“Okay,” Kara sighs.
We don’t get far. The call of the chips is too much. I gulp a mouthful of water to wash them down. Water’s all there is to drink in Kara’s house—other than some slimy-looking green juice.
“Are your parents total health nuts or something?”
“They want me to be healthy and safe,” she says softly.
“Oh. That’s nice.” I try to dislodge my foot from my mouth. “I could invite half the colony to my room for a pizza party and my dad wouldn’t notice. Not if Monica was around.” I laugh. I mean it as a joke, but Kara’s face is blank. Then she looks like she wants to say something, but she turns back to her history book.
“So tell me what’s going on with you and Ben,” she asks after a moment.
“We almost kissed.” The words are out before I can stop them.
Kara’s head snaps up. “That’s so great.”
“It is?”
“Well, yeah. Don’t you like Ben? I’m sure he likes you.”
My face goes warm. “That’s a really nice thing to say, but I’m not so sure. I acted kind of strange after the almost-kiss.”
“It will be fine. I know Ben. He doesn’t give up easily when he wants something.”
There’s a sparkle in her eyes, which makes doubt flood into me. I’m sure Ben really liked her, too. Maybe he still does.
It grows quiet between us. I know she wants to say whatever it is that she’s been working up to. I wait. I will wait all night if I have to.
“We moved here from Santa Fe when I was thirteen,” she whispers. I look up with interest. I thought she had always lived here.
“I had a little sister, but she died. That’s why my parents want to keep me safe. Why they’re so strict with me.”
The whole room changes. Kara’s eyes are glassy. The chips in my stomach lurch toward my throat. “I’m sorry,” I say. “I have a little sister too.” My hand goes to my scar. “I don’t know what I would do if anything happened to her.”
Kara nods and rubs her eyes. She smiles. Now that she’s opening up, I want to finally ask about the notes she has been receiving.
But then the doorbell rings, making us both jump. I follow Kara down the stairs and notice something I didn’t before: there aren’t any family photos on the walls. I get that it would be impossibly hard to lose a child, but you would think that there would be some trace of Kara’s little sister. Some happy family portrait from before.
Kara pauses before she looks through the peephole, like she has to psych herself up for whoever might be outside. She turns to me and shrugs. When she opens the door, Cam is standing there.
I can’t put my finger on it, but he looks neater than usual. And he’s smiling. At Kara. I rarely get a smile.
“Hi,” he says, and looks down at his feet.
Kara doesn’t respond to him. “Jenny, it’s for you.” She steps out of the way to let Cam in. She doesn’t look irritated, but she’s also not as happy that he’s here as he seems to be.
They are killing me with all the secrecy.
I gather up my stuff from Kara’s room, being careful to collect all evidence of unhealthy snacks. “Do you want to keep these?” I hold out an unopened bag of Doritos. “You can hide them in your closet and eat them after your parents go to bed.”
“No,” Kara says, turning on a dime again. One moment she was happy and relaxed, and now she’s back to tense and nervous. I’m even more worried that something is going on in her house.
When I get into Cam’s truck, Kara waves from the doorway. Cam goes red.
“You like her,” I tease.
Cam turns away, but before he does, I see pain on his face. Ah. I’m guessing Kara never liked him back. She broke his heart.
We drive along in silence. I can’t help but glance down at the cup holder. It’s still empty. “Where’s your lighter?”
“I was going to ask you the same thing,” he says under his breath. “You kept staring at it like you were waiting for the chance to swipe it.”
I jerk back in surprise. “I’m the last person who would steal your lighter.”
“Uh-huh,” he says, and focuses on the road.
Great. I told Cam that I would behave in exchange for him not following me around. I don’t need him thinking I stole his lighter. Am I going to have to start checking for flashes of blue behind me again?
* * *
—
Ben wanders in and out of the clinic’s kitchen while I make sandwiches. Since I’m not sure where we stand right now, I don’t say much.
He steps forward to open a drawer. His body passes closer to mine than is necessary.
“I’m sorry about the other day,” I say. He looks confused. Maybe he didn’t notice my change in attitude. Maybe all this is in my head. Maybe there’s a real chance for us.
He takes a deep breath and reaches for my hand. “I have to tell you something.”
I don’t want to have a hand-holding conversation—one that means I’m going to need comforting—but I let him take it anyway.
“I really like you. I wanted to kiss you more than anything when you were at my place.” He’s saying the words I want to hear, but his face doesn’t match them. He looks disappointed. “But…”
And here it comes. The reason he’s holding my hand.
“I can’t be in a relationship right now.”
“Why?” There’s a desperation in my voice that I can’t hide.
He releases my hand and scrubs his face with his palms. “I’ve been sober for ten months now. I go to AA. I see a counselor. Everyone agrees that I need to be on my own for a while. Learn how to be me. The new sober me.”
I look away. “I understand,” I say, because what choice do I have? I have no right to interfere with that. It would be selfish beyond belief.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “But I felt like I should tell you. I didn’t want you to think I was leading you on.”
“It’s okay.” I pick up my peanut butter knife and will my eyes to stay dry.
“So, um, Doc’s waiting for me.” He places a gentle hand on my shoulder. “I hope we can still be friends.”
I nod, but my heart is breaking.
* * *
—
I see the flames all the way from the street in front of the Los Ranchitos. Everyone in the neighborhood has come out to watch. Some wring their hands. Others have faces full of wonder. Then the wind shifts, sending us into coughing fits.
The wind. I’ve heard people talking about it blowing all spring. It’s gotten an early start this year. It’s pushing the fire toward the colony.
I completely lost control this time. I didn’t think about where I was or what the consequences might be. All I could see in my head was Ben and what might have been. What will never be.
Dad eyes me with worry. I rub my scar. He’s tried to convince me three times to go back inside, but my feet won’t move.
“Are they going to be okay?”
If someone gets hurt, I will turn myself in.
Dad wraps his arm around me. “They’ll evacuate the colony if the fire gets too close. They have lots of practice with this. The fire will be out before you know it.” The false cheer in his voice is like nails on a chalkboard.
He maneuvers me around until we’re facing the Los Ranchitos. “Let’s go inside. I’ll make you some hot chocolate.”
When I was seven and got out of the hospital, my burn wrapped in so much gauze that I couldn’t wear a regular shirt, Dad made me hot chocolate. He had just gotten out of prison, and he and Mom stood in the kitchen in uncomfortable silence, watching me drink it and looking at me with fear—like I was going to break into a million pieces in front of them.
Dad leads me into the office. “I’m okay. I don’t need hot chocolate. I just wan
t to go to bed,” I say.
He pulls two mugs out of the cabinet. “Sit.”
I slide into one of the chairs and watch in silence as he fills up the mugs and pops them into the microwave.
A couple of minutes later, he joins me at the table and places the cup of watery instant hot chocolate in front of me. I lift it to my lips and take a sip. Then I put the cup down and place my hand over my scar.
Dad nods at my arm. “For me it feels like I’ve been shot up with a syringe.”
I drop my hand. “What?”
He points to his gut. “Right here. The anger. This is where it starts, and then it radiates until it’s everywhere. Like a drug. It should feel awful, but it feels kind of good. Powerful.” He takes a slurp of his hot chocolate. I have no idea what’s going on.
“In prison—” His voice is emotionless, but I have to look away. I’ve never allowed myself to imagine him in an orange jumpsuit.
“In prison I had to learn to control it. It would have gotten me killed otherwise. When the burn starts, I think about you. I think about all that I have to lose.”
My cup shakes as I try to bring it to my lips again. I don’t know if I’m about to cry or laugh. I’m confused and exhausted and sick to my stomach.
“I’m not perfect, obviously.” Dad chuckles. “But I want you to know that it can be controlled. I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”
“Okay?” I say hesitantly. Does he think I’m afraid of him? That I think his punching Suds is some sort of backslide, and he’ll go to prison again? Or is this his way of telling me that he knows I have anger inside me too. That he knows about me and what I do.
“Your mom called.” He looks me straight in the eye. My heart speeds up. “She said something about an arson case. Her husband’s been cleared of any wrongdoing.”
I blink hard. Mom told Dad about Brian? Why? Why would she do that?
“So that’s good,” Dad says, standing and picking up our mugs. “I’m sorry your mother had to go through something like that again.” He put the mugs in the sink and turns back to me. There’s guilt in his eyes. He’s the reason she had to go through it the first time.
I point my head at the table so he won’t see the guilt filling me. I never thought about Mom—how Brian forging those reports to save me would affect her. I was too worried about getting out of Ohio. About getting away from Hailey.
Dad leans over and kisses me on the head. “Love you, sweet pea.”
“Love you too,” I say, and try to smile.
I have to stop. No more fires.
Ro drops in through the window and goes straight to the wardrobe. She rips open the door and starts riffling through my clothes.
“Hi?”
She pulls out a pink sundress and holds it up to me. “No,” she says. Then she holds it up against herself. “Maybe.”
It’s Saturday night, but I have my homework spread out on my bed. There’s nothing else to do around here. I can walk around Henderson’s for only so long. The mall isn’t really a mall, so…
Ro tosses a black skirt and red sweater at me. “Do you want leggings, too? Or do you want to go au naturel?”
“Where am I going?”
Ro puts a hand on her hip and cocks her head. “To a party. Emma is going to be here in about half an hour.”
“Emma from my school? Why would I go anywhere with her?”
“She invited us—well, me—to a party. Now I’m inviting you. She’s picking us up. I told her to come here to see the motel.”
“When did you arrange all this?”
“Yesterday, when you were at school. That Emma has a real habit.” Ro pops a cigarette out of her pocket. “She was smoking behind the dumpster during lunch.”
“Why were you at my school during lunch?”
“I was going to the dollar store,” she says.
“For lunch?”
Ro ignores me and digs through my underwear drawer. “Leggings or no leggings?”
I glance at my homework on the bed. I’m facing another night watching bad TV and feeling heartsick over Ben. “Fine. Give me the leggings.”
* * *
—
The pink sundress is dangerously short on Ro. She’s wearing the ultradown coat over it. Once the sun goes down, the winter-like chill comes back, and even though her legs are bare, she doesn’t shiver like I do.
We’re waiting outside the gate for Emma. Since I definitely wasn’t invited, she’s going to be surprised to see me standing here. Maybe she’ll refuse to take us, and Ro and I can watch a movie or something instead.
Her car pulls up. It’s an old silver Honda Civic. I expected her to drive something snazzy—I know she lives in the hills.
Ro jumps to the street and pops open the front passenger-side door. She pauses. “You coming?”
I look at Emma. She glares.
I go around to the back.
“You said I could see inside,” Emma whispers under her breath to Ro.
Ro shrugs. “The gate is closed.”
Emma glances over her shoulder at me, now seated behind her. Her eyes are like knives.
Ro throws her arms up into the air. “Paaarrrty!”
Emma makes a U-turn in the middle of the road, and we head off to the hills.
* * *
—
Ro’s beer sloshes over the side of its red cup as she bounces up and down in the middle of a sweaty bunch of drunk dancers. She’s been holding the cup all night, but I haven’t seen her take a sip.
I’m sitting on the floor in a dark corner, nursing my second can of Coke. I don’t like drinking. I never feel buzzed, just dizzy and out of control. Things I don’t want to feel.
Homework would have been better than this. I know only a few people here. One of the guys from my homeroom thought it would be hilarious to call me Motel Girl, and then explain to everyone that I’m the legendary girl living in the Los Ranchitos. So that’s who I am now. Motel Girl.
We’re in the hills, but not the gated, exclusive part. If the hills had a low-rent district, this would be it. The house has been used for parties before. The carpet is stained; the couch pillows are dented from being sat on, jumped on, and made out on. It’s filled with people, but has only two doors, and a few windows for emergency exits.
“Motel Girl!” A guy walks by and points at me. I tip my can at him. I need to get Ro and find a way back to the Los Ranchitos. When we got in the car with Emma, neither one of us was thinking about how we would get home—especially since, from the moment we walked in, Emma had a beer in her hand and her tongue down some guy’s throat. They’ve since disappeared into a back bedroom.
I have to pee. I’ve been trying not to think about it for the last hour, but I can’t wait anymore. I stand up and push my way through the bodies to a hallway. All the doors are shut, and I’m afraid of what I’ll see if I open one.
The door at the end of the hallway looks the most promising. I knock. No one yells at me to go away. I knock again. No answer. “I’m coming in,” I announce.
The door isn’t locked. The lights are off. I slap my hand over the wall, looking for the switch.
The lights click on.
Kara, of all people, is sitting in the bathtub, sucking on an almost-empty bottle of vodka. She blinks at me while her eyes try to focus.
“Kara! What are you doing here?”
She raises the bottle. “Drinking.”
“I see that.”
She takes another slug from the bottle and doesn’t answer.
“I want to talk to you,” I say. “But I kind of have to pee.” I motion to the door.
She points to the toilet. “Have at it.” She pulls the shower curtain closed.
Great. This isn’t uncomfortable or anything. But my odds of finding another bathroom are s
lim. I shut the door.
“I would never hurt anyone,” Kara says. Her head thumps against the wall.
“That’s good to hear,” I say, humoring her. She’s superdrunk. If she’s polished most of the bottle off, she’s not going to remember anything tomorrow. I’m surprised she’s still conscious.
I flush and go to the sink to wash my hands. The shower curtain slides open. “It was an accident.” There are tears in her eyes now. She rests the bottle on her stomach and gazes down at it. “But you can’t tell anyone.”
“Tell anyone what, Kara?”
“Why is this happening?”
“Kara, you have to tell me what’s going on.”
“The pictures. The pictures in my locker and on my car. I want it to stop forever.”
“The pictures? The family with the baby, and the ultrasound? What are they, Kara? Who’s leaving them?”
Instead of answering, she takes another slug off the bottle and starts to cry.
“You’ve had enough.” I rip the bottle away from her and pour the rest down the sink.
She shifts around like she wants to get to her feet. Her keys fall out of her pocket.
She tries to pick them up, but I’m faster. “No. Absolutely not. I’m taking you home.”
With her arm thrown over my shoulder, I get her out of the tub and into the hallway. We stumble toward the pounding bass. I prop her up against a wall. “Stay here!” I yell over the music. “Don’t move.”
I wade into the dancers. Aerosolized sweat and beer envelop me. I grab Ro’s arm and pull her out before I start to gag.
“Hey!” she protests. Ro thinks she can take care of herself, but I’m not leaving her alone in a house full of drunk strangers.
I point at Kara. “We have to take her home.”
When we approach, Kara shrieks. “No, no, no!”
Ro laughs. “I don’t think she wants to go home.”
I hoist Kara off the wall, and Ro takes her other arm. “I don’t care. That’s where she’s going.”
We stumble outside. I shift Kara’s weight to Ro. “I’ll go find her car.”
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