucked up and you’ve got
nobody.” I’m practically screaming.
She blinks a few times.
“Everyone at school knows, Ren. You and your precious
little are on the outs.” I don’t know why I say that stuff about
Lillia. I’ve made my peace with her; I’ve forgiven her. We’re
cool now. But it’s like the anger is still inside me, somewhere,
for getting dropped. “You picked her over me, so why would
you think I’d give a flying fuck that she’s ditched you now?” I
laugh, and it sounds hollow, but I don’t care. “I love it! Karma,
baby!” I try closing the door again.
“Wait! Please, Kat. Just listen to me for a second. Lillia’s a
duplicitous bitch. It’s almost psycho, how two-faced she is. I just
never saw it before now!” Rennie looks so convinced, so sure of
herself. In her sick mind, Lillia’s clearly guilty of something.
I stare at her, mouth agape. “Don’t you get it, you little idiot?
There’s not an apology in the world that could make up for the
shit you’ve done.” I can feel my temperature rising, despite the
fact that I’m trying to keep cool. “All the lies you’ve told about
me. The teasing, the bullying. I never deserved that. I was your
friend. I never did anything to you.”
Rennie starts shaking. She wraps her arms around herself
tight, but it doesn’t make it stop. She stares down at her uglyass boots. “Fine. You’re right. You’re totally, totally right. I’m
getting everything I deserve.”
I don’t comfort her. Instead I say, “Eh, I’m not so sure about
that, Ren. I mean, I hope you
do
get what you deserve. I hope
things get a lot worse for you.”
The words leave a bad taste in my mouth. They are mean,
really really mean. Maybe too mean.
I think she’s going to look up and tell me to eff off. But she
doesn’t. She looks up, and she’s got tears in her eyes. She takes a
step backward, away from me. “Let me say one last thing, Kat.
For the rest of my life, I want you to know that I’ll be ashamed
for not being there for you when your mom got sick. I don’t
want you to go off to Oberlin or wherever, us never see each
other again, and you not know that.”
It’s hard to make words come out. My throat is so suddenly
tight. “Good. You should be ashamed.” I can feel my chin start
to shake.
Rennie sees this, and her tears come fast. “I’m sorry,” she
says. And then she’s sobbing. She sits down on the step, leans
forward and puts her head in her lap, and bawls.
This kind of shocks me. And then I realize I’m getting everything I’ve always wanted. Not revenge, but an apology. A real
one. Except I’m too sad to enjoy it. Things didn’t have to be
this way.
I sink down too, one step above her, and watch her shoulders
heave up and down. It’s hard not to comfort her. I end up patting her back. Twice. Damn. I’m only human.
Dad and Pat pull up with a Christmas tree tied to the roof of
the car. They see us, and Pat’s eyes go wide. I shake my head,
so he knows it’s okay. He pulls my dad in through the garage.
Rennie lifts her head. “I want to promise you something. I
promise on my heart that I will not do one more mean thing to
you, Kat. Ever.” My throat is dry, so I give her the slightest nod
of acknowledgment. “And I wanted to invite you to my New
Year’s Eve party.”
I’m about to say thanks but no thanks to her invitation, but
then it hits me. If I’m at the party, then I’ll get to see shit between
Reeve and Lillia go down firsthand. “Can I bring someone?” I
ask, thinking of Mary. “If I don’t have anything better to do?”
Rennie laughs at that. “Classic Kat,” she says. “Totally.
Whoever you want.” She stands up and stretches. “There’s
going to be a bouncer, like at a speakeasy. If you tell him ‘My
flask is empty,’ he’ll let you in for free.” Her face breaks into
a devious smile. “I’ve even got a special surprise planned for
midnight and I want you front and center for the show. Boom
boom boom, baby.”
I can’t help but roll my eyes at her, because dude, she’s still
so Rennie.
“Listen . . . I do appreciate you coming over,” I say gruffly.
“And for saying that stuff to me.”
She smiles. “It’s the least I could do.” She scratches Shep
behind the ears and then kisses him on the head. “Bye, Kat.”
“Bye, Ren.”
In a weird way, it doesn’t feel like good-bye. It feels like
maybe the smallest bit of a start.
CHAP
TER F
OR
T
Y -EIGHT