TORCH (19 page)

“I want more practice time. You know, in the pool. I feel like I need to improve my skills.”

“Still have the key?” he asks. I’m still nodding as he backs away. “See you back here at 10.”

Kai has absolutely no trouble evading everything I throw at him. “You’re not trying,” he says.

“I am, too,” I say. Maybe not hard enough. I just can’t seem to generate the anger that makes throwing fire easy. Without the anger, it’s
work
. “I was kind of hoping I’d get better at this without practice.”

He laughs. “That never worked for me.”

“Do you still train?” I ask.

“Sometimes. Dad used to put me through my paces every weekend, but he’s been putting in extra time fighting wildfires. So this is good for me, too. Let’s try again.”

I think about my usual best source of anger, Bianca, and try to let go. But even that well seems to have run dry. The best I can do is a small indigo puff that practically ambles toward Kai. He holds up one toe and stops it, pretending to snore.

“You’re not helping,” I say.

“Are you too tired?” he asks.

I shake my head. “No bad dreams lately.”

He leans against the tiled wall, managing to look elegant despite the Mickey Mouse swim trunks. “Do you really think he’s stopped? The arsonist?”

I join him, sliding down the tiles onto the cool floor. “Hard to say. But I'm grateful to him for one thing:  Bianca still hasn’t come back to school.”

“Well, she must be pretty beat after saving herself.”

“She’s so annoying,” I say. “But if I were her, I’d be scared, too.”

He slides down beside me and stares straight ahead at the pool. “Want to hear something weird? I kind of hoped there would be more fires. So we could be together again.”

A different kind of fire flows through me, and while it makes me flush, there’s no risk of injury to bystanders. “Me too.”

“You could have set one,” he jokes.

“You could have just called me.”

He turns to look at me. “We’re asking for trouble.”

“We’ve had plenty of trouble already. Maybe the worst is over.”

“I like your optimism,” he says.

Leaning over, he kisses me—just long enough to awaken the right feelings without stirring up the wrong ones. It’s only a couple of seconds, but they’re the best seconds of my life.

“That wasn’t terrible,” I say, as he pulls away.

“It was almost bearable,” he says, smiling at close range.

Noticing his forehead is streaming, I move a few inches away. “We could be great together. If we could just stand being with each other.”

“A work in progress,” he says. “And I am a hard worker.”

O
ver the next couple of weeks, Kai and I do the things regular couples do: go for walks, bike rides, or drives, and find somewhere private to hang out and talk for hours. The only thing that’s different from other couples is that we have to meet after dark. I hit the hay early, encouraging Graham to do the same, give Dad a last call from the home phone, and then sneak out. Kai picks me up in a different spot every night to avoid creating a pattern. From ten-thirty to midnight we wander around Rosewood, and then I hurry home in case Dad does one of his random spot checks, which includes peeking into my room to make sure I’m in bed.

The other thing we can’t do that other couples do is make out. At least, not much. Although our tolerance with each other has increased, a few short kisses and hasty hugs is about all we can manage without being overcome by panic, rather than passion. Whereas I feel like I’m being pulled into freezing quicksand and drowned, Kai says touching me is like falling into a live volcano. One night when he slid his hand up my arm, it disappeared into a gush of water by the time it reached my elbow.

We both laughed. In fact, we laughed so hard that when he tried it again, we barely noticed that he’d made it all the way to my shoulder before losing his grip.

Tonight, we are taking a bicycle tour of the landmarks of Kai’s youth. First we rode past his babysitter’s house and then onto the schools he attended before Eastfield. We pause briefly under the gaslight where he first kissed a girl, in sixth grade.

Then we head over to an outdoor pool in Nugget Park. “This is where I was when I truly realized my family was different," he says. There’s a faraway look in his eyes as he relives the day. “It was right after my Gran died, and I still didn’t fully get it. So Dad brought me here for a swim. When we were done, he had me go into the change room and stayed in the pool. But when I came out, he’d disappeared. I ran around the entire pool, looking for him, afraid he’d drowned. I stood there crying, he just reappeared. Right in front of me. One minute nothing but water, the next, my dad.”

“Did he feel bad he’d upset you?” I ask.

Kai shakes his head. “The opposite. He said I had to toughen up. That life isn’t easy for people like us.”

“What if you hadn’t turned out to be a Flood? Your mom isn’t.”

“That thought never crossed his mind, or mine. To him, it was just a fact.”

“I wonder if that’s how my dad felt about Nate,” I muse. “Maybe he was still hoping the ability would surface. And poor Nate, he felt all this pressure, without knowing why.”

“Parental expectations,” Kai says, leading me away, “are a bitch.”

Kai and I always bring food, and no matter how full our backpacks are, it’s never enough.

As a slim crescent of moon rises, we perch on top of a picnic table and he lays out his stash:  a protein bar, three peanut butter sandwiches and half a bag of Oreos. I add my contributions:  leftover firehouse chili in a thermos and store bought brownies. We work through it all, while we identify constellations using my iPhone app.

When we’ve finished eating, Kai takes the garbage to the trash, and comes charging back at a dead run. My heart is in my throat until he passes me, calling back, “You’re
it
.”

What follows is the most fun I’ve had in years. We chase after each other, in and out of the trees. Kai is faster than me, and each time, just as I’m about to catch him, he partially shimmers, leaving me with nothing but wet hands.

Finally I decide to stand my ground, or rather, crouch behind a bush. Kai searches for me up and down, with no luck. As he passes the third time, I reach out with one finger, willing it to spark. And it does. The tiny flame fizzles against Kai’s wet butt and he curses, laughs and curses again. Then I take off, running as fast as I can, but of course, he catches me. Pulling me down in the grass, he rolls over me, on top for just a few seconds, his face over mine. First I’m laughing, and then, in the exact moment my body rebels, he rolls off me.

“Sorry,” he says. “I got carried away.”

“It’s okay. I’m sorry, too.” We stare up at the stars for a long time. If this doesn’t get easier, we’re doomed, because no guy is going to stick with a girl that he can’t even touch. Ultimately, he’ll want to be with another Flood. I saw the way he merged with Ms. Giddon, someone he barely knows. That must feel amazing when it’s a romantic relationship. He’ll never have that with me.

“Have you ever gone out with a Flood?” I ask.

“No. I’ve never met one I liked as much as you.”After a pause, he adds, “I’ve never met
anyone
I like as much as you.”

I'm surprised to find tears stinging my eyes. “But what if it never gets better?”

“Phee, it already has.” His voice is deep and reassuring. “Look.”

I sit up and see his hand on my thigh. It was so light a touch I didn’t notice it. There was no chill, no burning or blistering to counteract the contact. He lifts his hand and all that’s left is a damp mark to prove his hand was ever there.

I
stoop to pick up an empty soda can and put it in my recycle bag. It’s four-thirty p.m. and my detention for kicking Bianca has finally begun. Ms. Giddon has assigned me to clear garbage from one half of the field behind the school, while Bianca clears the other.

When I saw Bianca’s outfit, I smirked, but her short skirt and stiletto boots have proven to be just what a garbage picker needs. Because while I stoop and scoop, Bianca is watching as several guys from the football team fill her garbage bag. Her giggle is pitched perfectly to keep them motivated. Every so often, she bends over herself to collect a stray wrapper, making sure to offer full viewing to anyone whose willpower needs a boost.

Ms. Giddon has come out to check on us, and when she saw Bianca in action, she smirked, too. I didn’t expect any support from the teacher, when she didn’t believe Bianca should be punished at all. And after Bianca’s ordeal with the fire, they’ve bonded more than ever. Bianca will likely be named patron saint of the Eastfield dojo.

I’m just happy Bianca and I can keep most of a field between us during detention. I was afraid they’d stick us into a classroom together and make us talk about our feelings. They were probably worried about Bianca’s safety. The idea that I’m considered a hazard shouldn’t make me happy, but in this instance, it does.

My work eventually brings me closer to the bleachers, where Bianca is now sitting with her legs crossed. “Excuse me. This is my territory,” she calls.

“But all the garbage is over here,” I say, giving her a pointed look.

“Don’t even start, Forsythe,” she says. “I’m still stressed over what happened to me.”

“You mean the way you dragged yourself through the hot coals and saved yourself?” I ask. “You must have some serious burns, with your skin being so sensitive.”

“I managed to pick my way through somehow,” she says, getting up. “No scars, except the emotional fallout. I won’t be able to sleep through the night until they catch the arsonist.” She kicks an empty soda can my way. “They’re still making a case against your dad, you know.”

“Sounds like a full-time job,” I say. This is where I’d typically lose my temper, but today I am completely cool. The mindfulness techniques I’m learning in acting class must be paying off. I stay in the moment and think about garbage.

Moving off, I slip under the bleachers and find a pile of wrappers and—ew—some used condoms. Thank god Ms. Giddon had the decency to give us gloves.