Fire With Fire

by Jenny Han

  “Um, excuse me, but I know how to talk to boys,” I snap. As if I need Kat to give me advice on how to get a boy to notice me! I add, “For your information, I set a student-council record last Valentine’s Day for most roses ever sent to a girl at Jar High.” True, a dozen were from my dad, but I got roses from boys, too. I even beat out Rennie. She kept saying how I wouldn’t have won if it hadn’t been for my dad. Now that I’m thinking of it, I’ll beat her this year too. I’ll do whatever it takes, talk to ugly freshman dorks if I have to.

  Kat heaves a sigh. “Fine. If you’re not going to wear this stuff, then what do you have in mind?”

  I pop some popcorn into my mouth and think. “Well, I have this cute blouse with a bow at the collar; I could wear that with these amazing gray flannel shorts that roll up on the bottom. I saw them online last night.”

  Mary and Kat exchange a look.

  Kat leans forward. “Listen. The way I see it, you’re more of a Jackie O type. You’re classy and refined and stylish.”

  I give her a nod. “True, true, and true.”

  Rolling her eyes, Kat continues. “But we need you to be a Marilyn. Sexy. A bombshell. Like, we don’t want Reeve to want to bring you home to his mom. We want him to want you. Hard-core obsession want. Blue balls want—”

  “Okay, okay! I get it!” Giggling, I fall back into the hammock. “But you guys, he’s so gross. I’ll be throwing up in my mouth every time I have to pretend cozy up to him.”

  Kat tosses the stretchy dress at my head. “At least try it on.”

  Mary says, “Yeah, Lil. Anything’s going to look pretty on you.”

  I groan.

  “Lil, trust me on this. I know what I’m talking about. Do you know how many lead singers I made out with this summer? Four! There were hotter girls than me around, but I’m the one they picked out of the crowd. You wanna know why? Attitude. It’s all about attitude. You act like you’re the shit and guys are so dumb they’ll totally believe it.”

  She’s completely right. Look at Rennie. Rennie’s all attitude. Whatever she wants, she gets. She has the whole school under her spell. Forget Marilyn. I’ll just channel Rennie.

  I pick up the dress. “So what do you guys want me to wear first? This streetwalker dress or this bra top?”

  Mary squeals, and Kat’s eyes gleam as she says, “Definitely the dress.”

  * * *

  When we pull into the school parking lot on Monday, Nadia sees her friend Janelle and gets me to drop her off by the front entrance. I take my time parking and then fixing my hair in the rearview mirror. I put it in my mom’s hot rollers before I went to bed, and then I slept on it so it wouldn’t be too bouncy. Bombshell hair, Kat kept saying last night. This isn’t exactly bombshell hair, but it’s fancier than my normal style. I dab some pink gloss on my lips, too.

  When I step out of my car, I make sure to keep my trench coat buttoned and tied tight around my waist. Right as I close the car door, I spot Kat watching me from across the lot, hanging on the chain-link fence. She shakes her head and mouths, No coat. I mouth back, I’m cold, and I shoot her a pleading look, but she shakes her head again. She mouths, Marilyn. Slowly, I peel the coat off and stow it in my trunk.

  I make my way across the parking lot and into the school. I’m wearing my highest heels, the pale pink patent-leather ones from homecoming. I walk up the steps carefully so I don’t trip and fall. The dress is super tight but also totally comfy, because it’s basically spandex. It barely covers my butt and it makes my boobs look huge, which never, ever happens. I hope I don’t get sent home for wearing it. My mom would probably faint.

  Right away I can sense people staring, but I look straight ahead, head up, shoulders back. A sophomore girl whispers to her friend, “Damn . . .” and a couple of boys whistle. I walk like I don’t hear them; I walk like I own this school.

  This must be what it feels like to be Rennie.

  I drop off my bag in my locker and only carry a purse, which is way sexier and more Marilyn than my school bag. I touch up my lip gloss, too. There’s five minutes before the bell rings, which means that Reeve will be by the vending machines with Alex and PJ like every morning.

  Which they are; they’re leaning against the wall of lockers, eating doughnuts, except for Reeve, who has a protein bar. No Rennie, thank God. My heart is thudding in my ears as I wave hi and sail past them. I go straight for the vending machine. As I punch the numbers for chocolate doughnuts, I peek in the glass to see if Reeve is looking. He’s not. He’s polishing off the bar. I notice too that he doesn’t have his crutches anymore. And he’s traded in his soft cast for a walking boot.

  PJ lets out a low whistle and calls out, “What are you all dressed up for, Lil?”

  Turning slightly, I say, “I have to give a presentation in French class.” Which would totally make sense if I were giving a presentation on the Moulin Rouge.

  “Très bien,” PJ says appreciatively, and I give him a curtsy.

  My dress is too short for me to bend down and pick the doughnuts out of the slot. Luckily, Alex comes right up beside me. “You look—wow,” he says, in a low voice.

  I can feel myself blushing. “Thanks.”

  Alex stoops down and grabs my doughnuts and hands them to me. “Wow,” he says again. His eyes are wide, and he’s staring at me.

  I try not to smile. I can’t remember—should I have already attempted physical contact with Reeve, or do I go straight to making him jealous? I don’t even know if he’s looking at me.

  I’m about to sneak a quick peek at Reeve when I see Rennie coming down the hall with Ashlin. Quickly, I link my arm through Alex’s. “Walk me to class?” I chirp.

  “Sure,” he says. “I’ll be your bodyguard.”

  Reeve’s looking at me now. His eyes flicker over me and then, just as quickly, away from me. Completely disinterested. He’s not even making an obnoxious joke about the way I’m dressed. He wipes off his mouth and tosses the wrapper in the trash without another glance in my direction.

  Maybe he’s still mad about the things I said to him on Halloween. Crap. If this plan of ours has any chance of working, I’m going to have to eat humble pie and apologize to him, which is the last thing I want to do.

  * * *

  At the lunch table, I’m all set to sit next to Reeve and make amends, but when I get there, he’s already sitting at the end and Rennie’s next to him. Her eyes go huge when she sees me in my getup, and I have to resist the urge to cross my arms over my chest.

  I slide into the seat across from her. My plan is to pretend our Halloween fight never happened, because what other choice do I have? “Hey, guys,” I say, opening my bottle of blueberry white tea.

  She acts like she didn’t hear me, which is fine, and then she puts her head on Reeve’s shoulder and says, “Do you want me to get you something from the lunch line, babe?”

  “Nah, I’m good,” he says, shaking a box of Muscle Milk.

  “Okay, I’m gonna get some fries. I’ll be back in two secs.” Rennie practically skips over to the lunch line.

  When she’s gone, I lean forward and quickly whisper, “Hey, um, I’m sorry for those things I said on Halloween. I think I had too much to drink.”

  My apology barely registers. He says flatly, “Yeah, ya think?”

  Clearly, Reeve’s not going to make this easy on me. How very Reeve of him. I swallow, lower my head, and then look up at him through my lashes. I’ve got to put on an Oscar-worthy performance here. In a contrite voice I say, “Reeve, I really am sorry. I should never have said that stuff to you . . . especially since you came to Fall Fest and tried your best to help me out, even with your injury.” I reach out and touch his arm lightly.

  Reeve moves his arm away from me. “I didn’t come to Fall Fest to help you out. I did it because I made a commitment to the kids.” He tips back in his chair.

  This isn’t working, like, at all. I’m going to have to change tactics. Maybe tell the truth a little. “I don’t
know if you’ve noticed, but Rennie and I are sort of in a fight. It’s been . . . hard, and I think I took it out on you because you were there. So, I’m sorry. I promise I didn’t mean any of those things I said.” Well, that part’s a lie.

  Reeve shrugs and takes a swig of milk.

  Gee, thanks for being so understanding, Reeve. Thanks a whole bunch.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  * * *

  MARY

  IT’S AFTER FIVE; EVERYONE’S ALREADY left school for the day. We are sitting in the last two rows of the auditorium. Lillia’s next to Kat, who’s got her combat boots up on the seat in front of her, and I’m perched backward on a seat in the row in front of them.

  Lillia unwraps a light brown Tootsie Pop and waves it around. “First lick?” she asks me and Kat. We both shake our heads.

  “Update!” Kat shouts, clapping her hands. “Update! Update! Update!” I clap along with her, because this is super exciting. It’s the thing I’ve been looking forward to all day.

  Lillia swirls the lollipop around in her mouth. “Well, I pranced right by him before homeroom and he barely looked at me. It was actually kind of insulting, now that I think about it. I mean, yeah, I screamed at him on Halloween, but he’s a guy. Aren’t guys supposed to always be horny? Like, he’s hooked up with every girl in school, but he can’t give me the time of day?” She sighs. “And after I spent all that time on my hair and makeup too.”

  “He was probably trying to hide his boner,” Kat says, chewing on her fingernail. “You look fierce as fuck, Lil.”

  Lillia laughs. “Um, thanks?”

  “In Spanish class I overheard Connor Dufresne describing what you had on today with, like, an insane amount of details,” I offer. “He said you’re the hottest senior by far. He said—”

  “Second hottest,” Kat booms, and we all laugh. “Don’t stress yet, Lil. We’re only getting warmed up. Today was about laying down the foundation. Next we kick it up.”

  “How?” Lillia asks. “I even apologized to him at lunch and he didn’t want to hear it. And he’s never alone, what with Rennie the Parasite constantly clinging to him.”

  I clear my throat. “I know a place where he goes by himself.” Looking down, I wind my hair around my finger. “The swimming pool.”

  Surprised, Lillia says, “Reeve’s joining the swim team?”

  “No, it’s for his physical therapy. He’s there every day, ever since he got his hard cast off.” I’m sure I sound like a stalker, but whatever. This is too good an opportunity for us to pass up. I fix my eyes on her. “Lillia, start swimming in there with him! It’ll be the two of you; no one’s there after school.”

  Lillia’s already shaking my head. “Mary, I don’t swim. Tell her, Kat!”

  “Lil doesn’t swim,” Kat confirms.

  “You don’t know how?” I ask.

  “I know how, but I hate it,” Lillia says, defensive. “And Reeve knows that about me. He’ll be suspicious if I start showing up at the pool all of a sudden!”

  Soothingly, Kat says, “Chill, Lil. Nobody’s throwing you in the water today.” But Lillia’s still shaking her head. And then Kat’s face lights up. “Wait! Don’t you have to take the swim test to graduate?”

  “My family doctor wrote me a note,” Lillia says, lifting her chin high. “I mean, my dad did.”

  Kat’s so excited she’s practically vibrating. “That’s it, Lil! There’s your excuse. You’re practicing for the test.”

  Lillia crosses her arms. “I told you, I’m not taking the test! I already turned in the doctor’s note from my dad. What am I supposed to do now? Walk into Mr. Randolph’s office and tell him that my aquaphobia is miraculously cured?”

  “Reeve doesn’t have to know you’re not actually taking the test! Pretend like you are. All you have to do is paddle on a kickboard,” Kat urges. “Like, literally doggy-paddle around the shallow end. And don’t forget that Reeve’s an awesome swimmer. He set the Jar Island record for breaststroke when he was, like, ten, and bitches still haven’t beat it yet! Even with his gimp leg, he could swim you to safety easy!”

  Stiffly, Lillia says, “I’m not worried about drowning.”

  “Then what are you worried about? This plan is foolproof. If you’re in the same physical vicinity as him, the two of you alone? Day after day?” She snaps her fingers. “He won’t be able to keep that act up for long.”

  Lillia looks a little queasy. I guess I can’t blame her. Day after day of having to face Reeve Tabatsky in a bathing suit would give me anxiety too. She turns to me, biting her lip. “What are you thinking?” she asks.

  I run my hands through my hair. I don’t want to put Lillia in a situation she’s uncomfortable with, but then again, what other options do we have? “I’m thinking Kat’s right,” I say at last. “Will you at least try it, Lillia? For me?”

  Lillia stares at me and then breaks into a laugh. She nudges Kat and, keeping her eyes on me, says, “How can I say no to that face? I’m not like Rennie. If my friend needs me, I’m there.”

  * * *

  Later, when I get home, Aunt Bette is up in the attic. I press my ear to the door and hear the scratching of her brush against the canvas. I close my eyes and smile, relieved. She’s painting again, thank God. Aunt Bette is always happiest when she’s working. And our house could use that kind of positive energy.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  * * *

  LILLIA

  AFTER SCHOOL LETS OUT, I go straight to the pool. The building is empty, and there’s a bluish cast because of the lighting. I hate the smell of chlorine. I set my teddy-bear beach towel along with my flip-flops down on the bleachers next to Reeve’s walking cast and his towel and gym bag. I’m wearing a white bikini with embroidered daisies and ties on the sides. It’s my cutest one. I tie my hair into a bun so it won’t get super wet.

  Reeve’s already in the water. He’s got floats attached to his legs, and he’s curling his legs inward and outward, grimacing as he uses his arms to push himself forward. He’s focusing so hard it doesn’t seem like he’s noticed me, so I clear my throat. His head jerks up. “What are you doing here?” he demands.

  “I’m here to practice for the swim test,” I say. “It’s a graduation requirement.”

  “Well, don’t bother me,” he says. “I’m here to work, not to talk. That’s why I come here alone.”

  “But you asked me—”

  “I need this lane and I need this stuff here,” he says. “Don’t touch any of it.” Then he goes back to his exercises.

  Seething, I grab a kickboard from the stack and make my way over to the pool ladder at the deep end. I start to go down one rung at a time, very carefully. The water is heated, but it still feels icy to me. I’ve already got goose bumps. This is so not worth it.

  And my feet are still planted on the ladder.

  If I were to take the swim test, I’d have to dive in and get from one end of the pool to the other two times without stopping to rest. Plus tread water for three minutes, plus float for one minute. I can’t do any of those things.

  I mean, I know how to doggy-paddle. I don’t know the official strokes or whatever, but who cares? I’m not going to drown in my own pool. I don’t like putting my head underwater. I don’t like not being able to breathe. So sue me. I have plenty of other forms of exercise that I actually enjoy, like cheering, and horseback riding, and tennis and golf. Why should I be forced to swim?

  I hold on to the side for a minute, one arm on the wall and one arm clutching my kickboard. My feet can’t touch the bottom, which makes me feel panicky. Whenever I’m in my pool at home, I stay in the shallow end.

  Meanwhile, Reeve has ditched the floats and is swimming like he’s an Olympian, lap after lap after lap. He barely even comes up for air. He’s pushing himself hard, maybe too hard. He’s doing the butterfly stroke, and his arms knife through the water powerful and sure, but his leg trails limp behind him. I have to admi
t it makes me feel better knowing he’s here. Like, if something did happen, no matter how much he hates me, he wouldn’t let me drown.

  I don’t think.

  I let go of the wall and start using the kickboard, holding on tight. I kick and kick my way down the lane, bobbing above the water, trying to keep water from splashing in my face. This is hard work; plus, I keep feeling paranoid I didn’t tie my bikini top tight enough. My swimsuits have always been purely decorative; they’ve never seen this much action. All in all it takes me forever—Reeve’s done three laps by the time I make it to the end.

  Reeve doesn’t stop or acknowledge me. I’m floating by the ladder waiting for him to finish like some kind of swim groupie, if such a thing even exists. When he’s finally done, he yanks off his goggles and looks up at the big clock on the wall and lets out an annoyed gust of air.

  Then he puts his goggles back on and starts doing laps again.

  What, since his football career is a bust, he’s trying out for swim team now? I look down the length of the pool. It’s so long. I’m tempted to go home. But I’ve only been in the water for, like, fifteen minutes. I suck in a deep breath and kick off from the wall and start paddling on my kickboard again. I concentrate hard, imagining I am a duck. Kick-kick-kick.

  I’m concentrating so hard on making it to the end of the lane that I don’t even notice when Reeve leaves.

  * * *

  On Wednesday, I’m wearing my yellow polka-dot bikini, the high-waisted one. Rennie calls it grandma chic, but it makes me feel glamorous, a bathing beauty, like Marilyn. This one doesn’t have a tie around the neck; it’s an underwire top, so it’s more secure.

  It’s silent in here, except for the sound of Reeve’s kicks and splashes echoing against the tiles. I feel glum as I collect the kickboard and climb down the ladder into the pool. Same as yesterday. Yesterday we didn’t talk. Not really. And we definitely didn’t flirt.