Watch You Burn

by Amanda Searcy

  Kara doesn’t move. Her eyes are fixed on her locker door. “That’s nice,” she mumbles.

  The bell rings.

  Kara takes a breath and starts spinning her lock.

  “Yeah. He seems really nice.”

  Still no reaction from her.

  The locker pops open, and a piece of paper falls to the floor. This time it’s faceup. Before Kara can dive for it, I see a stick figure drawing of a family: a mom, a dad, and a child in a dress. The mom is holding a baby that’s been Xed out in red Sharpie.

  “What is that?” I ask.

  Kara shoves it into her locker. She turns to me and smiles with her lips, but the rest of her face is tight. She waves my question away. “Just a stupid assignment I have for one of my classes.”

  “What class?” It’s just a question, but her eyes turn glassy. She looks away and fumbles with things in her locker.

  “So you’re working with Ben?” She changes the subject.

  “Uh, yeah.”

  “That’s good.”

  I have no idea what’s happening. Kara closes her locker. “I’ll see you at lunch.”

  “Sure,” I say, and try to smile, but I’m getting annoyed with her for keeping things from me.

  And being so blatantly obvious about it.

  What is so bad that she just can’t tell me? And what’s with those papers falling out of her locker?

  And—what I really care about—why is she avoiding talking about Ben?

  My stomach flips over. She freaked after she saw him in the truck the day Cam took Ro and me for coffee.

  At lunch, Kara’s going to have to tell me what happened between them. Period.

  * * *

  —

  Kara’s not at lunch. A guy in her homeroom tells me she jumped up and ran out like she was going to puke. She never returned to class.

  After school, I exit the building and stop dead in my tracks. Ro is across the street having an animated conversation with pink-lipped Emma. They’re sharing a cigarette.

  Emma sees me and glares.

  I stomp across the street to Ro. Emma takes a drag from the cigarette and holds it next to her mouth. The filter’s stained by her lipstick.

  “Um, hi?” I say to them.

  “I’ll see you later,” Emma says, handing the cigarette back to Ro.

  I watch her walk away. “I thought you said you didn’t smoke. And how do you know Emma? Why are you even here?” I whisper-scream.

  “I don’t, I don’t, and waiting for you.” She drops the cigarette and stamps it out. “That girl thinks she’s bad, but it’s an act. She wouldn’t last five minutes on the street.” Ro pulls another cigarette and a lighter out of her pocket. I flinch. “They’re good for getting information.”

  “What could you possibly want to know from Emma?”

  Ro gazes at the last of the students exiting the building. “She knows someone from my school. Where’s your friend with the glasses?”

  “She’s sick. Why?”

  Ro steps back from me. “I hope it’s not contagious.”

  “I really don’t think so,” I mutter. “Where’s Cam?”

  Ro laughs. “Sleeping in his truck. That’s why I came to meet you. So you wouldn’t have to ride the bus by yourself.” She smiles proudly, like this bit of unselfishness has made her day.

  We walk to the bus stop. I’m mad at Cam for not showing up again. But then there’s a part of me that’s relieved. His lost key and the missing shovel—the weapon that could have killed Suds—make him look like a suspect. But that’s ridiculous. Right now he’s probably sleeping in his truck in broad daylight. Would someone guilty of a murder do that?

  When we get off the bus at Henderson’s, Ro grabs my arm. “I want to show you something.”

  We walk into the trees and turn away from the artists’ colony. My uniform collects a million burrs as we clomp through the underbrush, sending birds and small animals scattering.

  Ro stops in front of three large rocks about ten feet from the river. They look like they were moved here on purpose. There aren’t any other rocks around.

  Ro looks down at them. “I’ve never shown anyone this before.” I think I see a hint of redness in her cheeks, and she won’t look up again and meet my eyes.

  She kneels and pushes aside a pile of leaves. Under the rocks is a hole. If I had stumbled upon it, I would think it was some sort of animal den. Ro plunges her hand inside, making me cringe.

  She pulls out a black plastic trash bag and sits down on the ground. I hesitate. If I sit, I’m going to get my uniform dirty. Ro looks up at me. Her eyes are glassy, like she’s on the verge of tears. This is hard for her. I know what she expects me to do, so I plop down.

  “These are my special things. All the things I have left over from before.”

  She opens the bag and pulls out a bright blue scarf with silhouettes of purple birds printed around the edges. She holds it up to her nose and breathes it in. “This was my mom’s.”

  She hands it to me. It’s polyester. Cheap, but made to look expensive. “It’s pretty,” I say, and hand it back to her.

  “It’s all I have of her. I have to keep it here so my aunt doesn’t throw it out when she goes through my room.” She looks up at me with searching eyes, like she’s waiting for me to ask.

  “What happened to your mom?”

  Ro looks away. “She couldn’t cope. Some bad things happened to us. We didn’t have any place to go. There was this bench on the Plaza in Santa Fe. We were sleeping on it. When the cops came to tell us to leave, she was gone. I was all alone.” She rubs her eyes with her palms. “I freaked out, thinking something had happened to her. I tried to get the cops to look for her, but they wouldn’t. They told me she took off, and then they hauled me away to the group home.”

  I suck in a breath. “I’m sorry.”

  “One day my aunt showed up, and they handed me over to her. You know the rest.” She takes the scarf and shoves it back into the bag. Then she ties the bag and folds it so that no dirt or water can get in and replaces it in the hole under the rocks.

  I have my problems. I worry about Hailey, and I worry about Dad, but my whole family is around. No one has ever left me—not even Brian.

  I need a second to myself. To breathe and to absorb what she told me. I stand up and take a step around the far side of the rocks.

  Ro doesn’t wait. She starts to head back toward the Los Ranchitos. I’m worried that she thinks I’m judging her or that I’ll avoid her now that I’ve heard her story.

  I jog to catch up to her. “I’m glad we met,” I say. And I am. Being with Ro helps calm the itching in my scar. For a while, anyway.

  “I used to have a friend,” Ro says out of the blue. “A best friend. I told her all my secrets.”

  I wait for her to continue the story, but she doesn’t.

  “What happened?”

  Ro shrugs. “She decided we weren’t friends anymore.”

  After the fire when I was seven, I never got invited over to play at anyone’s house. I don’t think the parents meant to be mean. They just didn’t know what to say, what to do with me. So I get it. Having friends and then not.

  When we step onto the access road, motion in the trees catches my attention. I spin around, but all I see is a flash of blue. The same blue I’ve seen behind me before.

  “What?” Ro asks.

  The trees are motionless, like it was my imagination. But it wasn’t. I know it wasn’t.

  “Nothing,” I say to Ro, and try to smile.

  “…have a description of the person setting fires in the bosque.”

  I drop my curling iron onto the granite bathroom counter and run to the TV.

  The fire chief appears on the screen. “A witness has come forward. A person in dark clo
thing was seen running from the area last night. This person was of slight build and did not have any other distinguishing characteristics that we know of. If you have any information, please call the police. Extra patrols will be out in the bosque night and day.”

  The screen snaps back to the anchor. I click off the TV. My skin crawls. I wanted the fires to get more attention. Now they are.

  Last night the flash of blue in the trees kept running through my head over and over again. My scar took control. I watched my hands dig through the drawer and find the lighter. I watched them start the fire on the other side of the river.

  I’ve put myself in a dangerous position. Someone saw me running away.

  It doesn’t matter, I tell myself. I’m done.

  I tossed the lighter into the flames last night. There’s nothing in my room to tempt me. Nothing to make me slip up again.

  The anxiety and adrenaline of almost getting caught make my scar twinge. It makes my mind send me images from when I was seven, sitting in the bathtub of the burning house. Not knowing if I was going to live or die.

  Hailey. The spike of fear I get when I think about something happening to her shoots through me. I need to talk to her.

  Mom doesn’t answer FaceTime. I can’t breathe. My heart flutters with panic. Maybe the house burned down in the night and the police haven’t come to notify me yet. My mind sees it—the fire. It races through the living room and kitchen, into Mom and Brian’s room. Into Hailey’s. I gasp for air. My lungs feel rough and scratchy, like they’re filling with smoke.

  I need Hailey’s hat. I need to grip it between my fingers. Hold a piece of her.

  I run to the dresser and dig through it. The hat’s not there. I wasn’t wearing it last night. My decision to go out was too impulsive to put on my whole disguise.

  I throw everything out onto the floor. Where is it?

  The bathroom window slides open. Ro thunks in and wanders into the bedroom. “I turned off your curling iron. It’s not safe to leave it on like that.” She stops in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

  I run to her. “My hat. Do you have it?”

  “What hat?”

  I grab her arm and pull her into the mess on the floor. “My hat. It’s pink with butterfly eyes.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I don’t have a hat.”

  I collapse. They could be dead. Burned to death. Hailey and Mom. They might have screamed for me. But I never came.

  “Are you going to school today?” Ro asks.

  I glance at the clock. It’s seven-fifteen. My head snaps over to Ro. “It’s nine-fifteen in Ohio.”

  “If you say so.”

  “It’s nine-fifteen in Ohio. Hailey’s at school. Mom’s at work. That’s why they aren’t answering.” My lungs open and let oxygen in again. My family is okay. I grab Ro and pull her into a big, relieved hug. She smells like outside air with the slightest hint of woodsmoke. I pull away from her.

  “Are you high?” she asks.

  I shake my head. “I need to get to school.” I grab my bag. “If you find my hat, leave it on the bed, okay?”

  Then I walk out the door before she can respond.

  * * *

  —

  My job at the clinic today is to greet people coming in, take their names, and offer them one of the many pamphlets on the table in front of me.

  Every moment I sit here, I’m painfully aware that I’m not in the kitchen with Ben.

  I straighten the birth control pamphlets and rest my head in my hands. This is so boring.

  Ben comes out of the kitchen and stops behind me. His warmth brushes across my back. He’s wearing a T-shirt again today, and when he reaches out to take the sign-in clipboard, the muscles in his arms contract. I feel a little buzz.

  The door opens. The men milling around the room scatter to the far corners. I sit up straighter and draw in a sharp breath. Ben puts the clipboard down.

  “Can I help you?” he asks the two police officers—the ones who were at the Los Ranchitos.

  “We need to speak to Dr. Moreno,” the male cop says. In my peripheral vision, I see Ben’s fist clench.

  “He’s with a patient.”

  The male cop smiles. “We’ll wait.”

  Ben leaves and goes into the exam room.

  “So, what’s your job here?” the male cop asks me, and picks up a diabetes pamphlet. The woman is still looking at me, like she knows me from somewhere but can’t place me.

  “I volunteer. For school.”

  “That’s great. They need help around here.” He puts the pamphlet down and looks at the people in the waiting room. Most of them pretend to be locked in conversation or reading magazines. Some simply face the wall.

  Doc comes out of the clinic drying his hands with a paper towel. Ben is on his heels. “What can I do for you, Officers?”

  “We’re investigating the murder of Jonathan Roybal, also known as Suds. We’d like to ask you some questions,” the woman says.

  Doc’s face falls. “That was a terrible thing. Please, come to my office.” He gives Ben a pointed look before leading the officers away.

  “Suds got what was coming to him,” Ben says under his breath. I turn around, surprised by the bitterness in his voice.

  “Why?”

  “Your first day wasn’t the only time he came in here looking for pills. He threatened us more times than I can count. Doc’s worked too hard to be treated like that.”

  “Do the police think Doc did it?” I can’t believe Doc would even squish a spider.

  “Probably not, but they have to talk to him, like every other time Suds came in here and caused trouble.”

  Ben stands guard by the clinic door. No one is coming in with the cop car parked outside.

  When Doc walks the officers out, the look of pain is still on his face. I don’t know what the cops think, but I believe he’s truly upset by Suds’s death.

  He gives Ben a reassuring pat on the shoulder. “Who’s next?”

  * * *

  —

  “Did you know your dad is a criminal?” Ro asks when I open my door.

  I freeze. “What?”

  “It was on the early news.” She points to the TV. “He almost killed someone. They showed his mug shot and everything.”

  I let my bag drop to the floor. This can’t be happening. Not now. Not with the murder investigation. Not with this being Dad’s chance. Everyone’s going to know. What will happen to the Los Ranchitos once they do? My stomach contracts, sending its contents upward.

  I run to the bathroom and fall to my knees on the floor, but nothing happens. Ro follows me in.

  “So does this mean you knew or not?”

  “I know,” I squeak. “It happened before the fire, when I was five. My mom tried to hide it from me. She said that Dad was going to work on a job far away, and I wouldn’t be able to see him for a while. I could tell that something was wrong by the look on her face, but I was too young to understand. I just remember worrying that something bad was going to happen to Dad while he was gone. As soon as I was able to go on the internet by myself, I figured out he had been in prison for assault.”

  I lay my head down on the towel covering the cold marble floor and look up at Ro. “My dad didn’t kill Suds.”

  Ro puts her hands up. “Whoa. I never said he did.”

  “He’s not violent. He beat that guy up to save a woman.” He just didn’t stop throwing punches once the woman was safe. “My mom testified in his defense at the trial, even though they were already divorced.”

  Ro sits down next to me and shrugs. “Everyone has a past. Plus, the world needs fewer perverts. I’m glad Suds is dead.”

  She says it so calmly that I’m taken aback. I sit up. Her face is completely blank. Then it breaks into
a smile. “I think I found your hat,” she says.

  She jumps up and pulls it from the dresser drawer. Her nose wrinkles. “Have you been wearing it outside? It smells like smoke.”

  I grab the hat from her and nod. “Everything outside smells like smoke.” I put on my saddest, most pathetic face, and hold the bridge of my nose like my head suddenly hurts.

  Ro cringes and looks away. “Sorry,” she says.

  I believe that she really is. She won’t bring up smoke—or my hat—again.

  I don’t want to go into the office. I’ve been standing outside the door for so long that the winter cold has seeped through my clothes. My hands are numb, but I can’t face Dad.

  “Go inside, Jenny,” Monica says behind me. “He wants to talk to you.”

  I don’t want to talk to him.

  Monica steps around me and opens the door. She puts a hand on my back and pushes. “Go.”

  Dad is seated at the table. Two plates of spaghetti sit in front of him. I slide into the chair across from him and look down at the congealing pasta. My stomach churns. The last thing I want to do right now is eat.

  “I’m sorry you have to go through this again, Jenny,” Dad says. His voice is soft and caring. There’s no anger in it. He made peace with his past a long time ago. He sighs. “It follows me everywhere. It’s why I had to build my own company. No one wanted to hire a convicted felon.”

  I pick up a fork and poke at the spaghetti—anything to avoid eye contact with him. If I get caught setting fires, that could be me one day. Who would want to employ someone who might burn down their business?

  “Now that it’s on the news, is Mr. Vargas going to fire you?”

  “No. I never hid anything from him. He’s known since our first meeting. The work is coming along well. The investors are happy. And luckily,” he says with a chuckle, “no one else wants to work on this motel.”

  “What about the police?” I suck in a shaky breath and will myself not to cry. “Do they think you killed Suds?” Are they going to come bursting in with handcuffs for Dad and a plane ticket back to Ohio for me?