TORCH (17 page)

A
nswering the call for set design volunteers for Eastfield’s production of
Waiting for Godot
seems like a safe bet for Operation Destiny. In fact, it may be the only activity in the school Bianca overlooks. The play itself is written for an all-male cast, and obviously Bianca wouldn’t lower herself to the backstage grunt work.

When we show up in the auditorium after class, however, we find we’ve underestimated her pull. The Theatre Arts teacher has decided to stage the play with an all-female cast; Bianca has won a lead role of “Vladimir,” now “Veronica,” without the bother of an audition. In Rosewood, a pretty girl who’s father happens to be chief of police can flip the bird to an award winning playwright who, according to Wikipedia, was strongly opposed to women in this play.

The only person Bianca can’t seem to get around is her own father. We’re both still on the hook for detention over the Karate incident, although it’s been postponed. Ms. Giddon is away recovering from the fire and wants to oversee our punishment herself.

Bianca scowls when she sees Regan and me. "You two really should give it up. No matter what club you join, you’ll never be
anyone
at Eastfield.”

“Well, we can’t all peak in high school,” I say. Before she has time to strike back, I ask, “How’s your scar?”

Regan silently begs me to leave it, so that just this once, an Operation Destiny plan can take flight. Unfortunately, being in the same room with Bianca gets me riled, even when that room is as big as this auditorium.

Bianca clutches her shirt to her throat, suggesting that my heel print is still visible on her chest. “My mom says you’re a psychopath,” she says. “She’d want me to warn the director about you. Besides, I can’t do justice to this role knowing you might go off at any minute. Or worse, your dad will. Everyone knows he burned down Ms. Giddon's house."

I feel the now-familiar pop in my head as I lose my temper, and struggle to control it. “If that were true, your dad’s fleet of minions would have my dad cuffed already. Instead, he’s sound asleep.”

“They’re gathering evidence,” Bianca says. “Ms. Giddon couldn’t place your dad at the scene. Or
wouldn’t
, because she’s scared.”

“There are witnesses that my dad was at the Corral that night,” I say, hoping it’s true.

“Whatever,” Bianca says. “Just so you know, if Ms. Giddon had died, my dad would have pushed for the death penalty.”

Regan notices that the script sitting on the floor beside Bianca’s purse is smoldering and quickly stamps it out.

“Get away from my script, Chunky,” Bianca says. “There’s no way in hell you’d be cast in this play.”

“True, because
Waiting for Godot
is about two old guys who are secretly in love,” I say. “That’d be a stretch for Regan, but not an actor like Bianca Larken.”

I can tell from Bianca’s expression that she hasn’t even read the script.

After she charges over to speak to the teacher, Regan says, “Think about something else, like riding Medusa. There is way too much wood in this auditorium for any more accidents.”

Closing my eyes, I do exactly as she suggests, imagining the breeze in my face as I careened down the track on the ride. It works. When I open my eyes, my temper has cooled.

The theatre arts teacher is still talking to Bianca and I can tell by the wild gesturing on Bianca’s end that I’m getting the worst of it.

“I’m sorry, Regan,” I say. “This probably isn’t going to work out, either.”

She looks morose. “It’s Bianca’s fault. We can’t find a single activity she hasn’t already scored. I don’t know how she finds the time.”

Eventually the teacher comes over to talk to us. “I’m sorry, girls,” she says, kindly. “But Bianca is my lead actor and I need her to focus. Can I suggest you take my new class for beginner acting instead?”

Regan asks the obvious question. “Is Bianca involved?”

When the teacher shakes her head, Regan and I grin happily at each other. Finally, we have something to claim as our own.

“It beats hauling props around,” I tell Regan as we leave. “And I could probably use a few techniques for hiding what I feel.”

Regan laughs. “That’s for sure, firebug.”

I stop at the door and wave to Bianca. “Break a leg, Veronica.”

T
he bedroom is very feminine, from the sheer curtains on the window to the ruffled white bed linens on the four-poster bed. White shelves mounted on white walls showcase dozens of elaborately costumed dolls. There are hoopskirts and parasols and ball gowns in every color. It’s like a beauty pageant through the ages, from the freckled redhead dressed like Anne of Green Gables to a blonde Marilyn Monroe, whose permanently billowing skirt must be a shock for Anne. Someone has money to burn on a quirky addiction.

I’m staring down at the Scarlett O’Hara doll when a flame touches the edge of her green velvet skirt. The flame is coming from a long barbeque lighter in a gloved hand. One by one, the lighter sets the dolls on fire, moving quickly along the top shelf and then down to the second and then a shelf beside the bed. When at least thirty dolls are blazing, Black Hat moves to the prize dolls—quintuplets in simple blue dresses—displayed on the bed. As he leans over, I see a fringe of hair under the baseball cap that is darker than Dad’s salt-and-pepper. Black Hat backs away from the bed, and watches as the vignette goes up in flames that creep across the duvet. His head turns suddenly, and he moves toward the bedroom door with two strides.

Next we are running down the driveway, turning at the end for a last look before jogging up the street.

Kai picks me up around the corner from my house. He drives past me, stops and comes back. It’s not surprising that he’d miss me, as I’m wearing black, fire retardant pants and jacket, along with a black balaclava. The whole outfit, ordered from the Internet, cost me close to three hundred dollars. But then, I’ve destroyed nearly that much in clothes already. The way things are going it seemed like a good investment.

Kai is riding an old motorbike of his dad’s that he’s fixed up. The fact that it doesn’t have a working headlight will apparently be remedied by the flashlight he hands me, as he pats the seat behind him.

“You don’t seriously expect me to get on this thing?” I ask.

“If you want to save lives,” he says.

“Risking my own.”

He unhooks a helmet from the back fender. “Come on, it’ll be fun.”

“Right,” I say, pulling the helmet over my balaclava. “I believe you.”

I climb on behind him. At first I grab his jacket, but the chill stiffens my hand immediately and then the burning starts. Instead, I grab a handle beside the seat with my left hand and direct the flashlight over his right shoulder.

Revving the engine, he says, “Can you aim the light at the road? I’m taking River Street, not the Milky Way.”

With the visor pushing the balaclava over my eyes, I can barely see at all, let alone pick out the route. “Just get us there before the fire department,” I say. Luckily the fragmented images at the end of my dream gave me both the house number and street sign.

If I hadn’t survived the Medusa, this ride might have done me in. It feels like I’m going to get bucked off the bike with every bump Kai hits at high speed. When he slows for a second, I stick the light in my jacket and grab both handles. He’ll have to make do with the streetlights. 

Luckily, it’s not that far, and we get off a quarter mile from the house and push the bike into the bushes. Kai’s hair is damp when he pulls off his helmet, but he hasn’t flooded as much as I would have expected given our close proximity.

The house sprawls across a double lot, with an elegant curving driveway. From the street, there is no sign of fire. In my dream, the man left by the front door, but we are too nervous to enter that way. Instead, we skulk around the side of the house, and Kai uses a heavy stone garden gnome to bash the door handle until it gives way. We find the kitchen and the living room still untouched by fire.

“Upstairs,” I say, leading the way. On the landing, I stop dead in front of a family portrait:  it’s Chief Larken, Mrs. Larken, and Bianca, along with a girl who must be her older sister.

Kai stares for a second, and says, “Keep moving.”

For the moment, the fire is confined to the master bedroom but the brightness around the door and the heat emanating from it tells me it won’t stay that way for long. “Check the other rooms,” I say, flinging open the door to my right and finding it empty.

Kai opens the next door, and then lunges into the room. By the time I reach the doorway, he’s lifting Bianca from the floor. I take a quick glance into her room, and find it’s similar to the master, but the shelves are lined with beanbag animals instead of dolls.

I start to follow Kai, but can’t resist turning toward the master bedroom again, riveted by the power that’s straining to escape. My feet freeze in place as the door blows open from the force of the pent up fire. Ripped from its hinges, the door seems to sail toward me in slow motion. I hear a thump behind me, and then Kai hits me hard, knocking me to the carpet. The door misses us by inches. I scramble to my feet, knowing my stupidity has cost us valuable seconds. Bianca is lying in a heap, where Kai dropped her. I reach under the arms of her pink track suit and start pulling. The fire is charging down the carpet towards us. Kai glides over it, back and forth, extinguishing as fast as he can. “Hurry,” he yells. “I can’t hold it back for long.”

I half-carry, half-drag Bianca, her slippered feet thudding gently on the stairs. By the time I reach the kitchen, Kai catches up to me. He lifts Bianca and her head lolls over his arm. Even her ponytail is limp.

There’s still no sound of the sirens but as I exit the house and peer around the corner, I see lights across the street that weren’t on before.

“What do we do with her?” Kai asks, carrying Bianca deeper into the back yard.

“I don’t know,” I say. “She must be drugged, because the smoke wasn’t that heavy until after we arrived.”

Kai props Bianca against a tree and leans down to press an ear to her mouth. As if on cue, she raises a floppy hand and tries to bat him away.

Stifling a giggle, I beckon to Kai. We fight our way through a bank of thick bushes to reach the fence. I get a foothold on the fence, but the balaclava slips over my eyes and I fumble. Before I can pull it off, Kai puts a shoulder under my butt and pushes. That takes me to the top, where I clamber over, hoping for the best as I drop to the ground on the other side.

A fierce bark greets me and I push up the balaclava to see the shape of a German Shepherd hurtling towards us. “Wait,” I tell Kai, who’s still on top of the fence. Before the dog reaches us, I send a fireball toward him, aiming to miss and succeeding. The dog stops, sniffs the air and turns back, yipping in fear. Kai snickers as he leaps past me and puts out the fire before it even touches down.

The dog cowers at the back door as we unlatch the gate and run down the driveway. We come around the block to where we left the motorbike just as the fire trucks crest the hill.

“Down,” Kai says. We crouch in the bushes until the trucks pass. I sneak a peek in time to see a smaller blur of red moving in the opposite direction. It’s a guy on a bicycle, bent low over the handlebars and pedaling hard. On his head is a purple helmet with a silver wave.

In the flurry as the firefighters dismount, we quickly push the motorbike around the corner.

Kai pulls in behind an elementary school and leans the motorbike against the wall. “You okay?”

Heading into the small playground, I perch on a swing, surprised to find my body doesn't hurt much, considering the full contact tackle Kai gave me in the hall, and the shoulder to butt boost over the fence. “I think I saw Matt Huxley riding away from the Larkens.”