by Barrie Summy
“And the arsonist forgetting to actually lock the lock,” Shirlee says. “That’s what they said on the news.”
“Yeah, that, too.”
“To me, you have courage. I’m not just talking about the fire and Michael White.” She taps her laptop. “Jennifer, too.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re sure you’ll be ready for school in a couple of days?” Shirlee says.
“I’m sure I won’t be ready,” I say, “but I’ll be there—me and my bright red puffy face.”
My first day back, my mom drives me to school. I stand alone on the corner, looking across at Yielding Middle. Same boring red brick. Same horizontal stripes of windows. Same pathetic cougar mascot painted above the front doors.
A lot has changed since I stood in this same place the day of registration. I found a missing girl. I helped catch an arsonist. I know my teachers. I recognize lots of students, like Garrett, who’s hanging out by the flagpole, shooting spitballs at the girls walking by. I have a few friends.
Still, my stomach is heavy with nerves. It sucks to limp into school, wearing a face that looks like it baked too long in a tanning booth.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the little dented silver heart. I watch the sparkles, glinting, waiting for me to read them. I start closing my fingers over them.
“Raine.”
I jump, and the heart clatters to the sidewalk.
Hugh bends over and picks it up.
“Thanks,” I say, sliding it into my pocket.
“How’re you feeling?” he asks.
“Okay, I guess. Considering.”
“That’s some pretty crazy stuff you’ve been through.” He looks straight at me while he talks, not flinching at the sight of my face.
“Seriously.”
“But just because you got an arsonist off the streets and reunited a missing girl back with her family, don’t think that gets you off the hook with the film project.”
I laugh. “Meaning what?”
“Tomorrow night. Mario’s,” he says. “I know you’ve got a busy schedule. I heard the Today show wants an appearance from you and Emily. And the president’s sending Air Force One to fly you to the White House. But I bargained hard to get my brother to drive us to Mario’s.”
“How hard?” I ask.
“I’m on trash duty, and I have to do his laundry for an entire month. Plus I have to wash and vacuum his car.”
“Tomorrow night works.” I step off the curb. “The other stuff’s just a rumor, anyway.”
“Too bad.” He steps down after me.
We walk across the street and the front lawn.
“Don’t even think about it,” I say to Garrett.
He salutes me with his empty pen. “I wasn’t going to, Raine. I don’t spitball war heroes.”
I roll my eyes.
Hugh stays with Garrett, and I hobble over to where Shirlee’s standing by the front entrance.
“They’re in there. Just on the other side of the doors,” she says nervously. “Did you ever hear back from her? What if she hasn’t seen the video?”
“My mom and I stopped at the Jitter Bean on the way to school. I checked our YouTube video. Ten views. Have you been watching it?” I ask.
“Not since the hospital.”
“Then she’s seen it. Multiple times.” I grab the door handle. “She’s figured out she was texting us, not Michael. She knows we’re serious about going public.” I pull on the door. “Jennifer’s never giving us a hard time again.”
Jennifer, Alyssa, and Danielle stand in a circle, hands on hips, backpacks slung over shoulders. Danielle’s swiping on lip gloss.
“Hi, Jennifer,” I call.
Jennifer glances up at the sound of her name. Red flushes her neck and spreads to her face. Not an attractive look for her.
The girls ignore us as we walk past on our way to first period. I wonder how Jennifer explained to them that we’re not targets anymore. I’m sure she didn’t show them our video.
Shirlee high-fives me. “See you at lunch,” she says, smiling.
The morning’s kind of weird. All my teachers say the same thing: Way to go, Raine. Make sure you get caught up on your homework. Although Señor Lopez says it in Spanish, so maybe he told me I have an automatic A and can slack off for the rest of the year.
At lunch, Torie directs everyone where to sit and puts me in the middle.
“This is so not necessary,” I say, sliding along the bench.
“We all have questions. If you’re in the middle, everyone can hear you.” She could go far in a career that requires extreme bossiness.
“It’s incredible that you got evidence on the arsonist,” Sydney says. “The police didn’t even know his identity.”
“That was Emily, not me.” I unwrap my sandwich. “She figured out it was Michael White, got the evidence, knew about the cabin fire.”
“You’re the one who found Emily,” Willow says.
I nod, taking a bite of my sandwich. I’m not okay with people thinking I’m a big hero when I’m not.
“Yeah, about that. How did it take you so long to notice Emily was living in your basement?” Torie asks.
Willow shoots her a look.
“She was quiet?” I shrug. “Seriously, I never go down there. And it’s one of those things you don’t expect to happen. I mean, when was the last time you looked to see if someone was camped out in your basement?”
“Makes total sense,” Willow says.
Everyone launches in about what they would’ve done, how often they go in the basement, how hard they sleep at night. Shirlee joins the table. I eat my sandwich. Then I end up describing the shed, Michael, the hospital, Emily.
“Are you on house arrest for life?” Sydney looks up from her soup. “My mom said if I tried anything like that, she’d never let me walk out the front door again.”
“My mom was pretty irked. But she was also relieved I was, uh, alive,” I say. Actually, it’s the most I’ve ever seen my mom cry. She’s still bursting into tears at odd moments, like when I’m feeding Levi or when I’m doing homework. “No, I’m not grounded. I’ve never been grounded. My mom doesn’t really do that.”
“How about Jennifer, Alyssa, and Danielle?” Willow asks. “Are they grounded?”
“No idea.” I peel back the lid of my yogurt.
“They’re doing a ton of community service,” Shirlee says. “Probably till they’re in their thirties.”
“And we’re getting an assembly on bullying. Whoo-hoo,” Sydney says sarcastically.
“Why didn’t you dial nine-one-one the minute you knew Michael took Emily?” Torie asks. “It would’ve been so much safer.”
“Do you ever think before you open your mouth? Did you see that?” Willow blinks excitedly. “I said a not-nice thing.”
“It’s fine.” I wave away Willow’s concerns. “Looking back, yeah, I probably should’ve. But I didn’t know for sure he’d taken her to the woods. And the police didn’t know Emily was still alive, so they would’ve asked a lot of questions. The other time I wish I’d called nine-one-one was when I found Michael’s car. I probably had cell service at that point, and I lost it once I climbed the hill. Basically, I just did what I thought was the right thing at that moment.”
By the end of lunch, I’m exhausted from being the center of attention. Plus I’m hungry, because with all the talking, I didn’t finish eating.
Torie catches up to me and Shirlee on our way out of the cafeteria. “Did you hear why Hugh and Avalon broke up?” Torie asks. Before we have a chance to say anything, she answers her own question. “Avalon cheated on him.”
“That’s terrible,” Shirlee says.
“Go after him now, Raine,” Torie says. “The timing’s perfect.”
“I’ve been telling you your horoscope predicts romance,” Shirlee says after Torie skips ahead to inform more people.
My afternoon teachers say the same things to me as the morning t
eachers. After film, I find our coach already on the track while everyone’s still changing for practice in the locker room.
“Hi, Coach,” I say.
“You doing okay, Raine?” He unwinds his whistle from around the clipboard and loops it over his head.
“I’m really sorry about the season.”
“Yeah, well, the doctor said you’re definitely out of commission?”
“No running for six months, but I should have a total recovery.”
“That’ll be good for the high school team.” He looks at me. “You available to help at practices and events?”
“Definitely.”
“I’m gonna move Willow up to varsity. Maybe you can work with her. Get her in the best possible shape for the first event.”
“I can do that.” Willow will be thrilled.
“And I’m putting you in charge of stats.” He hands me a clipboard with my name written in black Sharpie on the back. “And water.”
“Okay.”
“Next time, don’t take chances like that.” He pats my shoulder a couple of times. “I’m glad you’re okay.”
Can you say awkward?
Justin, Hugh’s older brother, looks a lot like Hugh, only taller and broader.
“So you’re the one who caught Michael White?” he says, shooting a glance at me in the passenger seat.
“Emily Huvar deserves all the credit,” I say for the millionth time. There’s a sparkle on the dash and one on Justin’s shirt. I shove my hands in my jeans pockets.
“I was in computer class with them last year.” Justin backs down our driveway.
“What were they like?” Hugh asks from the backseat, where he’s sitting next to our fake eighth grader. While I was in the hospital, Hugh cut a life-size guy out of cardboard and drew on eyes and hair and clothing. Interestingly, the cardboard cutout has a sparkle on his head.
“I never saw them talking to other people. Not even to each other,” Justin says. “I don’t think they were friends or anything.”
“They weren’t,” I say, positioning myself so I can see Justin, Hugh, and Typical Yielding Teen at the same time.
“They both knew way more about computer science than the rest of us.” Justin turns the corner.
Typical Yielding Teen flops over on Hugh. “I should’ve buckled this guy in,” he says.
“You should’ve left him at home,” Justin says.
“You don’t think that, do you?” Hugh asks me. “We’ll be the only group to have a fake student in their video.”
“I can believe that.” I’m actually starting to warm up to the idea.
“Extra credit,” Hugh promises. “In the bag.”
“Extra credit is good,” I say. “What about the guy whose family owned the cabin?” I ask Justin. It’s interesting to hear his take.
“Brandon Ford,” Justin says. “On our football team. Good player, but maybe not the nicest guy. He’s kind of aggressive. He lives on the same street as Michael.”
“They live on the same street?” After all the conversations I’ve had with the police and all the articles online and all the news reports, you would think I’d know this.
“Yup. They’ve known each other forever. Brandon’s a jock. Michael’s a nerd. It’s your typical jock-makes-fun-of-nerd scenario.” Justin switches lanes. “But I never saw it as a big deal. Not big enough to burn down the family cabin, anyway.”
People might say that about how Jennifer treated me. But it was a big deal.
Justin speeds up on the ramp to the highway, and Typical Yielding Teen falls on Hugh again.
“You did that on purpose,” Hugh says. “You’re trying to give me paper cuts on my face.”
“Yeah, right,” Justin says, his lips twitching. “I’m trying to be a safe driver and accelerate to the speed of the highway traffic.”
When I see brothers or sisters joking around like this, it makes me wish a little for a sibling.
We pass the shirt factory and an industrial park. Eventually, we exit the highway, and Justin swings into a parking lot and coasts to a spot in front of Mario’s: WHERE WE’RE AT HOME LETTING YOU BE THE CHEF.
“You guys have exactly one hour, or you’re walking back.” Justin puts the car into neutral. “I have plans with my girlfriend.”
“Thanks for the ride.” I push open my door.
“No prob. And, Raine, you seem like a sensible girl,” Justin says. “Feel free to accidentally leave Flat Stanley’s cousin at Mario’s.”
Before entering the restaurant, Hugh and I prop up Typical Yielding Teen by the door and film him. Then Hugh holds the door open for me, which is slightly awkward, as he’s balancing more than five feet of cardboard with his other arm.
Inside, it’s cozy and warm. Wooden tables and chairs dot the room. There’s a strong, delicious smell of garlic and freshly baked dough.
“Table for two?” the host asks.
“Make that three.” With his free hand, Hugh pushes his hair up his forehead. It falls back down.
We end up at a small corner table. The host drags over an extra chair.
“It’s a project for school,” I explain.
The waiter arrives with a couple of globs of dough, a bowl of marinara sauce, a bowl of ranch dressing, and a ton of toppings.
Hugh looks at me, a question in his eyes.
“No,” I say firmly. “Pizza for two is enough. I’ll share with our friend.”
“Should we name him?” Hugh presses the heel of his hand in his dough.
I shake my head. “I don’t want to get too attached. He’s going to end up in a Dumpster by the end of next week.”
“I don’t think so.” Hugh looks fake-hurt.
I laugh. “How about TYT? It’s less of a mouthful.”
“I was thinking more along the lines of Conrad.”
“Why Conrad?”
“You don’t think he looks like a Conrad? Conrad the cougar?” Hugh says.
Conrad the cougar. Our school mascot has a name. I like that.
“Actually, I think he looks more like a first name Card,” I say, “last name Board.”
Hugh groans.
We knead and talk and film.
“I made another playlist,” Hugh says. “Still trying to convince you the Oily Artichokes are a second-rate band.”
“I’m pretty much over the Oily Artichokes,” I say. Michael ruined them for me.
“Yes!” Hugh makes a victory fist in the air, dusting us both with flour.
After I flatten my dough and cover it with sauce and toppings, we film Conrad adding more pepperoni.
I’m not sure whether I like Hugh that way, and I can’t tell if he likes me that way. I think I do. I think he does. But I like hanging out with him. And I want to know him better. That’s enough for now.
The sparkle on Hugh’s shoulder winks at me.
I gaze around the room. A sparkle glints on a woman’s purse. Another sparkle shines from the shelf where the waiters pick up food. My fingertips are tingling, itching to explore and find the memories I’m not seeing.
Since that first day of kindergarten, I’ve spent my life covering up how I’m different. I shove my hands in my pockets to stop from reaching out for sparkles. I grab them on the sly, hoping not to be caught. I lie about how I know stuff.
But tonight, kicking back in a fun restaurant with great smells and a cute guy, I realize something has changed.
I was part of something big. I helped bring down a bad guy, a guy who wanted to hurt people. I helped stop the mean girl and her friends. I helped a girl get back with her family.
None of this would’ve happened without the sparkles.
Who knows why I got this gift. Who knows what I’m supposed to do with it. But whatever the sparkles have in store for me, I’m ready.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to the usual suspects at Delacorte Press, especially my editor, Wendy Loggia, whose incredible smarts and patience guided this book on its very long and
winding road to publication; Kate Gartner for a most beautiful and creepy cover; Krista Vitola for taking care of loads of details and sending the best emails; and Tricia Callahan, Annette Szlachta-McGinn, and Colleen Fellingham for the excellent copyediting.
Very special thanks to my generous and enthusiastic critique partners, Kathy Krevat and Kelly Hayes; to Sergeant Joe Bulkowski for helping with all matters police; Jon Schoonover for sharing his cross-country expertise; to Vicki Sutherland for the nursing and burn info; to Rachel Moritz for her insightful early read; to the Jardels for allowing me to house- and cat-sit in their quiet, get-lots-of-writing-done home; to Claire Summy and Jacklyn Jardel for talking plots while trapped in my car traveling to and from the dance studio; and to my family, who no doubt put up with a lot of writing craziness. Yes, Mark, this book is finally out the door! XO
Huge, huge hugs to Rachel Vater Coyne. I do not even want to contemplate how many hours we spent discussing this book. Thank you for believing…and believing…and believing.