The Complete Burn for Burn Trilogy: Burn for Burn; Fire With Fire; Ashes to Ashes (62 page)

Christmas morning, my plan was to wake up
early and make pancakes for everybody. But I stay up late
watching
A Christmas Story
with Pat the night before, so I end
up oversleeping. It’s after ten by the time I finally get out of bed.

I put my grubby terry-cloth robe on over my T-shirt and
trudge over to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee, and
I’m surprised to see Dad and Pat at the kitchen table. Pat’s got his
head bent over a bowl of leftover soup, and Dad’s drinking coffee.
“Merry Christmas, DeBrassios,” I say, my voice scratchy from
sleep. “I was going to get up early and make pancakes, but—”

I take my coffee into the family room and turn on the
Christmas tree lights. It’s bare under the tree. We already did
presents last night, as is the DeBrassio tradition. I got my dad
a new fishing pole I’d been saving up for, and I got Pat a vintage Italian motocross decal off the Internet from some guy.
My dad gave me a hundred-dollar-bill, and Pat said he’d give
me my gift later. Like hell. Pat’s all about rain-checking gifts.

I turn on the TV, and it’s
A Christmas Story
again. It’s the
end of the movie, where they’re at the Chinese restaurant and
the waiters are singing “Deck the Halls” and they can’t say
their
l
’s. It’s racist as shit, but it’s still a good movie.

Then Dad and Pat come in, and Dad says, “Katherine, I
think there might be one more gift for you under the tree.”
“Get your eyes checked, old man!” I tell him, pointing to
the bare rug.
“Pat!” Dad barks. “You were supposed to put it under the
tree this morning.”
“Chill out, chill out,” Pat says, and he goes to his room
and comes back with a box wrapped in Santa Claus paper. He
hands it to me. “Here.”
I look from Dad to Pat. “What is this?”
Dad’s grinning. “Open it.”
I tear into it—it’s a new laptop. My jaw drops. “No way.”
“It’s for college, Katherine.”
There’s a huge lump in my throat and tears are pricking my
eyelids. “How—how did you even afford this?”
“I finished that canoe last week,” Dad says, beaming at me
proudly. “And Pat helped.”
I stare at Pat, who is standing against the doorjamb with his
arms crossed. “For real?”
“Yeah, dude. I worked my ass off to kick in on this, so you
better not fail out of Oberlin.” Pat shakes his finger at me.
I wipe my eyes with the back of my arm. “I haven’t even
been accepted yet.” I should tell them about the whole earlydecision beat-down I suffered, but I don’t have the heart.
“You’re getting in,” Pat says.
“Even if I do get in, it’s so far away. . . . Maybe I’d be better
off going to school somewhere nearby, so I could still come
home and help out around here.”
“No way,” Dad barks. “You’re out of here as soon as you
graduate. Your mother wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”
I can barely see him through my tears. “Thanks a lot.”
Pat leans forward and says, “Dad and I can fend for ourselves. Your ass is going to Oberlin. You’re gonna get straight
As, and then you’re gonna get rich at some fancy job, and
when you do, you’re gonna send lots of dough home to us.”
I laugh. “You’re still gonna be living at home in five years?
Loser.” Then I stand up, and on shaky legs I hug them both.
CHAP
TER FIF
T
Y -SEVEN

Christmas day passes in a blur. We go to
church in the morning like always; then we come back, and
my dad makes a Korean rice-cake soup and my mom bakes
frozen cinnamon rolls she ordered from Neiman Marcus. We
eat them as we open presents. I get a new laptop and a mintand-lavender cashmere sweater and new riding boots and little
things like my favorite perfume and the sugarplum face cream
from New York.

I should be happy, because I love presents and I’m getting
everything I asked for and more. Nadia is squealing over every
one of her gifts, hugging our mom and dad each time she opens
something, taking her time getting through her pile so she can
make it last longer. I can barely muster up smiles and thankyous. I’m the worst daughter ever.

My parents definitely notice. They keep shooting each other
concerned looks. At one point my mom sits next to me on the
chaise and puts the back of her hand to my forehead to check if
I have a fever.

I didn’t think it would be this bad. That I’d hurt this much
over something that was supposed to be fake.
When all the presents have been opened, Mom gives a nod
to my dad, and he steps out of the room. When he comes
back, he has two huge boxes in his arms. Nadia jumps up and
tries to take one of them, but Dad says, “These are both for
Lillia.”
I open them. It’s a brand-new luggage set from Tumi, both
hard shell in gleaming white. One large roller bag, one smaller
roller that will fit in the overhead.
“For college,” my dad announces. “Wellesey has some amazing study-abroad programs, you know.”
I don’t even have the energy to say anything back to that.
That I’m still not totally sold on Wellesey. I just nod and click
the suitcase latch open and closed a few times.
“Your father picked the set out himself,” Mom says. “He figured you’d like the white.” She rests her hand on my knee and
gives it a hard squeeze.
I automatically look to my dad. “I love it.”
“Merry Christmas, princess,” he says.
CHAP
TER FIF
T
Y -EIGHT

I expected them earlier, but the weather must have delayed
them. Snow is coming tonight, a few inches. And the wind is
howling. But it’s fine, because there was a lot to do. Aunt Bette’s
been cooking up a storm and I’ve been finishing packing. Also,
trying to get the house looking at least somewhat presentable,
because if my mom saw the place in the state it’s been in, she’d
whip out her rubber gloves and peroxide and clean all night. I
don’t want her to do that. I want her and my dad to enjoy the
meal, and then I’ll give them the good news—I’m coming back
with them. I’m leaving Jar Island.

I go upstairs to shower and get ready. I want to look beautiful and mature when they see me again for the first time. I’ve
been through so much since I’ve been back; I want them to see
that, see how I’ve grown. They mean well, but they’ve always
babied me so much. When I go back with them, I want them to
treat me like a teenager and not a kid.

I take my time in the shower, steaming up the bathroom and
shaving my legs. Then I do my hair and makeup. I paint my
lips ruby red and put my wet hair in a bun so it will dry wavy.
I put on a dress I found in my closet—it’s white with gold bangles and beads and a drop waist. Downstairs, I hear my mom
and Aunt Bette come inside the house, and I scramble around
for the gold slingbacks I found in the back of my closet.

I step into the shoes and I hurry down the stairs to greet my
parents. I stop short when I hear Aunt Bette say, “I don’t know
how to tell Mary about Jim.”

“Bette . . . please stop it,” my mother says, and her voice
sounds pained. “Stop talking about her.”
I freeze.
“I’m sorry.” Aunt Bette says something I don’t quite catch,
and then, “She’s going to be angry, Erica.”
Angry over what? What’s going on? Did they have a fight? Did
they get separated in the time that I’ve been gone—is that why
they haven’t been back to visit? I can feel the heat and the panic
rising up inside me. The picture frames on the staircase walls start
to shake, and I have to tell myself to calm down, just calm down.
Calmdowncalmdowncalmdown.
“What’s that noise?” my mom asks.
“It’s Mary,” Aunt Bette says. “I told you. She’s ready to go
home.”
I hear my mom say, “Bette, please. Please stop torturing me
like this.”
I’m still standing on the stairs, stuck in place. Something is
wrong. Very wrong. Suddenly I’m afraid to go down there.
“You need help, Bette,” my mom says, and she sounds like
she’s crying. “I’m taking you away from here. This house is
making you sick.”
“No no, I’m fine, Erica,” Aunt Bette says desperately. “She
wants to leave! She wants to leave with you! I’ll be better when
she’s gone!”
“This house is in shambles, and you’re—you’re not well,”
my mom chokes out. “You can’t stay here any longer.”
Aunt Bette backs up. “You can’t go without Mary. She’s
going to be upset. She’s going to hurt someone.”
“We’re leaving. Now.” Mom has the door open. I stare at it
and force it closed. She’s shocked as the knob flies out of her
hand. The door bangs shut, and the dead bolt clicks.
Aunt Bette cries, “Mary! Stop! You’re going to scare her!”
Ignoring her, I run to my bed and grab my suitcase and go
flying down the stairs and out the door. “Mommy! I’m coming
with you! Don’t leave without me!”
But then I hear the back door opening. I go to my window
and see my mom with her arm around Aunt Bette, trying to
walk her to the rental car. They’re leaving? Without me?
I race back downstairs and out to the car.
My mom is sobbing. She doesn’t even look at me. “Bette,
please, please, get in the car.”
I run up to her. “Mommy!” I scream. I’m howling now,
and the shutters on the house are opening and closing, faster
and faster. I can’t stop it; I can’t control myself.
“Oh my God!” my mom screams, and she jerks the passenger-side door open and pushes Aunt Bette inside. She runs to
the other side of the car and gets in, and I go to her; I pound on
the window so hard the glass starts to crack.
“Mommy, Mommy, Mommy,” I cry. “Don’t go. Don’t leave
me. I want to go home!”
“I’m sorry,” she weeps. “I’m so sorry. I can’t stay.” Her hands
shake as she starts the car, puts it in reverse, and drives away.
CHAP
TER FIF
T
Y -NINE

I wasn’t going to go to the party. Kat kept
texting me, telling me to come and that she and Mary would
protect me from Rennie tonight. But then this afternoon I
got a text from Rennie herself. It said,
New Year, new start?
Come tonight.
Then she sent me a picture of her hand holding
a cherry Blow Pop. Her manicure looked awesome. It was all
pale pink glitter, like sparkly cotton candy.

So I’m going. At this point, what do I have to lose? I don’t
want to be the only one in the whole school missing out. My
sister will be there. Even Kat and Mary are going. What else
am I supposed to do? Go to dinner with my parents?

A few months ago it would have been Rennie and me getting
ready for this party together. We’d be blasting Madonna and fighting for the mirror, going back and forth over a crimson-red lip
versus a brick-red lip. Instead it was me by myself. No Nadia,
because she got ready with all the freshman girls at Janelle’s house.
Just me.

I found the dress at a vintage store online. I was worried it
wouldn’t fit, because sizes were different back then, but when
it came, it was perfect. It’s emerald-green silk, tissue thin, with a
drop waist and a low V-neck and a back that dips low in an
X
that
looks like cobwebs, delicate and fine.

I put my hair in my mom’s rollers and then I styled it in a bob.
It kept falling out, so I stuck a bunch of pins in it. Dark red lipstick
was the final touch.

When I walked down the stairs, my dad came out of his office
to hug me and tell me how beautiful I looked. And also to tell me
to remember my special curfew for the night, two a.m. and not
a minute later. He told me not to drive home, to take a taxi or to
call and he’d come get me. “The streets aren’t safe on New Year’s
Eve,” he said. “Too many people driving drunk.” I rolled my eyes
and kept saying, “Yes, Daddy. Sure, Daddy.”

At a stoplight, I text Ash to see if she’s there so I don’t have to
walk in alone. She texts back and says she’s already inside. I text
Alex too, only he doesn’t text me back right away. We haven’t
talked much since his holiday party, since I told him that I kissed
Reeve. Things were already weird between them, and I can’t help
but think that that probably made things even worse. I don’t
know if they’ll ever be friends again.

There’s no parking in front of the gallery, so I park two streets
away, and then I regret borrowing my mom’s strappy rhinestone heels. They’re Manolos, and I’d always thought shoes that
expensive would be more comfortable. But they’re not; by the
time I get to the party, my feet hurt so bad I just want to take
them off.

The gallery name had been scratched off the glass hanging,
and there’s a for rent in the window. From the outside it looks
so . . . desolate. You can’t see much inside. All the windows are
steamed up.

There’s an actual bouncer at the door. I recognize him from
Bow Tie; he’s one of the line cooks. I can’t believe Rennie got him
to blow off his own New Year’s Eve in favor of standing in front
of her mom’s gallery all night for a high school party. He goes,
“What’s the secret word?”

“Moonshine,” I say, and for a split second I fear that Rennie’s
changed the word and I’m not even going to get in to her party.
Then he nods and says, “Ten bucks.”
Ten bucks? I’ve never, ever paid to go to one of Rennie’s parties.
“I’m a senior,” I tell him. “And I’m a friend of Rennie’s. We’ve met
before, at Bow Tie?”
“Everybody’s a friend of Rennie’s tonight,” he says, and looks
past me, over my head, to a group of kids coming noisily down
the block. “It’s ten for seniors, twenty for juniors, thirty for
sophomores—”
I’m 1,000 percent sure Ash or any of our other friends didn’t
have to pay, but I don’t want to stand out here arguing with him.
It’s humiliating. “Okay, okay. Whatever.” Luckily I have the cash
my dad gave me for a cab. I pluck a twenty out of my beaded
clutch and hand it to him.
He pulls a wad of cash out of his leather-jacket pocket and
hands me back a ten. “Have fun.”
I make my way into the gallery. I’ve seen it empty before, when
Paige was switching out one show for another, giving the walls a
fresh coat of white paint so the art would stand out. But Rennie’s
transformed it. She’s set up a bar over by where the cash register
used to be, and another one of the workers from the restaurant is
there mixing drinks in a crisp white tuxedo shirt and black bow
tie. Drinks are being served in actual glassware, probably from
the restaurant too. No plastic Solo cups. Pretty metallic garlands
crisscross the ceiling in all different colors. They look vintage.
There are helium balloons, too, clusters of white and silver and
gold with matching ribbons, floating across the room. I look
down and see that Rennie’s painted the floor, alternating black
and white zigzag stripes. She’s made a bunch of centerpieces
for all the tabletops: bouquets of cream-colored feathers, some
dipped in gold and silver glitter.
Even I have to admit, this is her best party yet.
The place is packed; it’s so dark it takes a second for my eyes
to adjust. No Kat or Mary yet. I spot Nadia and some other girls
from the squad huddled together on a couch in the corner. Nadia
waves, and I wave back.
And then it’s me, standing alone.
I get a pain in my stomach. Is this how it’s going to be all night?
I take a deep breath and then fish in my clutch for my lipstick
and my compact. That’s the thing with dark red lipstick. You have
to make sure it’s always on nice and thick and rich; otherwise it
looks like you’ve been eating a popsicle or something. I touch up
the corners of my mouth, and as I put everything back into my
bag, I feel my phone vibrate.
It’s Alex.