by Isa Hansen
“You don’t feel good about what?” Petter flicks her an irritated glance.
“The things we’re doing.”
Petter shuts his locker without responding and lumbers past her—would’ve bumped into her if she hadn’t moved out of the way.
She says to him, low enough so only he can hear, “Why did you start the fire?”
Because it was Petter who wanted it. The rest of it all just spiraled. But the fire—that was planned. She knows it.
He turns around slowly.
“What you mean to say is, why did we start the fire? Or if you’re pressing the matter, why did you start it?” Petter moves up to her, close. “You know we can always spin it that way. Would be our word against yours.”
Petter towers over her. Liv’s impulse is to back away. She doesn’t.
“But it was your plan, wasn’t it?”
Petter bangs his fist into the locker so hard that it makes Liv jump several steps to the side. Then he speaks, his voice serenely calm in contrast to his violent punch.
“It was not my plan and don’t you ever try to insinuate it.”
He walks away.
Liv stands for a while, listless, wondering if she made a mistake by pressing him.
She has a doctor’s appointment soon. When she called in she told the secretary that she hurt herself in gym class. That’s the best she could come up with. School’s out for the day and she doesn’t have time to go home in between, so she heads straight to her appointment.
She arrives and sits in the waiting room. She’s the only one there.
A woman steps out from a hallway beyond the lobby and addresses her: “Doctor Lagerkvist is ready to see you.”
Liv follows the woman’s arm signal and enters the first room down the hall.
Straight ahead there’s an examining bed, a desk, and a set of cabinets. A skeleton in the corner and on the wall next to it, a poster of the muscular system.
The doctor stands with his back to her, scanning a chart.
“Have a seat,” he says.
She sits down on the only chair in the room.
He turns to her, eyes still on the chart. “I’m Dr. Lagerkvist. I’m stepping in for Dr. Sjöberg who’s out … looks like you had a little scrape in gym class.”
The doctor looks up from his clipboard.
Startled, she jerks her head. She’s seen that face before.
Where does she know him from?
Then her stomach flips.
He’s the man from the night of the fire.
The one who saw her with the gasoline tank.
She can tell by the way his eyes change—the way they narrow and expand—that he recognizes her, too.
“Well, who do we have here?” he says.
His eyes are blue and cool and cruel. They sit deep in an oval face. A vein in his forehead moves when he speaks. “Pretty little thing, aren’t you? In quite a bit of trouble now, I’d say.” He closes the door, his eyes appraising her body, zoning in on her chest, then fixing his focus back on her face.
She stares down at her feet.
“But don’t you worry,” he coos, his voice soft as velvet. “I’m sure we can come to an agreement, you and I. There’s no need for me to say a word.”
part three
WINTER
CHAPTER 29
A set of headlights grew in the night, passed her on the road, then faded on the other side of her. The passing car brought her out of her bleary state of mind. Celia wasn’t sure how long she’d wandered around; plodding forward, numb and disoriented.
When she checked her phone she saw she had missed calls from Ebba.
She dialed Ebba’s number, taking a step into a frozen ditch to get out of the way of another passing car.
Listening to the ringing, she glanced around. She didn’t know where she was. Silhouetted trees and darkness. Lights in windows past the trees. She was somewhere out in the country. Suddenly she realized how cold she was.
Ebba’s voice, picking up: “I’ve been trying to get a hold of you.”
“Ebba—” Celia’s voice sounded hollow and gravelly. Her teeth clattered. She hugged her arm around herself.
“Hey, are you OK? Where are you?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?”
“Ebbs, Anette knows Jug ears.”
“Who?”
To the best of her ability, Celia relayed what she had seen at the tavern. Anette in the company of the man who picked her up from the airport; the two of them had interacted comfortably, as though they knew each other well.
Ebba’s response was quick. “I’m coming to pick you up. Where are you? Are there any street signs?”
“I’m on a country road. I don’t know where. But there are lights up ahead. I think I’m walking toward a town.”
“Keep walking toward the lights. Let me know when you see a sign or any kind of landmark.”
Celia kept Ebba on the line. Now she saw a town sign up ahead. The blue kind that let you know you’d soon arrive in a town or locality.
“I’m going toward Lerhammar,” she said.
“Good,” Ebba said. “I’m coming to pick you up.”
***
Ebba lived with her mom in a little white bungalow close to Erik and Anette’s house. Both of Ebba’s siblings were older, and her mom was not yet in a live-in relationship with her new partner, so she and her mom lived in the house alone.
After Ebba found her wandering the country road toward Lerhammar, she took Celia with her back home. There, Celia took a hot shower and borrowed clothes from Ebba. Now they were in Ebba’s room, settled on her bed. Celia sat with her knees pressed against her chest, her arms wrapped around her legs, swaying. She was overcome by a dizzy anxiety that soared up her chest.
“What will you do?” Ebba asked. She was sidelong, head propped up, her hand cupped against her neck. “Will you confront her?”
“I guess,” Celia said, “but I can’t imagine doing it right now. Just thinking about all this makes me sick.”
“Do you think Anette arranged for the driver to pick you up at the airport?”
“She must have.”
The bitter truth of it kept ringing in Celia’s head. Of course it was her, had to be her. How else could it have been arranged?
“That means she was planning on this before your arrival.”
“I know. That’s what shakes me.” Celia curled her head down, breathing into her arms. “I just don’t understand. Why would she do that?”
The thing that didn’t make sense to Celia was that Anette was so kind. She was always helpful, always a positive influence. In fact, Celia wasn’t sure that her parents would have stayed in regular contact with Erik if it weren’t for Anette. In many ways, she was the glue that held them all together. Celia had always felt a natural and easy trust for Anette, so for her to now be involved with what happened at the airport—it caused Celia to lose balance and wonder if anything was sane or real anymore.
She flopped down into a heap and buried her face in Ebba’s pillow. She wanted to cry, but she was too numb to shed tears.
Ebba scooted up and put a calming hand on her shoulder. “We’re going to figure this out. It’ll be OK.”
Celia wanted to believe her so badly, but after this, how could anything end up being OK?
Anette had deceived her.
The one adult whom she trusted—the only adult in this godforsaken country that she truly felt safe with—had betrayed her.
It made her whole world go black.
***
Monday morning rolled around and it was clear from the very start that it was going to be a hot mess of a week. Celia had zero desire to drag herself to school, but to be stuck alone in her own head was even worse. Every time she thought of Anette sitting and laughing with Jug ears her stomach twisted with nausea. She didn’t even want to think about it. So instead she plunged forward with her day.
The night before she ha
d texted Erik saying that she’d be staying with Ebba for a while. Erik didn’t probe and Celia didn’t offer any further explanation. She wasn’t ready to confront Anette yet. Ebba suggested Celia stick around with her and her mom for as long as she needed—an offer Celia gratefully accepted.
Right before school, Celia stopped by Erik and Anette’s to pick up some clothes and things she needed for her classes. She arrived at their house after they both were sure to have left for work.
Celia thought there wasn’t anything that could happen that would make life any shittier than it already was.
She was wrong.
The next blow came in gym class.
During a game that was similar to dodgeball but played out over the entire space of the gym. There was an orange and green team competing. Celia was on the orange team, incidentally the same team as Alex.
Alex gave her a dirty look as they both wrangled into their orange vests. She glared back. They hadn’t spoken since their day together in Gothenburg.
After the text Celia sent him there had been radio silence from Alex. Which suited her just fine. Her friends had been right about him all along; he was trouble. Selfish and surly. Now more than ever she didn’t need that in her life.
Halfway through the game, when the ball was on the other end of the court, Samir approached Celia. She didn’t know him too well even though they were in most classes together. Samir was from Lebanon and had come to Sweden with his family at the age of seven. He was easygoing and bright and tended to make classes more interesting through funny commentary or by landing sharp-sighted remarks.
“How’s Zari doing?” Samir asked.
“Fine, I think?” Celia said blankly. As far as she knew, Samir and Zari weren’t friends. But the concerned look on his face made her worried. “Why are you asking? Did something happen to her?”
“Not just her,” Samir said. “Everyone in Anima mundi.” He aired his t-shirt, a trickle of sweat running down his temple. “You know them, yeah?”
“Well, yeah?”
Lately Zari had been spending more time with Anima mundi: the group that initially formed to discuss religion and philosophy but later became a place to share experiences of being new to Sweden. Zari had seemed happier and calmer since bonding with her new circle of friends.
Celia knew Samir’s cousin—a small, shy boy who was in the year below them—was also part of the group.
“They’re being stalked,” Samir said. “By masks.”
Celia took her eye off the ball that was on the other end of the gym. “By masks?”
“They’re targeted when they’re alone or in small groups,” Samir said.
She turned to face him. “How? Like, in what way?”
“They’ve had fire crackers thrown at them. Some of them were drenched by a power hose. Their houses are egged. They get calls from blocked numbers, just someone breathing into the phone.”
“Crap,” Celia said, her chest tightening. “I had no idea—” Her thoughts were shuffling. How could she not know this was happening? “How long has it been going on?”
“About a week.” Samir turned his eyes to the ball that was bouncing back to their side of the room. “They’re timid and quiet, a lot of them. They’re easy targets.”
Celia faltered, “But they … they don’t know who’s behind it?”
Samir pushed some hair out of his eyes. “No, but if I find out who is—” He broke off.
The ball spun toward them. Celia instinctively ran for it even though her head wasn’t in the game.
Alex lunged in front of her, getting to the ball first. He skidded around, fiery-eyed, and slammed the ball at Celia. It hit her leg, leaving a red mark just above the knee before it bounced away.
She gave him a muted stare.
Amanda jogged up to them.
“Are you crazy?” she scolded Alex. “She’s on our team!”
Alex stalked away without giving a response.
“What’s up with him?” Amanda demanded.
Celia just shook her head.
She had no energy to spend on Alex. None.
After gym class, while Celia showered and dressed, she mulled over what Samir had told her. She tried to think back to what kind of mood Zari had been in over the past week but realized that she had no idea. She had been completely absorbed by her own stuff.
She needed to find Zari.
All the hairdryers were being used, so she left with wet hair. Walking from the gym building to her next class, the tips of her hair hardened into tiny icicles.
Farther ahead on the frost-covered walkway, she spotted Oskar. He was standing with some of the guys from the carpentry program. She waved to him, hoping they could talk.
He turned his back to her.
That stung, though she wasn’t exactly surprised.
They hadn’t talked in what felt like forever.
She’d texted him a few times earlier. When he didn’t answer she wondered if he was ignoring her. Now she knew that was the case.
And she couldn’t say she blamed him.
She should have contacted him right away when she found out that Alex had answered her phone and lied. She should have disputed the girlfriend comment immediately. But she didn’t, because an I’m not interested in Alex statement would naturally lead to a conversation of where she stood with Oskar. That was a talk she hadn’t been ready for.
And now it might be too late.
Celia didn’t care about Alex, but not being on speaking terms with Oskar was misery. She so badly wanted to fix things between them, she just didn’t know how.
There was too much to sort out.
The frenetic pace of the last few weeks was catching up with her, making her life a big jumbled ball of threads. Sooner rather than later she’d have to start de-threading that ball, but for the time being, Celia decided to put everything else aside and set her full attention to supporting Zari.
It wasn’t until after her last class of the day that Celia finally got the chance to speak with her.
“Samir told me what’s been happening to you guys,” Celia said, once they were walking in private among the trees on campus. “Zari, that’s awful. Have they done anything to you personally?”
Zari’s head was down, her hair hiding her face.
Celia put her hand on Zari’s arm.
“Please tell me.”
Zari lifted her head but her lips were pressed together.
Celia gave her a pleading stare.
“All right, fine…” Zari hugged her arms around herself and shifted her weight. “I was home alone. There was a knock on the door. When I opened, I was sprayed. Two people—they were wearing those black ski masks—they stood there with spray cans.”
“Oh, shit … Zari I—”
“And they’d written on the house. It took all evening to get it clean. I couldn’t stand the thought of my family seeing it…” Zari’s eyes were downcast again. “For my young brother and little sister to see it … I just couldn’t.”
Celia asked quietly, “What did they write?”
“I don’t want to say.” Zari didn’t meet Celia’s eyes. “But it’s fine. It’s done.”
“No, it’s absolutely not fine,” Celia said. Why was Zarin minimizing this? “None of this is OK. Why wouldn’t you tell us about it?”
She observed Zari, then with a sudden tilt: “You know who’s behind this, don’t you?”
And Celia had a feeling she knew who it was.
“Nicole?”
Zari focused her eyes on Celia. “Don’t say anything to her.”
“How do you know it was her?”
“Her shoes. I recognized them before she ran off. The striped shoestrings.”
Zari’s face twitched; she may have been downplaying what happened in words, but her face was pure anguish. Celia wrapped her arms around Zari and gave her a long hug.
“Don’t say anything to her,” Zari said into Celia’s shoulder. “I could have stopped this. N
ow I need to make sure it doesn’t get worse.”
“This is not your fault,” Celia said firmly. “How could it be?”
Zari didn’t answer.
It tore at Celia, seeing Zari in distress.
Here she was focusing only on herself, being so self-centered. So much so that she didn’t know a friend was suffering. Celia’s friends had always been there for her. Meanwhile, she’d been a crap friend in return.
She needed to start making up for that.
CHAPTER 30
The doorbell made a chiming sound. Celia stood outside Nicole’s house, her fists shoved in her coat pockets, her jaw tight.
A few months ago when Nicole started harassing Zari, Celia promised that she wouldn’t get involved. Zari assured her it was only happening on a small scale, and she was afraid it would only get worse if Celia or anyone else acted on her behalf.
Now it was officially worse.
Nicole and whoever else was doing this wouldn’t stop their attacks. There would be more to come, Celia was sure of it.
She’d deliberated over it during the week and grew increasingly determined that she couldn’t just sit by and do nothing while her friend was targeted. Just the thought of what Nicole was doing to Zari made her seethe with anger.
The doorbell was answered by a petite woman dressed in jeans and a blouse. Her short blond hair cupped the contours of her cheeks and chin. She was pretty—not gaunt like Nicole. Nicole’s mom, Celia assumed, although she looked too young to be the mother of someone in their late teens.
“Hi, is Nicole home?” Celia asked, wondering how she’d introduce herself if asked who she was. A friend of Nicole’s wasn’t even remotely true. The woman didn’t ask. “I think she’s in her room,” she said, stepping aside. “Down that hall.”
Celia passed the woman and ventured in.
From the outside, the house looked like a standard Swedish villa. Two stories, a light shade of gray with off-white trim. But the inside evoked something else; everything was stylized and a bit too bright and shiny.
Europop from the 90s streamed from the stereo system in the living room.