Watch You Burn

by Amanda Searcy

  If Allen is still out patrolling, he could find me again in the trees, twice in one night. That would be suspicious. He could use his police radio and get me busted before I get to the bottom of everything.

  “You work the night shift, too?” I ask Ruby as I tiptoe across her freshly mopped floor.

  “I pick up extra shifts whenever I can. It helps pay the bills.”

  I point to the rear of the store. “I came for ice cream.” Ice cream. Sure. Why not?

  I pick out a pint of mint chocolate chip and take it to the front. As Ruby rings me up, I motion at her neck. “Where’s your pretty necklace? The family heirloom?”

  She laughs and turns her head in a way that seems familiar to me, but I can’t place it. “I don’t wear it on the night shift. I never know who’s going to come in.” She hands me my bag. “You should go home.”

  I walk out into the night air clutching my ice cream. Trying again in the trees would be useless. With Allen out there, whoever has been following me won’t risk a confrontation tonight.

  They’d just watch as Allen took me down.

  They’d watch me burn.

  My alarm doesn’t go off. I barely manage to shower and get into my uniform before Cam is pounding on the door. I glance in the mirror. My hair is wet. I don’t have time for makeup. And I look like someone who was up all night. Great.

  I open my door. Cam is in the truck now, yawning. Parked a few spaces over from him is Allen’s car. I hear voices in the offices. My heart starts to pound. Why is he here? What is he telling Dad?

  I press my ear against the office door, but I can’t make out what they’re saying. I shouldn’t open it. I should get into Cam’s truck and go to school. Allen could be on to me, but my jumpy heart won’t let me walk away. I have to know what he’s up to.

  When I open the door, Allen seems happy to see me. He’s drinking coffee out of a Breland Construction mug. Dad has a matching mug and is leaning up against the sink.

  “Jenny, this is Allen.”

  “We’ve met.”

  Dad misses my lack of expression. His face lights up. I’m sure that in Dad’s head, Allen is perfect boyfriend material for me, the positive influence I need in my life.

  “Allen came to check on us.”

  I examine Allen’s face. It’s cheerful. He smiles. His eyes sparkle. But it could go either way. He could be suspicious of me—or acting like he thinks I’m perfectly innocent.

  “Why are you here?” I’m not a good actress today. There’s no mistaking the irritation in my voice.

  “With the all the fires…,” Allen pauses. His eyebrows rise slightly. “I wanted to stop by and see if there’s anything I, or anyone on the force, can do to assist you.”

  “The force.” I feel nothing but intense anger and hate toward Allen right now. I want to scream, You are not a cop! But I can’t. Dad can’t know that I was crawling around the cottonwoods in the middle of the night.

  I fake smile and point over my shoulder. “I have to get to school.”

  “Have a nice day,” Allen says. Dad beams at him. Great. I’m pretty sure Allen will be joining us for microwave surprise one of these nights.

  * * *

  —

  After school, Ro is lying on her stomach on the bed, chewing a strip of red licorice. Her magazine is open to a spread of colorful sandals.

  Her constantly being here hasn’t really annoyed me before, but today, I can’t stand it. I don’t want her here. I need time by myself to come up with a new plan to trap the person following me.

  I also need time by myself because my scar itches.

  Ro puts the licorice down. “Hard day?” she asks.

  “You could say that.”

  I dump my stuff on the floor. Ro’s not going anywhere. She holds the licorice box out to me.

  I don’t take any.

  “I know what will make you feel better,” she announces.

  “What?” I flop down onto the bed.

  “You know those fires? The police know who did it.”

  I bolt up to sitting. “What?”

  “Well, they don’t know exactly who did it. But they have evidence now.”

  “Ro, what are you talking about?”

  She points to the TV. “It was on the early news.”

  I fumble for the remote and flip on the TV. It’s playing a commercial for erectile dysfunction. Ro giggles at every double entendre.

  It takes twenty minutes of fluff news before they do the top-story recap. The Las Piedras fire chief comes on the screen. Microphones push their way into his face.

  “We’re getting closer to identifying and arresting the person responsible for the arson attacks in the bosque. We have a good piece of evidence left behind at the last fire scene.”

  The camera zooms in. I gasp. He holds up a photo of a round piece of black fabric lying on the ground. “We believe this is a piece of what the arsonist was wearing.”

  Ro turns and looks at me. “What?” she asks.

  The fire chief keeps talking. “It is currently at the crime lab being tested. I’ve got a message for this guy.” The camera zooms in until his face fills up the whole screen. “We’re going to catch you.”

  I flip off the TV. Ro smiles. “That’s good, right? You won’t have to be scared anymore.”

  I nod and then grip my stomach. “I think I ate something bad. I’m going to puke.”

  Ro jumps up. “I don’t want to see that. No offense or anything.” She gallops toward the bathroom. “Hope you feel better,” she calls, and dives out the window.

  I wait a second to make sure she’s gone. Then I rip open the bottom dresser drawer and retrieve my hat from where I hid it in the pocket of an old pair of sweatpants.

  It only has one felt butterfly eye now.

  How could I have not noticed that?

  I bury the hat back into the drawer. I’m going to have to get rid of it. Destroy it.

  There’s a knock on the door. I jump out of my skin and run to the curtains. I peek out, which is stupid, because my eye is about a foot away from Allen standing on the sidewalk. He waves.

  My heart can’t beat any faster without me actually passing out. Is Allen here to turn me in? To present me to the investigators and play the hero?

  I have to open the door. I can’t run now. If I do, it’ll erase any doubts he might have about me. It will make me look 100 percent guilty.

  I take a deep breath and glance again at my closed dresser drawer.

  I open the door.

  “Hi!” I say with way too much fake enthusiasm. A smile erupts on Allen’s face. I shuffle through the cracked door and close it behind me. My hand stays tight on the doorknob, holding it shut.

  “I wanted to see how you were doing. Make sure you weren’t going on any more late-night strolls through the bosque.” He laughs, but his eyes are focused and unsmiling.

  He has to be suspicious. It’s right there in his eyes. In his words “late-night strolls”—plural—and “through the bosque.”

  “No. Doing my homework.” I have to play along. He can’t know that I’ve figured him out.

  He looks down at his feet and rubs his hand along the back of his reddening neck. “I was wondering if you wanted to go out on Friday.”

  My stomach flips. I can’t think of an excuse that won’t sound fishy.

  “Okay.”

  Allen looks surprised. “Really?”

  I nod until it feels like my head’s going to fall off. Friday is a project day. Fantastic. I will see my real boyfriend and then go on a date with this annoying—potentially dangerous—guy.

  Allen smiles, showing me all his teeth. “I’ll pick you up at seven?”

  I try to show teeth too. “Great.”

  Now I really am going to be sick.
/>   “I never guessed you were such a player.” Ro smiles proudly at me.

  “Shut up and help me find something to wear,” I snap.

  Ro giggles. “This is going to be so fun.”

  I had to tell someone about my date with Allen. The confession didn’t make me feel better—and of course, I didn’t tell her why I said yes.

  “You’re pacing again.” She points at my feet and the line I’ve created in the carpet. I stop. “Two boys in one day.” She shakes her head. Cam’s truck pulls up. “I’ll come back after school and find something for you to wear.”

  I’m so wired when I get into the truck that the smallest things make me want to jump out of my skin. I feel Cam’s eyes examining me, but there’s no way he could know about my date with Allen.

  Next to the still-empty cup holder that once held his lighter, Cam’s heavy collection of keys hangs from the ignition. I point to them. “You have a master key to the motel, right? One that opens all the doors?”

  His eyes slide over to me again. “Why?”

  “You leave your keys lying around a lot. Someone could take them.”

  “No one has taken them,” he says, but his voice sounds unsure. He’s remembering the key to the shed. The one someone used to get the shovel that killed Suds. Anyone with a key could have gone into my room at any time. Anyone could have taken my hat and planted the eye to incriminate me. If they had been watching me, they would know I wear that hat when I sneak off at night.

  I examine Cam. Ro said she lost him at the club the night Kara was killed. She couldn’t find him again until closing time.

  Where did he go?

  When we pull up to the curb at Riverline Prep, I dive out of the truck like it might explode at any second. Then I watch it tool up the street until Cam has turned the corner and disappeared.

  I’m being ridiculous. Cam doesn’t have anything to do with this. He was only following me before because Monica is paying him. He wouldn’t have killed Suds, and definitely not Kara.

  I want to figure out who else could have access to my room, but I can’t think about it now. I have a more immediate problem.

  Ben.

  I have until this afternoon to figure out what I’m going to tell him about Allen. Maybe I could say I’m going out with Allen as a favor to Dad. I could even say that we need him for the Los Ranchitos.

  Or I could tell Ben the truth. All of it.

  I navigated the hallway of Riverline Prep without paying any attention to the people around me. When I get to my locker, my mind is so worn out that it takes three tries to get my combination right.

  My locker pops open. A heavy piece of paper falls out onto the floor and lands facedown. The back is embossed with the Henderson’s logo. I pick it up and flip it over.

  You’ve got to be kidding me.

  It’s a photo.

  A photo of me.

  I’m in Hailey’s hat—still with two felt circles—crouched down in the thick brush under the cottonwoods.

  Starting a fire.

  My face is turned away from the camera, but it’s clearly my hat. The police already have the missing felt eye with my DNA on it. If they have this picture, it’s over for me.

  Who is doing this?

  There’s a security guard by the door. Whoever’s doing it has to be a student.

  I shove the photo into my bag and whip my head from side to side. My adrenaline is off the charts. My heart feels like it’s going to fly out of my chest, but no one is paying attention to me. No one is waiting to see my reaction.

  I can’t let whoever it is think they’re getting to me. That’s what they want. I put my books in my bag, as if nothing has happened. I take careful steps down the hallway so I don’t look like I want to run. I stare at every face as I go by, seeking some sort of recognition from the person who wants to see my reaction.

  All I get are blank looks in return. Since Kara died, I have no friends here. I’m invisible.

  I sit at my desk in homeroom. Emma comes in. She doesn’t like me.

  Maybe Emma isn’t as harmless as everyone thinks. I stare her down. She unconsciously checks her hair and rubs her nose. When I don’t turn away, she whispers “Weirdo” under her breath.

  All day I wait for someone to say something or do something suspicious, but it’s the most normal of days.

  When I go into the restroom to change out of my uniform and into my clinic clothes, something occurs to me: You don’t have to be a student to get into the building. The guard never checks IDs. All you need is a uniform.

  Anyone who’s ever been a student here would have a uniform.

  Cam went to school here. But Ben did too. My mind is so mixed up and confused that I can’t see straight. The hallway is blurry when I come out of the restroom. I grip my bag with the photo inside next to my body. I should stand tall and show whoever is trying to get to me that it isn’t working.

  But it is working.

  * * *

  —

  When I get to the clinic, I go straight to the kitchen and pull the peanut butter and bread off the shelves. I need to lose myself in a monotonous task.

  A few minutes later, Ben comes up behind me. He wraps his arms around my waist and puts his head on my shoulder. I will myself not to cry. Why does everything else have to be so awful, when things are so good with Ben?

  He kisses my neck.

  I turn around with the peanut butter knife still in my hand. Our lips meet. All the tension in my shoulders melts away. I let everything go. It’s just the two of us kissing in a peanut butter cloud.

  “I need everyone to leave the building in an orderly fashion,” a loud voice says in the main room. Ben and I break apart. Fear like I have never seen before flashes over his face. He takes two steps back and jerks from side to side, like he’s not sure if he should run or stay.

  “What? What’s happening?” I ask.

  The kitchen door opens. A man in a blue windbreaker walks in. Over his heart is a yellow patch of a badge. “You need to leave the building, please.” His eyes snap to the knife in my hand. That’s when I see the gun strapped to his side. I drop the knife onto the counter.

  The man steps forward and puts a hand on my shoulder to usher me out of the kitchen. He gives Ben a stern, fatherly look. “You too.”

  Ben is in some sort of trance. He can’t move. I grab his hand and pull. He follows me out into the main room.

  Half a dozen other people in dark blue windbreakers with “DEA” on the back in white block letters mill around or cajole others to leave. Doc stands in the middle of the room. One of the agents holds a piece of paper up to Doc’s face. “We have a warrant to search the entire premises for evidence of illegal drug trafficking.”

  “You must be mistaken. This is a medical clinic,” Doc says.

  The hand on my shoulder becomes more insistent. I’m leaving whether I want to or not. Doc’s eyes catch Ben’s as we pass. Ben’s are wide and terrified. Doc’s are squinted and concerned.

  Outside, three Las Piedras police cars are parked around the perimeter of the clinic. We get walked to the other side of them and released.

  “Wait, I need my bag,” I call after the agent. I take two running steps toward him. A police officer steps in front of me.

  “Whoa,” she says.

  I point at the clinic. “I need my bag.”

  “You can get it later.”

  “But my homework…” She doesn’t look sympathetic. I’m not going to win this argument. I step back.

  Two agents walk Doc out to the porch and sit him in a folding chair. Every eye focuses on him, but he doesn’t put up a fight. He looks tired. Defeated.

  This is the final straw for the clinic, and he knows it. Ben knows it too. All the color leaves his face.

  “It’s a misunderstanding,”
I say to Ben, trying to put certainty in my voice that I don’t feel. “It will all get worked out.”

  The news van—the sole news van that Las Piedras seems to have—pulls up. The same reporter jumps out, boobs bouncing in front of her. With the glee on her face, you would think someone just told her she was going to get to play with puppies.

  She positions herself with her back to the clinic so the cameraman can get a clear shot of the DEA agents going in and out. She starts to talk into her mic. Her expression of concern is meant to portray that this is very, very serious.

  The camera pans around the crowd. It stops on me. The cameraman gives a nod in my direction to the reporter. She looks over her shoulder at me and grins, showing her fangs.

  I don’t know what to do. I have to get my bag. I can’t leave that photo in a place being searched by federal agents. But I can’t be on the news. The reporter will find some way to spin this. Some way to connect me to drugs. After the report about Dad being a convicted felon, the Los Ranchitos can’t take any more bad publicity.

  We have to go. I grab Ben’s hand, but he doesn’t move. The look on his face is pure anguish. It’s the same look he had after Kara died.

  “Ben, we can’t stay here.”

  The reporter is coming toward me, mic out and pointed at my face.

  I’ll have to leave without my bag. Inside it are my history book, a spiral notebook, pens, and a little pack of tissues. No drugs. No reason for the DEA to open the history book to the chapter about King George III and find the photo.

  I pull on Ben’s hand. “Please, come with me.”

  He’s too caught up in the scene playing out in the clinic to respond. I don’t have a choice. It feels like a betrayal, but I let go of his hand.

  And I run.

  I plunge through the crowd and don’t stop until I get to the coffee shop. Jackie is at the counter. She looks up and smiles, then her face falls.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “The clinic.” I can’t catch my breath. “The DEA is there. Ben…”

  She fills up a glass of water and pushes it into my hand. I take a gulp.