Burn for Burn (Burn for Burn #1)

Burn for Burn (Burn for Burn #1) Page 7

Rennie has spread a hundred rumors about me over the years—how my dad is a meth dealer and he’s grooming my brother, Pat, for the family business; how I once tried to French kiss her at a sleepover; and how she looked into getting a restraining order because I stalked her when she stopped being friends with me. All kinds of lies, just so she could have something interesting to say. I didn’t even care enough to set the record straight. It was hilarious, what a huge liar she was. She actually believed her own bullshit. Anyway, it wouldn’t have mattered what I said. People were going to believe what they wanted to believe.

Only now, for whatever reason, I don’t want Alex thinking I’m some low-life dirtbag.

Over his shoulder Rennie gives me a pleased buh-bye wave.

Before I can even think about what I’m doing, I’m running to catch up to them. Once I do, I lower my shoulder and bump into Rennie as hard as I possibly can.

CHAPTER THREE

MARY

WHEN I WOKE UP THIS MORNING, I HAD BUTTERFLIES IN my stomach. Lots of them. This is the day I’ve been waiting for.

I coast through Middlebury and pick up the bike path along the edge of the water where the shore turns rocky at the start of Canobie Bluffs. At the sharpest cliff the path curls into the woods. It’s cool here, under the pine trees, and I like the quiet sound my tires make slipping against the sandy trail.

Aunt Bette was still asleep when it was time for me to leave, but luckily my old yellow Schwinn was in the garage and in pretty much perfect condition. Not even dusty.

I wonder what will happen. When everyone else fades away and it’s just the two of us standing toe to toe.

I could say, Hello, Reeve, calm and even.

I could say, Didn’t think you’d see me again, did you?

The possibilities spin around in my head faster than my pedals. I don’t even think about what he’ll say to me. It doesn’t matter. I’m gonna get my moment, and that’s that.

The bike path lets out at the back of Jar Island High School. I skid to a stop. The high school stretches out just beyond the football field. I’m struck by how huge it is.

I came here once, as a kid with Mom and Dad, to see a theater company put on a musical version of The Secret Garden in the performing arts auditorium. I guess at the time I thought that was all there was, but now I see that the auditorium is a whole separate building from the school. There’s also one for the gym, and one for the pool. Kids are everywhere, hundreds of faces, swarming the place like ants. I keep thinking I’ll see someone I know, but I don’t. Everyone’s a stranger.

I follow the flow of students down a concrete path until it opens up to a big central courtyard. A bunch of guys are playing Ultimate Frisbee on the lawn. There are a few benches, a couple of trees, and in the center, a big bubbling fountain that sends sprays of mist into the blue sky.

Reeve is here somewhere. I know it. I can feel it.

I smooth my hair and take a slow spin.

A girl in cutoff shorts, a black tank, and a cropped black hoodie, dark hair blowing behind her, charges toward another girl, a smaller one with wavy brown hair, and slams into her hard. So hard I hear the smack from where I’m standing.

The smaller girl stumbles on her high heels, and she almost falls into the fountain. She lets out a bloodcurdling scream. I recognize her now. I think maybe I met her once, a long time ago. Maybe at Sunday school or day camp or something.

The one in the cutoffs says, “You were the klepto, Rennie! I’ve never stolen anything in my life!” Rennie. That’s right. That’s the small girl’s name. She was in my swim class at the Y in the third grade. The other girl gets up in Rennie’s face. A boy with auburn hair tries to hold her back, but she pushes him away. “And if I hear you spreading any more lies about me, I’ll kill you.” The way the girl says it, dead serious, gives me goose bumps.

People all over the courtyard slow down to watch, like seagulls circling beach trash. I have this helpless feeling, this sick feeling. But everyone else looks entertained. Everyone except the auburn-headed boy.

Rennie stands up straight. “Umm . . . you’ll kill me? Really?” She laughs. “Okay, no more lies, Kat. I’ll get real with you right now. Remember that time you came over in ninth grade, begging me to be your friend again?” The smile on the other girl’s face—Kat—disappears. “You were crying, and you kept trying to hug me? Just so you know, the whole time I was thinking how your breath smelled like shit. How it kind of always smelled like shit, even right after you’d brushed your teeth. And I was so relieved when you left that I’d never have to smell your shitty-ass breath again.”

Kat’s mouth wrinkles up. She wants to say something but can’t. I see it in her face, in her eyes. She starts to cough, and at first I think she’s holding back tears. But then Kat’s head tips back slightly and she spits a huge loogey in Rennie’s face.

Everyone watching cries out, “Eww!”

The boy says, “Jeez, Kat!”

“OH MY GOD!” Rennie screams, wiping at her face furiously. “You are such trash, Kat!” She looks around at everyone watching her, and her cheeks turn bright pink. “Oh my God,” she says again, this time a whisper to herself.

Kat walks away. She makes eye contact with me as she passes. Her eyes are flashing, and I can barely breathe.

I feel turned around, not sure which way is up or down, or where to go. Is this what life at Jar Island High is like? ’Cause if it is, I’m not sure I’ll survive the day.

A pretty Asian girl comes to Rennie’s side and holds out a tissue, but Rennie doesn’t take it. Instead she wilts as a tall brown-haired guy scoops her up and offers her his T-shirt sleeve to wipe her face on. “Come here, girl,” I hear him say. “Fighting on the first day of school! Ren, you know you’re better than that. Don’t let DeBrassio drag you down in the gutter with her . . . But I have to say, watching you two throw down was kinda hot.” He tips his head back and lets out a laugh he must have been holding in.

I don’t hear it. I don’t hear anything. Just the pounding in my ears. Everything else is on mute. Because it’s him. Right there in front of me, after all these years. It’s Reeve Tabatsky.

I’d know him anywhere. He has the same brown hair, same Roman nose. And those eyes. Green like sea glass. He’s taller now, much taller. Broad shoulders, muscular arms. He’s wearing a white T-shirt and a worn-looking pair of khakis, and he has a pair of mirrored aviator sunglasses perched at the top of his forehead.