Burn for Burn (Burn for Burn #1)

Burn for Burn (Burn for Burn #1) Page 28

Rennie hands me her clipboard. “Everyone come see Lillia, and she’ll tell you your player’s info. We’re only giving this out once, so make sure you write it down someplace where you won’t lose it.” To me, she says, “I’m going to get a bottled water. Be right back.”

I look down at the list of the boys on the football team, with their birthdays, favorite cookies, home addresses, cell phone numbers—and their locker combinations, both gym and regular.

I want to kiss this piece of paper. Alex Lind, you are so dead.

*   *   *

On Tuesday Alex’s skin looked pink and tender. Today is Wednesday, and it’s cracking. He looks like the lizard Nadia found on our family vacation in Hawaii a few Christmases ago. I almost feel sorry for him. It’s hard to look him in the eyes, even. His eyeballs look so white against his skin. So do his lips. They’re chapped and blistering.

We’re at the lunch table. Rennie leans close to me and whispers, “Alex’s skin is making me lose my appetite.”

I take a bite of my sandwich. “It’s not that bad,” I lie.

“Then you sit across from him,” she says.

He’s so miserable, it seems like it hurts him to eat. I didn’t realize it would be that painful. I’d thought it would be purely cosmetic. Alex catches me looking at him, and I quickly glance away.

As soon as Alex gets up to get a soda, I say to Rennie and Ashlin, “Do you guys think it could be contagious?”

Ashlin looks horrified, and Rennie practically gags on her celery stick. “Oh my God. I’m switching seats,” she says. She moves her stuff two seats down, next to PJ. Ashlin moves with her.

When Alex comes back with his Coke, it’s just me and Reeve at this end of the table, and Alex definitely notices. Reeve must have too, because he says, “Dude, what the hell is up with your skin?”

Alex barely looks up. “It’s the sun,” he says. “Coach needs to calm down on the two-a-days.”

“I’ve been out there the same as you,” Reeve says, gulping down milk. “Maybe you should go to the doctor or something. Get that situation checked out.”

“My mom already made me an appointment for tomorrow,” Alex says. “It’s probably just an allergic reaction. I think our cleaning lady started using a new laundry detergent. That could be it.”

“You should put some aloe on it,” Reeve says.

I sweetly offer, “My dad has an aloe plant. I could cut you off a piece.”

“Thanks, Lillia.” Alex sighs. “First my car window gets smashed; now this. It’s been a crap week.”

“Dude, that was a blessing in disguise. Now you can get those tints you wanted for the windows.” Reeve throws his arm around Alex and says, “Hey, you know what? Maybe you shouldn’t be going to a dermatologist about your skin. Maybe you should go to a gyno. You could have caught some crazy kind of herpes from DeBrassio!” He bursts out laughing.

Alex’s head jerks up. He glances at me before growling, “Shut up, Reeve.”

“Hey, I give her credit. She’s a player just like me.”

I turn to Reeve and say, “Oh, so you’re saying you have herpes?” Reeve just laughs harder.

“Kat’s not like that,” Alex says, his eyes fierce. Then he gets up and throws his lunch into the garbage can.

“I was just kidding,” Reeve calls after him.

I watch Reeve get up and follow Alex out of the cafeteria. It’s surprising, the way Alex defended Kat. Kind of sweet, even. But then I remind myself that this fake chivalrous Alex also cheated on Kat by taking advantage of my little sister, so really, what right does he even have to defend anybody? He’s not fooling me. Not anymore.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

KAT

AFTER SCHOOL ON WEDNESDAY, I TAKE THE FERRY OUT to see Kim at the music store. When I called to ask if I could use their copy machine, Kim put me on hold and made sure the owner, Paul, wasn’t going to be around. When she came back on the line, she said they were pretty low on paper so I should bring what I think I’ll need. I stole a whole ream of it from the library. Five hundred sheets to humiliate Alex.

As amped as I am about doing this, it’s sort of annoying. I mean, basically my whole night is going to be spent doing this crap. I wouldn’t care, but Mary hasn’t done much of anything so far. I don’t blame her for not having any ideas yet—she doesn’t know Alex. But she’s going to need to pick up the slack and earn her place. Lillia’s been all right, I guess. Although her ideas have been pretty weak. The Retin-A thing was fine, but if it were me, I’d have put Nair in Alex’s shampoo or something. Go big or go home.

Whatever. We’re just getting started. Hopefully by the time it’s my turn and we’ve got Rennie in our cross hairs, we’ll be a well-oiled revenge machine.

Kim perks up when I walk through the door. Even though there’s a customer waiting in line to be rung up, she pulls me behind the counter and gives me a big hug. The guy’s a punk with a full-on Mohawk, so I guess Kim thinks he doesn’t give a crap about customer service.

“Kat!” she says. “I’ve missed you, bitch!”

“Missed you too,” I say. Actually, I guess I haven’t. I’ve been too caught up in this revenge thing.

*   *   *

The summer before my junior year, I spent hours and hours perusing the racks at Paul’s Boutique, checking out bands I’d never heard of at the listening stations. There was one where the headphones had an extra long cord, and I could sit on the floor. I wouldn’t listen to a song here or there but whole albums. Five, six, seven.

Kim kicked me out a few times. She’d be ready to lock up for the night, and I’d be on the floor with my eyes closed, the volume turned up as loud as it could go, with no clue what time it was. It wasn’t that I didn’t have other things to do. I was always welcome to hang out with Pat and his friends. But I could only handle dudes-who-love-dirt-bikes talk for so long before I wanted to lock the garage doors, rev all the engines, and die from carbon monoxide poisoning.

So Kim was, rightfully, annoyed with me back then, because I really was a terrible customer. I’d mostly just hang around all day without buying anything. If I were her, I would have barred me from the store along with the shoplifters.

I’m not sure what made her eventually take pity on me, exactly, but it happened like this—I went up to the register and tried to buy a ticket to see this band called Monsoon in the garage space, even though the show was for people twenty one and older.