Feeding the Fire

by Amy Waeschle

  “We’ve got a surprise for you!” she said, shrugging out of her backpack.

  Purple Bangs had bleached the tips of her hair while the rest was a purple mess, tied up in a ratted knot, with spikes of hair sticking up in all directions. It reminded Jessie of a poisonous pincushion.

  Spider Eyes’ gaze flicked up and down. “What’s with the lumberjack getup?”

  The second bell rang. “We’ve got something better,” the third girl said.

  Purple Bangs had pulled out a rumpled sundress. “Ta-da!” she said with a wicked grin.

  Jessie tried to stand tall. “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Why, to help you with your image, sweetie,” Purple Bangs crooned. Then her smile turned cold. “Off,” she said, nodding at her shirt.

  Jessie glared at them.

  “Whoa-ho! What the hell is this?” Jessie heard the third girl say and whipped around to see her smoothing Grady’s porno pictures against the stall wall.

  Jessie grimaced. Why hadn’t she burned them?

  Spider Eyes covered her mouth to stifle a yelp of glee. She glanced at Jessie, her eyes lighting up with delight. “Bringing pornography to school, huh?” Her lips curled back. “That’ll get you at least a few days on the beach,” she said in a sassy, obnoxious voice.

  “They’re not mine,” Jessie said, desperate.

  “You’re a sick little girl,” Purple Bangs said as she shuffled through the pictures, grinning.

  “I’ll make you a deal, girlfriend,” Spider Eyes said, swaggering closer. She leaned forward, bracing herself against the metal wall next to Jessie’s head and bringing her face close enough to almost touch.

  “You’re gonna wear this pretty little frock,” she said, nodding to the dress laid over her backpack. “Or these dirty pictures will be the talk of the school.”

  Purple Bangs reached towards Jessie’s shirt buttons. Jessie shrank back. “Fine!” she said, unbuttoning the flannel. She shrugged out of it and let it drop to the floor.

  Jessie tried to be still, like an animal hiding. She imagined she was a rabbit, trying to blend in to its surroundings.

  “The t-shirt too,” the third girl said.

  Jessie glared at them.

  Spider Eyes fanned herself with the crumpled magazine pictures and raised an eyebrow.

  Slowly, Jessie pulled up her t-shirt.

  “Ooh, girlie’s got titties!” Purple Bangs cried.

  “You’re such a lesbo, Aisha,” the third girl said, rolling her eyes.

  Jessie tried to cover herself. How could they talk to her like this? Could she get away? Crawl under the stall and run? Not dressed in only her bra, she realized. If only she had some way to get to them.

  Spider Eyes pulled the dress over Jessie’s head and down her front.

  “Such a little darling!” Spider Eyes said. “No need for this,” she added, tucking Evan’s flannel into her backpack.

  “Wait!” Jessie cried, trying to grab it.

  But her plea was ignored. “We don’t want to hear about any wardrobe changes, you got that?” Spider Eyes said.

  “Yeah, we got eyes everywhere,” Purple Bangs said. They cackled as they unlocked the door and stepped out.

  Jessie breathed in the silence. She glanced at the dress, its bright flower pattern screaming “garden party.” She had to get out of the bathroom, get to class. Had the second period bell already rung? For how long would her late note keep her out of trouble? Frantic, she searched for Darnell’s green post-it and finally found it in the smaller front pouch of her pack, crumpled alongside her quiz.

  She also found a pack of cigarettes, a book of matches, and a lighter bundled together by a rubber band.

  Jessie sat in Boudreaux’s class, her eyes staring uncomprehendingly at the writing prompt on the board.

  Boudreaux was calling on kids to answer questions about the egg baby project. Jessie stared out the window at the patchy lawn and distant forest, her breath shaky. Recreating the timer Stef had taught her had taken no time at all. She relived the sound of the lighter flicking in her fingers, the spark leaping to life.

  Jessie felt eyes on her and turned to see two girls staring and whispering.

  “Nice dress,” one of the girls across the aisle said to her.

  Jessie returned her gaze to the window as a feeling of terror set in. Why had she done something so stupid? I should call the fire department. She imagined her shaky voice: hi, uh, I’d like to report a fire. Would they be able to trace the call?

  Behind her, Cam huffed. She had produced a new egg baby, the crib decorated with grosgrain ribbon and a special mini-quilt she had sewn the night before. In her most careful artwork, she had attempted to draw the same eyes. She wondered if Boudreaux would notice that it wasn’t the original, and what would happen if he did.

  Boudreaux gave them a reading assignment. Moments later, he approached her desk. She remembered her “Parenting Path” report and pawed through her papers for it, the sharp rustling noise filling the silent classroom.

  She saw Cam hand his report to Boudreaux as well.

  “And what did you learn from this?” Boudreaux asked. Out of the corner of her eye she watched his thick brown shoes rock forward and back on the blue-gray carpet.

  “That neglected babies grow up messed up,” she mumbled. She risked a look at his strict face.

  “How to pick a good partner,” Cam said, his words snappy with bitterness.

  She turned sharply to see his tight expression.

  Then, Jessie heard the sirens.

  A rush of emotion flooded through her. She had to resist the urge to rush to the window in order to watch the trucks approach. Fear shivered through her insides, making her feel sick to her stomach. She imagined smoke billowing out the bathroom window and into the hallway. Kids would line up on the football field, the teachers calling roll from the lists on their clipboards.

  “Settle down, class,” Boudreaux said as he wandered back to his desk, Jessie’s and Cam’s report pinched tight in his fingers.

  She realized that Cam was still watching her, his accusing look fading to disbelief.

  Jessie swiveled back to face the front of the room.

  Chapter 24

  Zach

  Halfway to Harrison Medical Center with a trauma patient, his pager went off for a call at the high school, meaning that he missed the event of the day: a prank in one of the high school bathrooms. But he heard all about it at lunchtime.

  Later, on his way out the door for a coffee run, Stu Green intercepted him in the hallway, his bifocals slid halfway down his nose.

  “That hair sample from inside that helmet you found had roots,” he said, peering at Zach. His lips tightened. “DNA should be back any day.”

  Zach thought about this. “If it’s a kid, though, it won’t give you much, right? I mean, it’s unlikely they’ll be in the system.”

  “You’re right,” Stu agreed. “But it means we’ll have confirmation.”

  Zach nodded.

  “I’m cross-checking the kids enrolled in that Chem class that had the fire last month with kids who had access to that bathroom today.”

  “So, the kid is a high school student?”

  “There were remains of a cigarette filter in the trash can,” he said.

  “So it could have been accidental?” Zach said.

  “Possibly. Though most kids are vaping these days. And there were no recent reports of cigarette smoke.”

  “It was a girls’ bathroom, right?” Zach asked.

  Stu nodded. “But I’m not ready to eliminate either gender. The call came in-between classes, so it could be male or female.”

  Zach frowned. Something wasn’t adding up. The boathouse fire had the marks of someone clever. Then a week later the same person sets fire to a trash can at school?

  Zach realized that Stu was watching him. He raised an eyebrow. “Something on your mind?”

  Zach shuffled his feet. “It just seems off, putting a
ll these fires on the same person. The trash can and dumpster seem like pranks versus the boathouse which was the work of someone experienced.”

  “I agree. But that helmet puts the boathouse on a kid. The trashcan and the Chem lab have to be a kid, too. Pretty tough to believe we could have two kids setting fires.”

  “Maybe the helmet is a coincidence,” Zach said, though he didn’t believe this.

  “Anything is possible,” Stu replied with a stiff shake of his head. “Finding that helmet was a real windfall.” He flashed Zach with a steady gaze. “Nice work, Healy.”

  Later that day, after completing an online refresher course in intubation practices, he found Brody smoothing brownie batter into a square pan at the kitchen island.

  “Did you hear?” Brody asked. “Hoffenrichter turned in three girls for that fire at the high school.”

  “Girls?”

  “Apparently they use that bathroom like an office.”

  “Do any of them skate?”

  “Don’t know. But I could see Stu’s hard-on from a mile away. He left to interview them.”

  Zach nodded. “Does he think they did the rest?”

  “Don’t know that either,” he said.

  Zach leaned his hip against the fridge. “Something doesn’t fit. If that bathroom is their space, why would they sabotage it with a fire?”

  “Teenage girls do all kinds of crazy shit,” Brody said, shaking his head.

  “Okay, sure, but if we take hormones out of it,” Zach said, “I can’t see three girls setting fire to that boathouse, or that vacant on Pugh Road a few weeks back. Maybe they’d do the science lab, though that seemed like some kid trying to show off.” He thought about it. “The person doing this is a loner, a kid who doesn’t fit in, who’s got problems.”

  “That describes about half of North Kitsap High’s population,” Brody said, sliding the brownie pan into the oven.

  “You’re right,” Zach sighed, and shoved off of the fridge in frustration. Stu Green was following the wrong lead. So how could they switch tracks? Zach headed back to the training room, the strange feeling that he had missed something tickling the back of his brain.

  Chapter 25

  Jessie

  “Your face is bright red, Jessie. Why don’t you take off your parka?” her P.E. teacher, Mrs. Gillian, said.

  Because I can’t jump rope without it, Jessie wanted to say.

  Mrs. Gillian had set up an obstacle course in the gymnastics room upstairs, including jump-roping, push-ups, bar hangs, sit-ups, and jogging in place. Jessie was partnered with a quiet girl with skin so pale it seemed transparent. She kept making swirly doodles on her records sheet with their stubby golf pencil.

  The room felt like a sauna, and Jessie’s t-shirt was wet with sweat. She was so thirsty that her tongue felt too big for her mouth.

  Grady Baker and Finn were partners at the station right after hers. While jogging in place, Jessie had caught Finn watching her chest. Even though she turned her back, the feeling of his eyes on her remained.

  Ms. Gillian’s eyes scrunched up at the sides. “I’ll hold onto it for you, okay? Nothing will happen to it.”

  Jessie shook her head. Why didn’t Ms. Gillian understand?

  Ms. Gillian let out an impatient sigh. “You’re overheating. You have to take off your coat.”

  “No, thank you.” Jessie hugged herself.

  Other kids near the jump rope station were now peering at her with interest. Jessie felt like crawling into a hole.

  “This is a safety issue. You’re starting to disrupt the class.”

  “I’m sorry,” Jessie said, feeling the tears building behind her eyes.

  “Jessie, is something wrong? This isn’t like you.”

  You don’t know anything about me, she wanted to say.

  “I won’t overheat. I’m fine,” she said, then grimaced at how bratty she sounded.

  Mrs. Gillian put her hands on her hips and cocked her head, looking at her strangely. “You’re not leaving me much choice, here, Jessie. I’m going to have to refer you to the office.”

  Jessie’s mouth dropped open. She was being sent to the office? For not taking off her coat?

  Mrs. Gillian touched her elbow to lead her away from the station.

  Jessie yanked her arm away.

  “Jessie,” Ms. Gillian said, her voice calm but steely. “I just need you to step aside so the others can get back to the circuit.” Mrs. Gillian looked around the room. “Get back to work everyone.”

  Jessie walked alongside Mrs. Gillian. “Can’t I just sit out?” she asked in a quiet voice. “I’ll just wait for class to be over.”

  But Mrs. Gillian was already writing a note on her clipboard. She tore it from its matching copy underneath and handed it to Jessie. Her eyes wore that detached, disappointed look that was starting to become familiar.

  Jessie ran down the stairs and pushed out of the gym’s doors to the outside hallway. The fresh air cooled her hot cheeks and she gulped the cool air. Her anger faded, and worry took its place. I’m never coming back here, she thought.

  Jessie stepped into the office and handed her referral to one of the secretaries, who flashed her a look of confusion before nodding to the chairs across from her. “Take a seat,” she said. Obediently, Jessie lowered into a chair, tucking her hands under her thighs.

  Phones rang, the secretaries chirped, computer keys clicked, adult chatter filtered down the office hallway, doors opened and closed. She seemed to wait a long time. She resisted the urge to ask the secretary if she knew anything about the fire. A panicked thought seized her when she remembered the pack of cigarettes and lighter in her backpack. What if they want to search it?

  Would they be able to tell that she had set the fire? Residue on her hands? She wished she had though to wash them. Her stomach did a nervous flip.

  “Jessie?” a voice finally called from the first doorway. Mrs. Hoffenrichter.

  Chapter 26

  Jessie

  Mrs. Hoffenrichter was a tall woman with short white-blonde hair and a soft voice. Jessie had only ever really seen her at assemblies where she talked about the dress code, like how wide your tank top straps could be and that you couldn’t wear your hood up in the hallway. She closed the door behind Jessie and indicated for her to sit on the small couch in the middle of the room. Mrs. Hoffenrichter picked up her large ceramic coffee mug and sat on the chair opposite, removing a walkie-talkie from her waist belt and placing it on the coffee table. The overhead lights were off and two lamps gave the room a warm glow. It was sort of like being in someone’s living room, Jessie realized. Mrs. Hoffenrichter’s desk was set into the corner, and Jessie noticed a framed picture of two kids, a boy and a little girl. Mrs. Hoffenrichter’s mug was printed with the words, “My only domestic quality is that I live in a house.”

  Everyone knew about Mrs. Hoffenrichter—that she was always calm even in a crisis, and that she was patient. Everyone referred to her as Mrs. Hoffenrichter, never Hoffenrichter, even off-campus. Jessie knew Evan had been here, in this exact spot, many times, and somehow that and the “tell me everything” atmosphere unsettled her more than anything else.

  “How’s math going at the high school?” Mrs. Hoffenrichter asked, settling in opposite her on the other couch. She had the quick blue eyes of an animal: steady, focused. Jessie felt like the rabbit and Mrs. Hoffenrichter the owl.

  “Good,” Jessie said, her voice sounding raspy.

  “Mr. Darnell says you have a lot of potential,” she added.

  Jessie felt the blush rise to her cheeks. “Uh,” she said, wondering if Mrs. Hoffenrichter was bullshitting her. Did she know about her quiz score?

  “I’m looking forward to seeing you all at Wax Museum tomorrow tonight,” Mrs. Hoffenrichter said, her smile crinkling her eyes. “Joan of Arc was quite the dynamic figure, wasn’t she?”

  Jeez, did Mrs. Hoffenrichter know everything? Jessie wasn’t sure what to do with her hands. Put them in her lap? U
nder her legs? She looked down at the floor. “Yeah.”

  “Your last progress report shows all A’s.” Mrs. Hoffenrichter tugged the fabric of her tan slacks and crossed her legs, revealing cream-colored ankles tucked into shiny brown shoes. There was a long pause in which Jessie looked everywhere but at Mrs. Hoffenrichter. Jessie’s eyes found a pretty picture of Mt. Rainier hanging above Mrs. Hoffenrichter’s desk. It looked cold and beautiful and clean.

  “Do you know why you’re here?”

  Jessie looked at the hands in her lap and her bare wrists. The room felt warm. Had Mrs. Hoffenrichter turned up the heat on purpose? She had watched a TV show one time where the detectives had turned up the heat in the interview room in order to make the suspect uncomfortable, and more likely to confess. Was that what they were doing here?

  Jessie wiped her brow. “Um,” she answered.

  Mrs. Hoffenrichter’s office window overlooked the school’s turnaround and parking lot, which was opposite the main high school entrance.

  “The more honest you can be with me now, the easier this will be.”

  Jessie risked a look at Mrs. Hoffenrichter then, just to see her eyes. They were the same attentive, steady blue. Her posture was comfortable, patient. Like she could sit still, waiting here, until the end of time.

  Jessie pulled down the sleeves of her coat but they only inched back up.

  “Are you taking alcohol or drugs?”

  Jessie choked on a breath. “No!”

  “Your brother had those problems.”

  “I’m not taking anything,” she said quickly.

  Mrs. Hoffenrichter took a sip of her coffee. Calmly, slowly.

  Jessie realized she was clenching her fists.

  “Ms. Gillian asked you to take off your coat. Why did you refuse?”

  Jessie looked out the window again. She remembered the girls in the bathroom. Don’t cry, she told herself. So they thought she was on drugs, that was the issue. Normally this would make her furious but instead she felt a small piece of her anxiety chip off, though tried not to show it—Mrs. Hoffenrichter would surely notice. She took a slow, steady breath.