Lies Like Wildfire

by Jennifer Lynn Alvarez

  “Did you hear me, Han?” Violet asks. “They know.”

  Everyone waits for me to answer her, but I’m adrift in memories. The gift I gave Violet when she turned ten stands on the little writing desk in the corner, the last holdout from our shared childhood. It’s a rearing glass unicorn, fourteen inches tall with gold-plated hooves and a golden horn, the most expensive gift I’ve ever given. I’d been trying to impress her—my rich and beautiful friend, the girl who soars into my life each summer and then flies back home for winter, like an exotic bird that can’t survive the cold.

  I wonder if she remembers I gave it to her. Around Violet’s neck hangs a Tiffany necklace she received for her high school graduation, a platinum pendant etched with the letter V—a reminder to me that all her gifts are expensive. When everything you get is special, what’s memorable?

  “Hannah,” she growls.

  I throw up my hands. “They don’t know anything. Not really.”

  Violet glares at me, her body braced as if I’m dragging her into a trap.

  Drummer puts his arm around her, and my eyes flit around the room. Am I the only monster who notices what’s going on with these two? I try meeting Mo’s eye, but she’s watching the news station while Luke sulks.

  I release a breath and try to reassure Violet, reassure all of us: “No one can prove we were there. They can’t link whatever evidence they found to us.” But this isn’t entirely true. If they’re able to lift fingerprints off the evidence they found and run them through ALPS, the Automated Latent Print System, they might get a match to Luke.

  Mo settles next to Violet and Drummer, and then Luke leans against me, his anger quelled for now. We slump into one another, and I close my eyes and breathe, inhaling the mixed fragrance of Mo’s brand-new leather shoes, Violet’s ninety-dollar-an-ounce perfume, Luke’s cigarettes, and Drummer’s deodorant. These are my best friends, my allies, and now my accomplices. I love them. I can’t let this thing between Drummer and Violet distract me.

  The newscaster finishes up a report about stock prices and then returns to the fire story: “We’re going live to Gap Mountain for a live statement from local Sheriff Robert Warner.”

  Drummer turns up the volume and we all lean forward.

  My dad appears on the screen, looking handsome. He’s shaved and combed his hair, and now he stands at a podium outside the sheriff’s department with a crew of officials fanning out behind him, hands clasped together. Their expressions are firm and serious, as if they can bully this disaster into submission.

  My dad introduces himself and the men and women standing behind him. Camera shutters click in the foreground as he describes the ongoing process of identifying human remains collected from Stony Ridge. Afterward, he introduces Fire Battalion Chief Joanna Giles, and they switch places.

  The battalion chief explains how fire investigators located the area of origin for the Gap Fire and then narrowed that down to the point of origin. I toss Drummer a look—because I told him this would happen—and he frowns, his eyes saying, this isn’t the time to gloat. He’s right, so I turn back to the TV.

  Then the battalion chief adds new information that sends chills through the attic:

  A team of investigators from Cal Fire has collected evidence that confirms arson of a reckless or possibly malicious nature. An individual or group of individuals is responsible.

  Her eyes flash, her lips tighten.

  We are actively analyzing that evidence and pursuing leads, and we’d like the public’s help regarding sightings of a person or persons in the Gap Lake area on July seventh around three p.m. If anyone has information about adults or kids in this area, please call the hotline we have set up for tips.

  The number appears on the screen as the battalion chief looks directly into the camera, directly at us: “We will find the individual or individuals responsible and bring them to justice.”

  Luke’s head falls into his hands, Violet chews her knuckles, and the rest of us gape at the television as Joanna Giles gives the microphone to the next speaker.

  “Arson,” Mo whispers. One of the poodles jumps down and licks her hand.

  Luke’s face is pallid. “Do you think they found my pipe?”

  I exhale. “Maybe, but I doubt they’ll get prints off it. The fire will have damaged them, I think.”

  Luke’s gaze meets mine, his eyes accusing. It strikes me again that this is my fault. I grabbed Luke’s arm and I shouldn’t have. I gaze back at him and mouth, I’m sorry.

  Violet clears her throat. “If—let’s just say if—we get caught, did all of us commit arson, or just you two?”

  “V!” Mo cries. “We were all there.”

  “I know, I know, but I mean from a legal standpoint,” she clarifies. “Who is responsible?”

  I wipe my face and come up blank. “I don’t know. It would depend on the evidence and how good our individual lawyers are. The state will charge us with whatever they think will stick in court, but we would plead to lesser charges, most likely. Again, depends on our lawyers and the evidence presented to the district attorney or the grand jury.”

  Luke kicks the leather chair, sends it spinning, and laughs bitterly. “I can’t afford a good lawyer, and it was my bud, my pipe, and my matches. I’m the most fucked if we get caught. V, you’ll get off scot-free. Your grammy will see to that.”

  “That’s not fair,” Mo scolds.

  “Dead man walking,” Luke crows and stands up fast, alarming the poodles. “Shit, I don’t want to go back to that trailer.” His voice warbles and I think he’s about to cry. Luke, powerful Luke, is scared, and we’re all quelled by it.

  “You can stay here,” Violet offers. “We have more bedrooms than people in this house.”

  My eyes snap to Violet, who is now sitting by herself at the writing desk, and for the first time I wonder if she gets lonely in this big house, alone with her grandma? Her brother used to visit with her, but he’s married now and hardly comes anymore. We’re her only friends in Gap Mountain. When we’re busy with work or other friends, what does Violet do?

  Luke shrugs off her offer. “Nah, I can’t leave Aiden alone at night. I gotta go, guys. I need a walk and a smoke.”

  I rise, feeling defeated. “I’ll see what I can find out from my dad about this evidence they have. Don’t worry, okay? They can’t prove it was us.”

  No one responds to that.

  “Mo, will you drive me back to the café to get my Jeep?”

  “Sure,” says Mo.

  Drummer and Violet share a secret smile, and frustration fills me as I realize we’re leaving them alone together. Suddenly I want to stay, but Mo has her keys out and she jingles them at me. “You coming?”

  “Yeah.” As we drive away, I glance in the makeup mirror at the attic window tucked between two turrets. Violet stands by the glass, looking out like a princess, and Drummer lurks behind her, very close behind her. I’m not sure what bothers me more, that they’re screwing or that they’re hiding it. My stomach drops and my fingers tighten into fists.

  Secrets are dangerous, especially now.

  I turn up the music and flip my mirror so I can no longer see them.

  12

  July 19

  Gap Fire: 30% contained

  Fatalities: 9

  Time: 7:10 p.m.

  Later that night, Dad walks through the screen door and smiles in surprise. “You cooked?”

  “I haven’t seen you much lately, so…I made dinner.” I glance at the slowly congealing pot of Hamburger Helper on the stove. Usually we fend for ourselves and I eat dinner in my room, but tonight I hand my dad a cold beer from the refrigerator and a plate. I’m being nice because he works so hard, but also because I want to find out what he knows. We each dish up a plate while Matilda wags her tail between us.

  My dad lowers himself tiredly ont
o a chair. “Sorry I haven’t been around much, Bug.”

  “It’s fine, I know you’re busy.”

  He digs into the meal as if he hasn’t eaten in a year. As the prepackaged nutrients flood his system, he begins to talk. “Some wacko called the station today,” he says. “Claims the government started the Gap Fire using targeted lasers affixed to drones. He also mentioned that politicians are lizards that don’t care about humans.” He swigs his beer. “That last part might be true.”

  We laugh and since Matilda misses him too, she takes his mirth as an invitation to throw her front paws on his lap. “Down, girl,” he says fondly.

  “You looked good on TV today.”

  He grunts.

  I decide to dive right in and ask what I need to know. “What kind of evidence did Cal Fire find by the lake?”

  He shakes his head. “Mostly old garbage, but some of it is promising—a singed beer bottle that looks new, a pot pipe, and a book of matches from Sam’s market. Who would light up on a Red Flag day? Probably tourists.” He inhales a huge bite of beef and noodles.

  I flinch and accidentally kick Matilda under the table. Cal Fire found everything! The matchbook must have flown out of Luke’s hands with the pipe and the embers, and how did we miss a beer bottle? Or is it ours? Lots of people swim at the Gap, drink beer, and leave behind their trash. I take deep breaths as the room closes in around me.

  My dad shoves food into his mouth, oblivious to the shrinking kitchen and the blood thumping through his daughter’s veins faster than it should. He swallows and continues: “The county forensics lab is expediting the processing of the bottle. If they can lift prints and saliva, then by next week, we may have results, but without suspects, they won’t do us much good. Unless our arsonist is already in the system.” He smiles.

  Fingerprints? DNA? Oh god. Luke’s data is in the system. My leg starts to bounce, and I push it still with my hand. “Wouldn’t the fire or the heat have destroyed that stuff?”

  He shrugs. “Fires start small, Bug. It’s common to find intact evidence near the point of origin. The label on the bottle is singed, but our fire battalion chief told me she’s hopeful about finding fingerprints.”

  “But that doesn’t mean the person started the fire.”

  “True,” he says, shrugging. “But the matchbook also looks new. We’re checking the CCTV at Sam’s Market and the cameras on Pine Street for clues as well. Once we have a suspect list, we can start ruling people out.”

  I briefly close my eyes, thinking, remembering. Luke said he grabbed the matches from Sam’s the day of the fire, so they might have his image on camera. My heart starts to hammer, and I leave the table for a glass of water. Between that and the beer…“What kind of beer was it?” I ask, hoping for some hoppy IPA or expensive craft beer, something preferred by tourists.

  “Bud Light,” he answers.

  Bud Light is what my friends were drinking. Luke might be right. We might be totally and completely fucked.

  * * *

  —

  After dinner, I text Drummer: Meet me at the park downtown.

  He doesn’t answer so I pull on a hoodie—nights are cold in the mountains—slide into my Jeep, and drive toward his house to see if he’s home. My car is low on gas, so I fill up on my way.

  I don’t want to tell the others what I learned from my dad, not yet. They’ll panic. But I have to tell someone. Where is Drummer? I text him again: Are you asleep?

  I get nothing back. Well, if he’s asleep, he wouldn’t text back, would he? I drive to his house on the east side of town, cut my headlights, and park down the street. His parents go to bed early, so I sneak through the towering pines to his window and knock on the glass. “Drummer?”

  His room is dark but the window is cracked open several inches. I slide the pane over and climb into his room. He’s not here but his presence is powerful—his scent, his dirty clothes, his laptop, his crusty dishes. The bed is unmade, with the blankets tossed carelessly over the footboard. His clothing sprawls on the floor, as cocky as Drummer. Warmth swirls through me at being inside his lair. But where is he?

  I poke around, unable to help myself. When I pull open his nightstand drawer, a pile of condoms glints at me in the moonlight and I jerk my hand back. Some of the wrappers are torn open and empty. My breathing becomes jagged, and horrible sadness envelops me. Has Violet been here?

  I sit on his bed, and my mind spins with images of them together. What is it like to have Drummer’s full attention, I wonder? How does Violet feel when he slides on one of those condoms and leans over her? My cheeks burn and I can’t stop staring at the shiny packages.

  Other than Maria, who lasted a full year, Drummer comes to me to complain about his girlfriends or make fun of them. I’ve felt sorry for the girls, not envious. But it’s worse, much worse, to be excluded. Just then his door flies open and the light flips on. Drummer blinks at me from his doorway. “Hannah?”

  I slam the nightstand drawer shut. “Yeah, it’s me.” I smooth his sheet. “Sorry.”

  He smirks. “Nah, I like coming home to a woman in my bed.”

  I laugh and my cheeks blaze hotter. “I was looking for you, you didn’t answer my texts. Where were you?”

  “Just driving,” he says, and pushes his fingers through his sun-streaked hair. “What’s up?”

  The tears I’ve been holding back begin to spill.

  “Hey, don’t cry.” He crosses the room in four strides and wraps his arms around me.

  My body melts into his, and I let myself really cry for the first time since the fire, the deaths, and the destruction. “We’re terrible people.”

  “Shhh.” He strokes my hair, pulls me closer. “It was an accident.”

  I shrug. “We’re the idiots who smoked in the woods.”

  “The news has you spooked, that’s all this is.”

  “It’s not just the news that scares me. My dad said they found an empty Bud Light bottle, a pipe, and a book of matches from the market.”

  Drummer stiffens as he processes this. “All right, okay, but everyone stops at Sam’s Market for beers and shit before heading to the Gap. Like, everyone. It proves nothing.”

  Drummer has no idea what a gold mine of evidence it actually is. The investigators will visit all the local stores, including Sam’s. They’ll make a list of everyone they can identify—through receipts or license plates caught on CCTV—who bought Bud Light that day (hopefully Mo’s brother paid cash). Even without fingerprints and DNA, that bottle could lead straight back to Mo’s brother and then from him to us.

  Also, Mo might have told her dad she was swimming at the Gap that day, and he might put two and two together. This is another possible line straight to us. Once we’re added to the suspect list, we’ll be swabbed for DNA and our fingerprints will be taken (assuming the lab can lift fingerprints and DNA from the evidence). If we’re matched, they’ll separate us and try to get us to turn on one another. They’ll examine our weak alibis, and they will not hold up. “This is a disaster,” I whisper.

  Drummer sucks on his lower lip. “So…what can we do about it, Han? Nothing.”

  “Right,” I say, my legs twitching, my eyes darting around the room. I wipe the tears off my cheeks.

  Drummer draws my face to his. “I see your brain chewing on this, but I don’t think you need to worry, I really don’t. Look at you—I can’t remember the last time you cried.” He smiles. “Hannah Banana is losing her shit.”

  “Am not.”

  He elbows me. “Are too.” His breath warms my cheek, his clear blue eyes peer straight through me. My gaze drops to the blond stubble on his jaw, his smirking lips. I want to touch his face, kiss him. I’m aware that the side of my breast is rubbing against his arm. Is he aware? We’re on his bed and we’re young and there are a shit ton of condoms in the drawer beside us. I
don’t understand why nothing is happening.

  His voice deepens. “I can make you feel better.”

  “How?”

  “Lie down. Watch.” He tugs my legs so I fall back on his bed. Then he opens the side drawer and reaches for a fresh condom. My heart stops. I can’t breathe. Drummer straddles my legs, sits back, and opens the wrapper. “Get ready to be amazed!”

  Amazed? I blink at him, confused, but yeah, I’m ready.

  He pulls the condom out of its wrapper, puts the rubber to his mouth, and blows, creating a huge oblong balloon with a nipple-like tip. Laughing, he holds it against his crotch. “And they say one size fits all.”

  I rocket upright. “Asshole!”

  “What? It’s funny.”

  I climb out of his bed and glare at him. “No, it wasn’t.”

  He grabs me and wraps his arms around me. “I was trying to make you laugh. You know I love you.”

  I don’t respond. He lets go and watches me, sees I’m not in the mood to play. Then, with a sigh, he switches off his light and pulls off his T-shirt. “Look, I gotta go to bed. The lumber yard is reopening tomorrow, and I have to log in the deliveries.” He tucks a thumb into his belt loop and waits.

  Damn it, Drummer. He knows how good he looks standing in the moonlight like that, his taut muscles glowing silver. He made me believe we were about to have sex on purpose. He likes to keep me on the hook, and I have to admit, sometimes I fucking hate him. “Yeah, I gotta go too. The Reel Deal is also opening tomorrow.”

  “See, everything’s going back to normal.” He bumps knuckles with me—a gesture I can’t stand—and empties his pockets onto his nightstand. I see not one but two empty condom wrappers mixed in with his keys and money. Blood rushes to my face. He was not “just driving.” What a fucking liar.

  “ ’Night, Hannah,” he says, and I feel dismissed, excused, kicked out of his room.

  “ ’Night,” I rasp. I bump into his desk as I try to climb out his window. I can’t see, I can hardly breathe. The moon washes red, and my pulse pounds in my brain.