Fire With Fire

by Jenny Han

  “Yeah, I know you’re not the goody-goody everyone thinks you are.”

  I stare him down, my chin quivering with the effort of looking at him and not crying, not running away. “Then I guess you also know that I was so drunk I could barely keep my head up and that Rennie was right across the room, with the other guy. That I think I said to stop, I think I did, but I can’t be sure I did.” Then I do start to cry, because I can’t anymore, I can’t keep it inside me.

  Reeve recoils. “I—I didn’t know any of that.” He lifts his arm like he’s going to try to touch me, but I must flinch, because he drops it.

  That was my secret, mine and Rennie’s. It wasn’t for anybody else to know. Especially not him. I cry harder, my tears mixing with the pool water dripping from my hair.

  “I’m sorry,” Reeve says. “Please don’t cry.”

  I sink down onto the bench. He doesn’t make a move; he just stands there awkwardly. “Then don’t talk about things you don’t know for sure,” I say, wiping my cheeks with the corner of my towel.

  “You’re right,” he agrees quickly. “I’m a dick. I never should have brought it up.”

  I’m still crying; now that I’ve started, I can’t seem to stop. Tears roll down my cheeks, and I keep wiping them away with my towel.

  “Lillia . . . if I had known you were that drunk, you have to know that I would never have let you go upstairs with that guy. I’d have stopped you.” He squats down in front of me so we’re at eye level, and he balances his hands on my knees. When I flinch, he quickly backs away and balances his elbows on his thighs. He pleads, “Please stop crying.”

  I nod. I let out a big breath of air. There’s an odd sense of relief in telling someone. In saying it out loud. I feel . . . a little bit lighter. A little tiny bit. But it’s something.

  We stay like that for what feels like a long time, and then he shifts, and I can tell his leg is bothering him. “Does your leg hurt?” I ask. My voice pings off the walls; it’s like the room isn’t used to sound anymore, we’ve been quiet that long.

  “Not at all,” he says.

  I stand up and offer him my hand, which he takes. He stretches his leg out, massaging it. “You shouldn’t push yourself so hard,” I tell him. “You should listen to your doctors.”

  Reeve shrugs his shoulders, and his back muscles ripple. “I have to push myself if I want to get a scholarship.”

  Sniffling, I say, “Well, hasn’t your physical therapist told you you’ll make it worse if you overdo it? I’m sure he has. Or she has. If he or she’s any good.”

  “Oh, so you’re a doctor now too?” Reeve says, smiling slightly. “Looks like we’ve got another Dr. Cho on the island.”

  I start to dry my hair with my towel. Then I sit down and open up my bag, pulling out my leggings and my zip-up hoodie. “I hate going outside in the cold after swimming. It feels like I’ll never be warm again.”

  “See, that’s why you should be wearing a swim cap.”

  I shudder. “Never. I would look like a peanut head.”

  Shaking his head at me, Reeve says, “Princess Lillia. Always so vain.” He sounds gentle, though. Affectionate. He sits down, near but not too near. “Then let’s not go yet. Wait for your hair to dry more.”

  So that’s what we do. When I’m in my car, I text Kat. I don’t explain exactly how it happened, but I say that I’m finally getting somewhere.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  * * *

  KAT

  TUESDAY IS OUR THIRD MEETING of the college prep group. A few kids have dropped out, which I totally don’t get. Hello! It’s essentially a get-out-of-class-free card every couple of weeks.

  Alex is already there, clicking away on his laptop. I sneak up behind him to scare the shit out of him, but then I notice what website he’s looking at.

  The University of Southern California.

  Funny. I thought Alex was only applying to two colleges. Early decision to the University of Michigan, and Boston College as a safety.

  He clicks a drop-down menu with all the undergraduate majors listed and selects the songwriting program.

  Before I can say anything, Ms. Chirazo walks over to us. Alex quickly closes his laptop, as if he was looking at porn or something. I pull out the chair next to him and take a seat.

  “Okay, you two. I’ve read both your essay drafts.” She sets the papers down on the table, Alex’s and mine. Alex’s doesn’t have much written on his. A couple of check marks in red pen. Mine is covered in scribbles.

  Damn. I snatch it away so Alex doesn’t see.

  “Alex, I love what you’re exploring here. I think you make a strong thesis about how class and privilege disappear on the football field, and success hinges only on hard work. But I want you to make sure that you aren’t too critical of your parents’ wealth when you relate back to your own life. I’m hoping you can temper some of those places to sound a bit more grateful for the opportunities you’ve been afforded.”

  Alex nods. “Sure, of course.”

  I slump in my chair. I thought Alex’s essay was fine, it was well-written and tight, but I also know exactly what Ms. Chirazo is talking about. There were a couple of points where I felt like he was being kind of a doof. Where he’d say things like, I never knew how rich my family was, and how that might make people think of me differently.

  Come on, dude. Your SUV costs more than a year’s tuition at Oberlin.

  Ms. Chirazo turns her head to me. “Now, Kat . . . I was surprised by your essay.”

  “Pleasantly surprised?” I say it with zero enthusiasm, because I already know she hated it.

  I wrote about how freaking bizarre it is to grow up in a place like Jar Island. How it shelters you from the outside world. I talked about my friendship with Kim, how music has made the world seem a lot bigger. I talked about how ready I am to get the eff out of here and start living my life. Obviously not in those exact words, but it was pretty much an indictment of this place. It was a counterpoint to Alex’s essay. It’s kind of hilarious, how Alex and I basically wrote about the same thing. It’s not like we planned it.

  “I thought Kat’s essay was great,” Alex says. “Jar Island is a weird place to live, and that should help her stand out.”

  Bless his bleeding heart.

  Ms. Chirazo’s glasses are on a chain around her neck. She puts them up on her nose and reaches for my paper. “I agree. I’m not saying that your essay isn’t good, Kat. It is. I don’t know that I’ve ever seen Jar Island in quite the way you present it.” She starts turning pages, and presses her lips together tight. “My biggest problem is that it doesn’t tell me much about you. It’s more about this place. And remember, we’re trying to make the admissions committees think of you as a real person.” She sets the paper down and turns her chair toward me. “Have you considered writing about losing your mother at such a young age?”

  My jaw drops. Did she really go there? I swear to God, Ms. Chirazo freaking gets off on the fact that my mom is dead. She brings it up every freaking chance she gets!

  “I considered it, and then decided against it,” I say, using all my energy to sound calm and not rage on her. That’s probably what she wants. For me to explode so she can force me to go to more counseling sessions.

  “Would you mind explaining your rationale?”

  I huff. “Look. I have a lot of reasons, but I’ll give you one. I don’t want to use the fact that my mom died to get people to pity me. Not to mention I’m pretty sure I’m not the only high school senior in the United States to have lost a parent. It’s not as uncommon as people think. And there are kids out there with way, way worse problems than I’ve got. Trust me.” I say it pretty bitchy. “So I don’t need to use it. My grades are stellar, and I’m pretty sure I killed it on the SATs last time.”

  “Your academic record is great, Kat. Especially the fact that you’ve accomplished what you have in light of your situation.”

  “My situation,”
I repeat, my lip curling.

  And then I feel it. Alex’s hand on my knee, underneath the table, where no one else can see. He gives my leg an encouraging squeeze, a sign to breathe, to not let this upset me so bad, to not explode on this lady in front of the whole room.

  I lean back in my chair and say, “Fine. I’ll consider it. Whatever.”

  “I don’t mean to upset you, Kat. But please do think about it. You can write about your mother without exploiting her memory. I think you owe it to yourself to speak about that experience and how you derived so much strength from it.”

  I force a tight-lipped smile as Ms. Chirazo gets up, pats me on the back, and moves on to the next group.

  “Thanks for that,” I say to Alex, under my breath. “If you hadn’t been here, I’d have gone off on her.”

  He bumps my leg under the table. I wonder if he’ll say anything comforting, if he’ll ask about my mom, or try and talk me into writing that kind of essay. But all Alex says is, “Any cool bands playing this week?”

  I think about telling him that I’m going to a show with Ricky, to see if it might make him jealous. But I decide against it . . . because what if Alex is asking because he wants to hang out? We’ve been having a good time together lately, like last summer.

  I decide to play it coy. “There’s a band coming Thursday that I might want to see,” I say. “What are you up to?”

  “I’m going to Boston with Lillia. We’re leaving first thing tomorrow morning. Taking two days off from school.”

  Huh. Never mind. “Shit. I forgot. I have a date Thursday night, actually. He’s in a band. Lead singer. They’re pretty big in Germany.”

  “Whoa. Cool.”

  “Yeah, I know right?” Lillia didn’t tell me about any special trip with Alex. “What are you guys heading to Boston for?”

  “We’ve both got prelim interviews with alums.” He sighs. “It ended up being this whole fight between my mom and my dad. If he had his way, I’d only apply to Michigan. But my mom said I should at least visit my backup school. Between us, I think she wanted to go shopping.”

  Okay. So it’s not like a romantic trip or anything. “You should probably check out Berklee, too.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s the number-three music school in the country. I think they might have a songwriting major too.” Alex’s face gets tight, and I suddenly feel guilty, like I’ve said something I shouldn’t have. “Sorry. I saw over your shoulder.”

  I wonder if Alex is going to try and deny it. Which would be weird. I mean, what’s the big deal? “I don’t think so,” Alex says quietly. “There probably won’t be time.”

  “How you guys getting there? Driving? Leave a little earlier, then. Or come back a little later. Whatever.”

  Alex grimaces. He leans forward and whispers, embarrassed, “We’re taking a private charter plane. I’d be fine with driving. But my dad’s already out of town, and he thinks my mom is a terrible driver, so he told us to take the plane. He pays to be a part of this service, so it doesn’t actually cost us anything.”

  A private plane. Jesus.

  The bell rings. “Welp,” I say, and quickly pack up my stuff, “you two kids have fun.” But I don’t mean it. Not at all.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  * * *

  LILLIA

  IT’S TUESDAY, AND SCHOOL’S ALREADY let out. I’ve been in and out of the pool, and now I’m studying for AP US History on the bleachers while Reeve does more laps. I figure this way we can walk out together; I can give him a proper good-bye. You can’t flirt with a boy if he’s underwater and you’re on dry land.

  Reeve has a clipboard lying on top of his gym bag. I glance over at it and recognize the bubble loops of Rennie’s handwriting right away. She’s still plotting all his workout sessions. I smile smugly to myself. She’d kill to be here with him. But she’s not. I am.

  Though it’s obvious Rennie doesn’t know anything about our after-school meet-ups. If she did, she’d drain the pool.

  I guess Reeve hasn’t mentioned it. Me.

  After half an hour or so, Reeve finally climbs out of the pool. “I’m starving,” he says, stretching his arms out and shaking water from his ears. “Wanna get pancakes or something?”

  My heart skips a beat. This is the first time he’s initiated an actual hangout. This is real progress. Ever since our fight, things have felt different.

  Casually, I look up from my textbook. “Hmm, I don’t know. I’m nowhere near done studying. Don’t you have a US History test on Friday too?” I’m in AP and he’s not, but I’m pretty sure we both have a test on Friday, when I’m back from Boston.

  Reeve shrugs. “I haven’t been to class in a couple of days. I’ve been doubling down in the weight room. Now that I have my walking cast, I’ve been working on my sprints. That way, when the doctor gives me the okay to go full-throttle, I’ll be ahead of the game.”

  “Are you serious? Then you’d better start studying, like, yesterday!”

  “I’m not worried. I have a great memory,” he tells me. Tapping his head, he boasts, “Like a steel trap.”

  “Okay, so what year was Shays’ Rebellion?”

  “Um . . .” Reeve leans forward and peeks at the notebook in my lap. “1786.” A droplet of pool water from his hair splashes onto the page.

  I shove him away. Crossly, I blow on the page and say, “Reeve! You’re getting my notebook all wet!”

  He sits down next to me. “Come on, this is boring. Let’s get out of here. I’m starved.”

  Pancakes do sound good. We could go to the Greasy Spoon. They serve real maple syrup there. But this test is important. It’s practically a midterm.

  “I have to finish my note cards.” I reach into my backpack and pull out a chocolate chip granola bar. “Eat this for now,” I say, handing it over and going back to my book.

  Abruptly he asks me, “Why are you being so nice to me?”

  I look up, surprised. Nice? It’s a granola bar. “Because we’re friends.”

  “Friends?” Reeve scoffs. “Admit it, Cho. You’ve never liked me.”

  Whoa.

  I mean, it’s pretty much true. But I never thought Reeve noticed whether or not I liked him, much less cared. And it’s not like I’ve always hated him or anything like that. At least, not before I met Mary.

  I quickly try to string some words together. “Yes I did!” I shake my head. “I do.”

  Reeve doesn’t look convinced. Impulsively I hold my hand out to him. “Well, we’re friends now, aren’t we?” He cocks his head and gives me a nod, and I say, “So shake my hand!”

  He finally takes my hand and shakes it and says, “Does that mean you’re going to help me study this week, friend? Tomorrow, postswim library trip?”

  “Oh . . . I can’t. I’m leaving in the morning for Boston for a college trip.”

  “You too? Lind told me he’s going to visit schools in Boston this week.”

  I hesitate. “Yeah . . . he’s going with me.” I quickly add, “With our moms. They’re the ones who set the whole thing up. I didn’t even know about it until a week ago. We’re all staying at our apartment in the city.”

  I don’t know why I’m explaining it to Reeve. It’s not like it’s his business. And judging by the bored look on his face, it’s not like he cares. “Have fun,” he says, yawning and stretching his arms over his head again.

  “We will,” I say. I’m annoyed now, and I can’t pinpoint the reason. I snap my book shut and put it back in my saddlebag. “I should get home and pack.” He’ll probably meet up with Rennie now. I don’t even know what the deal is between those two. I wonder if they’ve DTRed or whatever.

  “Your hair’s still wet,” Reeve protests.

  “I’ll be okay. I’ll run to my car.” I throw on my hoodie and tie my towel around my waist.

  Lazily, Reeve reaches over and pulls my hood up so it’s covering my head. “Why do you need, like, ten hours to pack for two day
s?”

  “It’s three days, actually. We’re not coming back until early Friday morning. Besides, my mom made reservations for us at fancy places, so I have to figure out what I’m bringing. And these interviews are important. I need to look my absolute best.”

  “Sounds fun,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Are you guys going to go to a ballet too? Maybe an opera?”

  “Maybe!” I screw up my lips tight. “And maybe we’ll go to a Red Sox game! My dad’s friend has box seats!”

  Reeve busts up laughing. He’s laughing so hard he can’t talk.

  “What? What?” I demand, my hands on my hips.

  “Lillia, Lillia, Lillia. Baseball season’s over, girl. You guys aren’t going to any Red Sox game!” He shakes his head, holding his sides, guffawing. “You two nerds have fun, though.”

  I want to push him off the bleacher. And then it occurs to me. It’s the second time he’s told me to have fun.

  Which is boy speak for “I’m jealous.” Reeve is jealous! Of Alex. Of me and Alex, together.

  It’s working. The plan is working!

  I pack my bag up and say, “So are we getting pancakes or not?”

  “I thought you had to pack,” he challenges.

  “I might have time for one pancake,” I say, giving him what I hope are flirty eyes.

  Reeve stands up, stretching. “All right. Whatever Princess Lillia wants, she gets.” But I can tell he’s happy, because he puts his hands on my shoulders and gives them a quick squeeze.

  * * *

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  * * *

  KAT

  WEDNESDAY NIGHT, I’M STILL THINKING about what Ms. Chirazo said about my college essay. Maybe I’m being stupid. I should do whatever the hell it takes to get into Oberlin and score some good financial aid. Ain’t no way private planes are in my future. And I don’t know why, but no matter how many beers I drink, I can’t stop thinking about Alex and Lillia jetting off together this week.