The block is lined on both sides with boxy, flat-roofed, stuccoed houses. Some of the front yards are filled with rocks, but most are knee-high weeds.
Ro leads me down the street. We stop in front of a house where the stucco is peeling off, leaving big gray patches. It looks like a surreal representation of thunderclouds in a sun-setting sky.
She walks up to the front door and pushes on the handle. The door doesn’t move. “That bitch,” she mumbles.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“My aunt locked me out again. She does that when she’s mad. I don’t know what I did to her this time.”
“You don’t have a key?”
Ro shakes her head. “After I spent a night out in the cold, I learned to leave my bedroom window open. She hasn’t figured it out yet. But I have to be superquiet. Come on, I’ll show you.” She takes a step into the weed-covered yard.
“I don’t think we should.” If her aunt is that mad, Ro shouldn’t be showing up with a random friend. But she’s not listening. She’s halfway to the side of the house. “Come on,” she says again.
I glance over my shoulder. The street is quiet. The curtains are drawn at the house across the way.
Ro stops in front of a side window. Below it is a black rolling trash can. Ro pushes on the window. “See,” she says, “unlocked.” She puts a foot on the trash can in preparation to hoist herself up.
“Ro, I’m not crawling through your window. Let’s go back to the motel.”
She peers inside the house and then turns and looks at me like I’m being unreasonable.
All my frustrations of the day come pouring out. “How can your aunt get away with this? I’m pretty sure that making you spend the night outside in the cold is child abuse.”
Ro shrugs. “Where else am I supposed to go? A group home? Some nice foster family somewhere?” Her voice is full of irritation, like she’s challenging me. Ro’s never told me much about herself. I knew she didn’t have a lot, but I didn’t realize it was this bad.
I look down. “I don’t know. Please, let’s go back to the motel.”
I don’t want to be here. I can’t imagine what kind of monster Ro’s aunt must be. I’d rather take my chances with Suds. I walk back to the sidewalk and brush off my uniform.
“Fine,” Ro says behind me. I head back to the main road. “Do you want to know where Cam is?” she calls.
I do. I’m going to keep a very close eye on him until I figure out for sure who’s outside my room and watching me in the trees.
Ro leads me to the access road along the cottonwoods, but right before we get there, she makes a sharp turn. Hidden from sight is a small open area—maybe a parking lot for joggers and bird-watchers.
Cam’s truck is there. He’s inside. Asleep.
I knock on the window. He wakes with a start. “Your job was to pick me up!” I yell through the glass.
“Shit. What time is it?” Cam fumbles for his phone.
Ro giggles. “That guy is camped out in front of the motel. Aren’t you supposed to get rid of him?”
My head snaps over to Ro. She shrugs. “I was visiting the kitten, and I heard your dad say that he”—she points to Cam—“was supposed to take care of the guy.”
Cam’s eyes widen. He picks his keys up off the seat and rubs them nervously between his fingers. “I, ah…”
I glare, but he doesn’t say anything else.
Ro kicks at a rock. Her arms are clasped around her. She’s pretending she isn’t cold, whereas I want to unzip my thick coat to let some cool air in.
I smirk. “Hey, Ro,” I call over my shoulder. “I need some stuff for school. Do you want to go to the mall?”
Cam huffs.
Ro figures out what I’m doing. “Hey, Jenny. Did you know that guy was in front of the motel before and after school? I saw him both times.”
“Get in,” Cam says.
Ro giggles. It’s infectious. I find myself smiling too.
She slides in next to Cam, not caring that she bumps into his side. He doesn’t ask me about her or seem to care that I have manifested a friend out of nowhere.
* * *
—
At the mall, Cam doesn’t get out of the truck.
“Aren’t you coming?” I ask.
He glares at me. “No.”
Ro and I get out. “Well, that’s disappointing,” I say. Ro looks at me quizzically. “At the grocery store he followed me around everywhere. I was going to spend a lot of time picking out a new bra.”
Ro giggles. “It would have been funny to see him all red in the lingerie section.”
The mall isn’t much of a mall. It has a couple of anchor department stores with a few smaller shops in between and a food court that only serves hot dogs.
Ro examines every piece of clothing in the first store we enter. She holds up a black dress, looks at it with dreamy eyes, sighs, and puts it back.
I can’t help but glance at what she’s wearing. If her pilling sweater and worn jeans came from the mall, it was a long time ago. Her red coat isn’t much more than a jacket. She must be cold all the time.
I point to the dress. “You should try that on.”
She shakes her head.
“I’ll try it on,” I say. A plan is forming in my head. We aren’t the same size. She’s taller than me, but if I get things a little too big, they might fit her.
Besides, this shopping trip is courtesy of Mom and her I-feel-guilty-that-my-daughter-is-halfway-across-the-country money. There’s plenty more where that came from.
I go into the dressing room and shed my coat. “I’m dying in this. It gets so much colder in Ohio. I’m going to need a new one.” I toss it out to Ro, like I want her to hold it. She folds it over her arms and hugs it to her chest.
I try on the black dress. When I come out of the dressing room in it, I pretend not to notice that Ro is wearing my coat.
We have fun. Ro hands me thing after thing to try on. I make duck faces and contort my body into model-like poses to show them off. I’ve never paid too much attention to clothes, but Ro seems to love them. The smile never leaves her face.
When we’re walking back to the parking lot, I realize that I haven’t thought about my scar once since I’ve been with Ro.
Cam is asleep in the truck.
“What’s going on with him?” Ro asks.
I knock on the window and hold up my shopping bags. “We’re done.”
Ro is still wearing my coat. It’s a little short in the arms for her, but once she put it on, she never took it off. I also bought several of the things she admired most. Maybe she’ll have a birthday or something soon, so I can find a reason to give them to her.
* * *
—
When we get to the motel, it’s dark. Suds is gone. The crew is packing up. Dad stands outside the office talking to a guy in a gray suit. He’s a slight man, wiry and fit. Strands of silver weave through this dark hair. He has a sharp nose, high cheekbones, and deep brown eyes. He’s handsome.
Cam stops midyawn and inhales in surprise.
When we get out of the truck, Dad and the man walk over. Cam stands up straight.
“Jenny, this is Mike Vargas. He’s the developer.” Dad chuckles. “My boss.”
I shake hands with Mr. Vargas.
“This is my friend Ro,” I say to them. Dad gives her a courtesy smile and doesn’t seem to notice that Ro’s wearing my coat.
Mr. Vargas isn’t paying attention to us anymore. He’s standing next to his son. Never in a million years would I have guessed they were related. There’s maybe some resemblance around the forehead and eyes, but that’s where it stops. Cam is stocky and moves slowly. His face doesn’t show much. His father vibrates with energy. There’s no hiding the disappointment on his pursed lips.
“Where have you been? I had to kick that guy off the property.”
Cam shifts his weight from foot to foot. He’s trying to come up with something, but he’s taking too long. At this point, even if he were to tell the truth, no one would believe him.
I should let him go down in flames for sleeping in his truck—and for maybe watching me in the trees. But the look on Mr. Vargas’s face is serious. Cam has been transformed into a little boy in front of me. I feel a prick of sympathy for him. I step forward.
“It’s my fault, Mr. Vargas. When Cam picked me up, I asked him to take me to the mall. I needed to get some things.” I hold up my shopping bags, but Mr. Vargas doesn’t look convinced. “For school.”
Cam puffs up and nods, as if he has made a great sacrifice for my education. That little bit of sympathy I had for him evaporates. Next time he’s on his own.
Mr. Vargas gives us a toothy fake smile. “Fine,” he says. He turns to Dad. “Let’s come up with a game plan for tomorrow.” They start to walk away. Mr. Vargas turns and waves for Cam, who hasn’t moved, to follow.
When they’re out of earshot, Ro starts to laugh. “You own him now, you know that, right?”
“What?”
“Cam. You saved his ass. He’ll have to do whatever you say now.”
“I don’t want anything from him.”
“Uh-huh.” Ro raises an eyebrow.
I look away from her. She barely knows me. Am I leaking something? Something that would imply that I’ve been collecting things to hold over Cam? That I need to have things on Cam?
I make sure my face is completely blank before I look back at her. “Do you want to stay for dinner?”
Ro considers it.
“It’ll just be something microwaved,” I add.
She links her arm through mine. “Okay,” she says, “friend.”
My name has been crossed off the community garden clipboard. In its place is the name Kara Johnston. Ten bucks says that’s the pink-lipped blonde. There’s always one. In Ohio, I didn’t have to deal with this sort of crap since I had always lived there. That, and everyone knew about the fire at the sleepover. They couldn’t pick on me without looking like huge assholes. But now I’m the unknown new girl. There will be an elaborate hazing before I’m accepted. Or I’m not.
I feel a little pulse of joy. The pink-lipped blonde has completely underestimated me.
I scan all the other clipboards, looking for my name. I see it, alone, on the last one. It reads “Free Clinic.” Great.
I think about ripping it off the wall and marching it over to Teresa. But I won’t do that. I don’t want to draw attention to myself by getting a reputation for being the tattletale. I really do want to make friends here, and I never will if I start off that way.
I walk into homeroom and give a sparkling smile to the blonde. She looks confused. Good.
* * *
—
At lunch, I pick a table—one off to the side—and wait to see whose territory I’ve invaded today. Emergency exits: two doors, with tables and bodies blocking my paths to them.
The cafeteria continues to fill up, but no one comes to claim my spot. Then the blonde and her entourage sweep in. She smirks at me and whispers something to her friends. All the girls look at me and start to laugh.
I turn back to my lunch and roll my eyes. I was expecting this. I’m the new girl from far away, starting in the middle of the year. I’ve seen it happen before. I might have even done it a time or two.
“Ignore her.” I jump at the voice behind me.
I turn and see the girl who loaned me the pen. “Can I sit here?” she asks, but she doesn’t wait for my reply before sitting down.
I nibble my PB and J while the girl pops open a container full of vegetables and grains. She looks longingly at my sandwich.
She picks up her fork, but doesn’t start to eat. Then she glances around, like she’s about to tell me a secret. “I’m sorry, Jenny,” she whispers.
I try to speak, but my mouth is full of peanut butter. I gulp my soda to wash it down. She takes my silence as some sort of shaming. She looks down and picks at a broccoli spear.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I whisper back.
“The learning project. I’m sorry I took your spot.”
“Wait. You’re Kara Johnston?” I say at full volume. Panic briefly passes over her face. Then she nods and looks away. I lower my voice again. “Then who’s that?” I point at the blonde.
“That’s Emma.”
I focus on Kara. Under her big glasses and messy hair, her skin is flawless. Her eyes are a beautiful shade of green. She looks like someone going to a lot of trouble to hide her natural beauty.
She chews a carrot and swallows. “When my parents heard that I didn’t get the garden spot, they called Teresa.” For a third time, she glances around the room, but no one, not even Emma, is paying attention to us. Kara’s making me nervous. It’s not exactly like her name or service project is classified information.
She leans in so close that I want to automatically jerk back, but I will myself to stay still. “I’m not allowed to leave campus unless it’s to go straight home. The garden is out back so…,” she trails off.
“Oh. Wow. I’m sorry.” And I am. There’s obviously something bad going on in her home life. I’m not sure Dad would notice if I didn’t come home at all, much less restrict me to only going to school.
“Don’t worry about the project,” I say, and she relaxes. “If you hadn’t given me that pen, you would have gotten the garden spot anyway. I’m sure working at the free clinic will be great.” I don’t believe that for a second, but it sounds better than whatever Kara is dealing with.
We chat more normally for the rest of lunch. She fills me in on our classmates—who’s nice and who I should avoid.
Later, whenever I see her in the hall, we smile. But I notice that even though she knows everyone, she’s always by herself. It seems self-inflicted. People smile at her in the hallways and look like they want to make conversation, but she keeps moving. The only person she stops to talk to is me.
One thing seems clear: Kara’s got a story.
* * *
—
After school, Cam’s truck is waiting for me, but he’s not sitting in it. I walk over to peer inside, expecting to see him stretched out asleep, but he isn’t. The truck is empty and clean, except for a shiny object in the cup holder. I put my hands up against the glass to block the glare so I can see better.
It’s a chunky silver cigarette lighter, the kind you see in old movies. It has “CAV” etched in swirling letters on the side.
My heart rate shoots up to a thousand beats per minute. I instinctively jump back into the street to get away from it. A car honks at me.
Is he a smoker? I’ve never smelled it on him.
A disturbing thought hits me: Maybe he only smokes late at night. Maybe I wasn’t imagining anything, and it was him outside my window. I remember the flash of blue in the trees. The same shade as the coat he is wearing today. Was it him?
I start to walk in the direction of the bus. I’m not riding with him.
There’s an alleyway on the other side of the truck. I hear muffled male voices. I slide up to the corner and peek around it. Cam, huddled in his coat, is facing Ben—hood up.
I can’t hear what they’re saying, but it sounds like they’re arguing. Cam throws his hands out, like he’s imploring Ben to do something. Ben stands stoically, listening but not reacting.
Cam rubs at his eyes. Ben steps forward and does the last thing I would ever expect: he gives Cam a hug.
It’s not a quick pat-on-the-back hug, but a real one. His hands make deep dents in Cam’s puffy coat.
When Ben releases, he looks up and sees me.
“Hi, Jenny
,” he calls out.
Cam turns. I dive back around the corner, but I’m too late. Dammit. Now that he knows I’m here, I won’t be able to slip away to the bus stop.
Seconds later, Cam comes plodding around the corner. Ben doesn’t follow him. Cam’s face is red, and his eyes are moist.
I open my mouth like I want to ask something, but I close it again. My heart is beating so fast I can’t think straight. What would I ask? If he’s okay? What he’s so upset about? Why he’s secretly following me around?
He storms past me and unlocks the truck door. “Get in.”
I press my back into the cold brick wall. Cam steps forward, like he’s going to grab my arm, but his hand drops. He looks like his exhausted, barely conscious self again. “Monica said I need to take you straight home. I’m on some sort of probation. I can’t mess up again.”
That little bit of sympathy flows into me unbidden again, but I don’t want to get in the truck with him.
“Please,” he says. There’s little emotion behind it, but my ears hear a raw pleading for help. Dammit. I step forward and get into the truck.
Cam starts the ignition. My eyes zero in on the way the light glints off the shiny silver side of the lighter. I imagine how it would feel in the palm of my hand. To flick it on and see the flame appear like magic. A controlled, beautiful, deadly magic.
I snap back to the truck. To Cam.
“Do you smoke?”
His eyes flit over to me, and he sneers in disgust. “No.”
“Then why do you have that?” I point to the lighter.
He picks it up. “It was a gift.” The sneer is still there.
We stop at a light. Cam’s face relaxes, and his eyes start to droop. He absentmindedly flips the top of the lighter open and then closed.
Open, closed. Open, closed. Click, click. Click, click.
I stare at it. When the light turns green, his thumb is millimeters from pressing the button and making a flame dance to life. My head spins. The whoosh of the traffic around us changes to the crackle and roar of fire. My scar screams.
Watch You Burn Page 5