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  The principal is a man about my father’s age. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem threatening. His nose is too big for his face, and he narrows his eyes like he’s trying too hard to be serious. The corners of his mouth turn up almost naturally, and I can’t tell if he’s actually smiling or if it’s just his neutral face. His office smells like potpourri, which doesn’t help. I look around for the source. Maybe it was something his wife or one of the secretaries brought him.

  He holds out his hand. “Miss Masterson. I don’t believe we’ve met yet,” he says.

  I take his hand and meet his gaze. He sits down in his over-sized desk chair and I take the smaller one across from him.

  “Mr. Horrigan informed me of an incident in his class today.”

  The blood rushes to my face. “Oh,” I say.

  “Do you care to tell me what happened?”

  I shrug, but it comes out stiffly, like I have a kink in my neck. “I forgot to wear a bra,” I say, forcing the words out. “Some other kids were making jokes about it so I left the classroom to go change.”

  Mr. Casey studies me. “That’s it?”

  I nod. “That’s it.” My voice is shaking, but I stare straight ahead.

  He clasps his hands together and clears his throat. “Mr. Horrigan believes your attire was in violation of Sherbrook High’s dress code policy. Normally I’d send you home to change, but I see you’ve already corrected the mishap.”

  I pull my sweater tighter over my chest, even though Melody’s bra is safely protecting me.

  “As I’m sure you understand, we take our professionalism seriously here, and we expect our students to reflect this, both in their appearance, and their behavior.”

  I nod, not meeting his eyes.

  He clasps his hands together and clears his throat. “But what’s more concerning is Mr. Horrigan indicated some students saw you, shall we say, flash the classroom.” He says flash like it’s a dirty word and I would laugh if my face wasn’t frozen in place.

  “I didn’t flash the class,” I say, leaning forward. “Why would I do that?” The words of those girls in the bathroom burn in my ears. This has already gotten way out of control. How did we go from not wearing a bra to literally flashing the entire classroom?

  “Well, I was hoping you could tell me. Or, if you’d prefer to talk to Ms. Mulberry, the Vice Principal, you could do that too.”

  I sit up straighter and take a deep breath. “It didn’t happen,” I say. “It’s my first day. I’m an easy target. My classmates were making fun of me and a few of them probably decided to take the joke a little farther and tell Mr. Horrigan I did something I didn’t.”

  He considers this a moment, rubbing his forehead. I sink back in my chair.

  “Now, normally I’d issue a suspension for something of this nature,” he says.

  My eyes widen. Something of this nature? People regularly expose themselves in class?

  “But, since at this point it’s all hearsay, I’m giving you two days of detention. Regardless of what happened, a dress code violation of this extent is a serious matter. This will make a good example for the other students. You’ll report to room 25-A after class starting tomorrow. And please review our dress code policy. I hope I won’t be seeing you here again any time soon.”

  I stand, forcing my legs to stay still under me. “No you won’t, Sir.”

  ****

  When the final bell rings, I’m the first person out of the school.

  I made it.

  Barely, but I did. I slid into each of my classes at the last minute and bolted out the moment the bell rang. A few people whispered behind my back in math class, but my art class only had ten students, and I spent my last period waiting in line to try to switch out of biology. I ate lunch in the library alone, but I’m used to that.

  But I can’t stop cringing about this morning. Melody was probably just taking pity on me because I was so pathetic. Ugh. I’ll be lucky to just survive my next two years here.

  I stop at an intersection and pretend to study the lamppost pasted with flyers in front of me while I wait for the light to change.

  The word dance catches my eye on one of the flyers. I peel it off so I can read it. It’s an ad for a dance studio down the street. I fold it into quarters and shove it in my pocket.

  The blue sky turns gray up ahead, and when I turn the corner, smoke is floating up over the trees. The warehouse down the street, maybe? My dad always complains they keep building neighborhoods too close to warehouses. I’m surprised he even bought the house considering its location.

  It smells like a campfire that doesn’t want to burn. It fills my lungs and makes me gag. The smoke is even thicker when I get to my street. I can make out the flashing lights of the fire trucks and the brightness makes me squint.

  A police officer stops me on the sidewalk. “I’m sorry, you can’t come down here. It’s too dangerous.”

  I crane my neck to see down the street. “But I live here,” I say.

  “Which number?”

  “Three six four.”

  He looks up at me but doesn’t say anything.

  “Is it my house?” I ask. It comes out calmly, but the voice doesn’t sound like mine. It’s small and distant.

  The officer doesn’t meet my eyes when he speaks. “Do you know if anyone was home?”

  Chapter Four

  My heart sinks to my feet. “My parents – are they okay?”

  “We believe so,” the officer says. “There were no cars in the driveway. Were they at work?”

  I reach for my phone, but my hands shake and it falls to the sidewalk. The officer picks it up and hands it to me. I forget how to use it. My fingers fumble all over the buttons.

  “Yes, they’re still at work,” I say, trying to clear my head. “My dad said he might be late today.”

  The officer has already turned, motioning to one of the firefighters. “I think we’re all clear, Mark,” he shouts.

  “All clear for what?” I ask, craning my neck around him again. But I can’t see anything through the cloud of smoke. My chest tightens until I can’t breathe. I clutch my arms around myself as if I can push the air out.

  “Clear of people,” he says, turning back to me. “They’ll try to save as much of the house as they can. Do you have a number we can contact your parents at?”

  I hand him my phone because I don’t trust myself to use it.

  “Wait here,” he says.

  The smoke floats up above the trees and blends into the sky. I roll back on my heels and grab a light post to keep myself from falling. This can’t be happening. I must have stepped onto a movie set. Or maybe it’s some kind of joke – a neighborhood initiation. Maybe it’s all fake.

  I pace around a square of sidewalk. Other people come out of their houses further down the street and look up at the sky. Firefighters rush to hook up another hose to the hydrant.

  This is no joke.

  I can’t catch my breath. I run toward the house, past the police tape and fire trucks. No one tries to stop me.

  Everything comes into view – the water, the flames, the smoke. Each second I stand there, more of the house is eaten alive.

  I look away.

  An image flashes through my mind. I try to stop it, but it creeps in anyway and surrounds me like the smoke, transporting me back outside of my old school in Tulsa. I blink and force myself to look back at the fire. It blinds my eyes and makes me squint, but it erases the other image.

  I take in my front yard. Hoses snake across the mud-filled grass. Police and firefighters are running, police are roping off the area. Neighbors are starting to crowd. This can’t possibly be happening.

  It still smells like a campfire – a smell that used to make me think of s’mores and hot dogs. Now it’s making me nauseous. I turn around and throw up in a neighbor’s bushes.

  I wait until I catch my breath and take a sip of water from the bottle in my bag. My parents. I should have called them myself. Let them know
I’m okay.

  I force myself to look back at the house. They’re spraying more water at it now and it’s camouflaged by a big plume of smoke. I follow it up until it blends in with the sky and I can’t tell one from the other. My eyes drift back down again to find my bedroom window through the smoke. Flames shoot out of it.

  It’s fully opened.

  I drop my bag. “Hey!” I yell, running toward the officer. I gasp, choking on the smoke. “There was a boy. He might be in there.”

  “A relative?” The officer asks.

  I shake my head. “No. Just a boy. His name is Jay. He goes in the house sometimes.”

  “A neighbor?”

  “No! What does it matter? Just go look for him!”

  “Are you sure he might be in there? It’s getting dangerous for firefighters to go back in there unless you’re sure someone’s in there.”

  I bite my lip, hard. The markings on the wall. I can’t get them out of my head. “No, I’m not sure. But I’m not sure he’s not in there either.”

  The officer studies me for a second and then walks over to one of the firefighters who nods and heads in the direction of the house.

  “We’ll check it out,” he says, when he walks back to me. “Your parents are on their way. We told them you’re safe.”

  I nod, my eyes still glued to the house. I can taste the smoke now – like ashes in my throat. I swallow, and almost throw up again. Are they even looking for him? Everyone is too calm.

  I make a run for it.

  The smoke consumes me. It seeps into my lungs and knocks me to my knees. Someone shouts, but it’s muffled and distant. My eyes burn, and I reach out to feel my way inside, but I touch something hot and shriek in pain, my hand already blistering.

  Hands grab my arms, and I let the firefighter drag me. My shin bangs against something hard, and I suck in a breath full of smoke. I cough, gasping for air until the grass is under my feet.

  My lungs can’t inhale the fresh air fast enough. I twist out of the arms around me and collapse on the ground. A loud roar fills my head and makes it pound. I don’t know if it’s the hoses or the fire itself, but it drowns out everything else. I bury my face in my knees.

  “It’s all clear!”

  I drag my head up and watch a firefighter walk out of the house, taking off his mask. I wait for relief to wash over me, but it doesn’t. I just feel empty. Something sags on my shoulders and I shrug it off. A blanket. I don’t know how it got there. Suddenly, I’m too hot. My entire body is burning up like I’m still in there. I scramble back until I’m on the other side of the police tape again. People on the street stare and whisper but no one asks if I’m okay.

  The flames shoot through the smoke, gasping for more air to fuel them. If only the house could fight back. Not give in so easily.

  Like I did.

  The flames attack every inch of it and I stare at them until my eyes start to blur. Until I’m back in Tulsa and his hands are on my wrists.

  I tear my eyes from the flames and jump to my feet.

  They need to find more water. Hook up more hoses. Save my house – Jay’s house. I open my mouth to scream at them, but it comes out in a whisper.

  Everything is already gone.

  I force myself to look away toward the street. It’s filled with neighbors now. Strangers. None of them even brought my parents a pie. I scan the faces, but they all blend together until something makes me stop. A figure in the crowd stands further back from the others, watching. Some of the people in front move, and the mop of dark hair comes into focus.

  My eyes widen.

  He doesn’t see me at first. His eyes are fixed on the house. I move slowly, carefully. When I’m ten feet away, his eyes lock on mine.

  And then he turns around and runs.

  “Jay!” I yell. “Wait!” I break through the crowd and push people out of my way. My legs are like jelly underneath me, and I can’t run fast enough.

  I dart out onto the road, and hear the loud screech of a car braking. I freeze, waiting for the impact, but instead, it stops beside me, just a foot away.

  “Kelsey!” My mom jumps out of the car, leaving it running.

  She hugs me, and I burst into tears. “I’m okay,” I say, through choked sobs. My dad comes up behind us and wraps his arms around us both. I wait until my breathing slows to lift my head and look over their shoulders at the street, but it’s empty now.

  My mom lifts her head in the direction of the house and gasps. “It’s bad, isn’t it?” she whispers.

  “It’s gone,” I say, all the emotion sucked out of me.

  She closes her eyes for a second. My dad stares at the house so hard I can almost see the flames reflecting in his eyes.

  “Let’s go,” he says. We follow him to the car like zombies and sit in silence as he drives the block back to what used to be our house. He stops just in front of the police tape and opens the door. “Wait here.”

  My mom reaches back and squeezes my hand but doesn’t meet my eyes. She follows my dad out of the car, and I shift in my seat until I can’t see the house anymore.

  Five minutes later, the car doors open, and they slide back in without a word. My mom starts crying first. Tiny little muffled sobs. My dad puts his hand on her leg.

  ****

  I don’t realize how long we’ve been sitting in the car until the sun starts to set; rays of red and orange light up the sky through the smoke. As if the fire’s so strong, it’s burning up the sky too, taking our whole world with it.

  When I stare at the flames long enough, I start to see things. At first it’s flashes of things moving, like people trying to get out. I know there’s no one in there – it’s just a trick of the light, but I close my eyes anyway.

  When I do, other images push their way in. I keep seeing myself in Tulsa. All the memories I’ve been trying to bury float up. But I can’t bring myself to open my eyes again. I don’t have the energy left to push the memories into the back of my mind where they belong. So they surface – one by one. A snapshot of me in tears in front of the school. Fingerprints around my wrist. A bruise on my shoulder. They keep swirling around until they fill my head. Until I’m back there again on the third week of tenth grade – the first time I saw him.

  Wes Harrington. The epitome of the guy I dreamed about meeting when I went to high school. He was on the football and basketball teams and had this smile that just made you want to grin back at him. Everybody liked him, including me. We had Math together, but we’d hardly spoken.

  Until one day he asked to copy my homework. I remember hesitating, and that’s when he asked me out. I don’t know if he actually liked me, or just thought it was a fair trade – a date with him for a homework assignment, but I ended up saying yes to both.

  We met at the movies, and I was ecstatic. I even brushed off the fact he hadn’t offered to buy my ticket. He grabbed my hand just after the previews, and I almost melted. My first date, and I was with the hottest guy in school, and he was actually interested in me. Half an hour in, he moved his leg so it was leaning up against mine. I didn’t dare move mine, even though it started to fall asleep soon after. It wasn’t until he let go of my hand and rested his on my thigh that I started to feel a little uncomfortable. I just wanted to hold it again. If only I hadn’t worn such a short skirt. Eventually, he started to kiss my neck. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do so I just sat there and tried not to turn away. Not that I didn’t like his kisses. I did. It just felt a little fast for me.

  Eventually, I got used to it. He never tried much more than making out so I became good at pretending I enjoyed it, even though it felt sloppy to me, and embarrassing when he did it in front of other people. Julie and I went to all his football games until they made it to the state semi-finals. They were playing to advance to the finals on Julie’s birthday, and I’d promised her we’d spend the day together, just me and her. I didn’t think it would be a big deal to miss a game. Wes had never asked me to come – I just always
did.

  But when I saw him the next day, he was angry. I remember it was his eyes that scared me most. The way they darted back and forth, not able to focus. “We lost because of you, you know.”

  I laughed nervously. He couldn’t be serious. “I don’t exactly have superpowers to help you win or anything.”

  Wes grabbed my wrists, and I wiped the smile off my face. “I kept looking for you in the stands and you never showed. It distracted me the whole game. I screwed up a bunch of plays.”

  I pulled my arms back, trying to loosen his grasp. “I’m sorry, take it easy. It was Julie’s birthday. Next time I’ll tell you if I’m missing a game.”

  The next thing I remember was being shoved – so hard my head smacked against a tree next to the sidewalk. I remember blacking out just for a second, and opening my eyes to see Wes still standing there, a look I’d never seen before in his eyes. Fear, maybe. Panic.

  “I – I’m sorry,” he said, rushing over. “I didn’t mean to do that. Are you okay?” He helped me up, and I wasn’t sure whether to push him away or accept his apology.

  Maybe if I hadn’t accepted his apology the first time, things would have been different. Maybe I would have been different.

  I felt my head after he helped me to my feet, sure there was blood everywhere. But there was nothing. Later there would be a bump on my head and bruises around my wrists, but I convinced myself because there was nothing then, nothing had happened.

  Wes was extra nice when he walked me home. He held my hand and rambled on about the plays I’d missed and what he would have done differently in the game. By the time I got home, I knew it was just an accident.

  My eyes fly open, and I have to shield them from the flames while I blink away the tears, waiting for the memories to hide back where they belong. My jeans are sprinkled with a few tiny hairs I can’t remember pulling. I swipe them off and catch a glimpse of my dad’s face in the rearview mirror. He’s been crying too.