Burned

by Kristi Holl

  “What happened, exactly?” Jeri asked, pulling her notebook from her backpack.

  “I don’t really know.” Lyndsey rubbed her forehead. “I wasn’t facing the teacher’s desk.” She cradled her sore arm protectively. “I was feeding my minnows, and suddenly, behind me there was this boom.” She shuddered. “Fire was shooting out of the waste can, and the stuff on the desk was burning. I was afraid it would spread.” A shadow passed over her face, and her fingers plucked nervously at the blanket.

  “Putting the fire out with the bucket was fast thinking,” Jeri said.

  “Not really. A fast thinker would have remembered the fire extinguisher hanging on the wall.”

  Jeri scribbled fast, wishing she had a camera. A photo of Lyndsey, bandaged up in the hospital bed, would be a great touch. “You’re a hero, you know.”

  “Ms. Todd didn’t think so.” Lyndsey’s fingers were gripped together in her lap. “She yelled at me.”

  “She was scared you’d get hurt, that’s all.” Jeri hesitated and then asked, “If I check out a camera from the media lab, can I come back and take your picture?”

  Lyndsey blinked. “What for?” She pushed her bangs out of her eyes, revealing an oddly-shaped pink birthmark.

  Jeri tapped her pen on her notebook. “I write about French Club and Spanish Club for the Lightning Bolt, but I also put out a little sixth-grade newspaper.” She explained that it was a media project she’d started last fall—a two-page newspaper mostly for her friends. Jeri’s roommate, Rosa Sanchez, answered questions in her advice column. Abby covered music and art, and Abby’s roommate, Nikki Brown, handled sports subjects. Jeri wrote the main features and edited everything. “I’d love to put you on the front page, if that’s okay.”

  Lyndsey frowned. “Won’t Ms. Todd get even madder?”

  “Naw. Now that it’s over, I bet she’s glad you moved so fast. You saved nearly everything in the classroom.”

  “Well …” Lyndsey finally smiled. “Sure. Why not?”

  Jeri asked a few more questions about Lyndsey’s family and hometown, discovering that she had a younger sister and came from Tampa, Florida.

  Out of the corner of her eye, Jeri saw the red-haired nurse practically jogging from bed to bed on her Nike Airs. When she got to Lyndsey, Jeri felt a tap on her shoulder.

  “You. Out!” She crossed her arms, her eyes unblinking. Then she turned to Lyndsey. “I need to dress your cut now.” She removed the blanket and reached to pull the curtain around her bed. “Let’s get you out of those wet clothes too.” “I’m not wet.”

  “Your tights are wet, and your jumper’s damp. I’ll have your house mother bring you some jeans or sweats.”

  “No, I’m fine!”

  “We’ll see about that.” The nurse whipped the curtain closed around the bed.

  Jeri wished she could change out of her own uniform. It wasn’t wet, but she smelled like smoke. She pulled a strand of hair under her nose and sniffed. El stinko. It wasn’t a nice campfire smoke smell. It had a bitter, metallic odor.

  As Jeri left the infirmary, dime-sized drops of rain fell more heavily around her. A teacher holding a newspaper over her head ran across the glistening pavement. Across campus at Herald House a small crowd was still gathered, with clumps of umbrellas looking like colorful mushrooms.

  Two firefighters came out of the classroom building, talking and pointing, then moved to the side of the building. A three-part ladder extended from a fire truck like a telescope. The top of the ladder rested outside the science room window — or what was left of it. Jeri couldn’t help wishing a rescue was in progress right this minute. What a photo op that would be!

  Maybe she could still get a good quote for her article. If the school paper didn’t want it, she could turn out a special edition of her own tonight and scoop them on the fire.

  She spotted Tim hanging around a second fire truck, talking to its driver, and she headed that way. Waving his arms, Tim wielded his mop like a sword. Jeri hung back under a maple tree, waiting for him to finish.

  “… and it was my water that put out the fire!” Tim said, making a comical salute.

  “You carried the bucket to the third floor?” the firefighter asked. “That takes muscles.”

  “No. Mr. Rankin—he’s my boss—took it on the elevator. I can’t run the elevator.” He studied his cap. “Hey, I lost something in there. Can I go back in?”

  “Not till they finish their investigation, son.” The firefighter stepped down from the truck and removed his bright yellow coat, revealing wide orange suspenders.

  “Can I see your hood then?” Tim asked.

  “Sure.” The firefighter reached into the cab for it. “It’s called a Nomex hood. See? This is a regulator hose.” He slipped it on and adjusted it. “When it’s worn correctly, it protects my head but doesn’t limit my vision.”

  “Cool!” Tim touched the hood. “Want me to wash your truck for you?” He waved the mop strings in the firefighter’s darkly tanned face.

  Jeri cringed. Tim’s behavior could be so embarrassing. She jerked as a cold drop of water hit her neck. She looked up. Rain was beginning to drip through the new spring leaves.

  Shivering, Jeri was ready to head back to her dorm until she heard voices at the rear of the truck. One voice belonged to the headmistress. Jeri crept closer by inches, staying out of sight by the tanker and toolboxes while trying to hear.

  A deep voice spoke. “Science labs are common scenes of accidental fires.”

  “Can you tell what happened?” Ms. Long asked.

  Jeri inched closer, pencil poised. She might get her quote without having to ask any questions.

  “I’ve been fire marshal for eighteen years,” he said. “I always suspect dimwitted kids of being careless and combining combustible materials.”

  Jeri bristled at his tone. Of all the nerve!

  “Excuse me, but our girls are not dimwitted.” The Head’s voice was icy. “Accidents happen.”

  “Look, lady, I only said I suspected carelessness.”

  Jeri’s eyes bulged. Nobody called the Head lady! She leaned against the cold truck, straining to hear over Tim’s chatter.

  The fire marshal cleared his throat noisily. “After inspecting the scene and point of origin, I came to a different conclusion. It wasn’t carelessness.”

  The Head’s words were sharply clipped. “Then what started the fire?”

  “Arson,” he said. “That fire was set on purpose.”

  Jeri gasped at his words. Set on purpose? That wasn’t possible … was it? Who would do such a thing?

  Images flashed through her mind: Smoke pouring from the room, students running for safety, Tim frozen in fear, Lyndsey’s cut arm, and Abby being wheeled away on a stretcher. Someone caused that—not by accident—but deliberately?

  Jeri shivered suddenly and violently. The idea of arson made her feel sick to her stomach. What friend or classmate was really an enemy in disguise? She glanced up at the biology lab on the top floor of Herald Hall. Her whole class might have been trapped up there by flames — or forced to jump from third-story windows! Abby and I could have been killed!

  Head Long finally found her voice. “Arson? Do you mean terrorism?” Her voice took on a deadly tone. “Or burning down a school building for the insurance money?”

  “You can rule out terrorists.” The fire marshal coughed. “Often insurance fraud is at the bottom of burning public buildings. I don’t think so this time, though.”

  “How was the fire started exactly? Matches? What?”

  He was silent a moment. “This. A cheap disposable lighter. You can buy them anywhere. I found it smashed and floating in the water in the trash can.”

  “You must be wrong.” The Head’s voice was low, and Jeri strained to hear her words. “Ms. Todd said there was an explosion before the fire.”

  “Are you trying to tell me my job?” He cleared his throat, but it sounded like a growl. “These lighters will explode if le
ft burning long enough. I had a case once where a boy watched the flame of his disposable lighter until it overheated, causing a small explosion.” He shuffled his feet. “It ignited his clothing, and the boy died later from burns.”

  “You think that is what happened here?” the Head asked.

  “No. I believe the lighter was used to set fire to some paper towels, and then some flammable liquid was added. A lab always contains flammable liquids. Could have been a cleaning solvent of some kind. I doubt your arsonist knew the lighter could explode when the liquid was added.”

  “Thank heavens no one’s clothes caught fire!” the Head said.

  “But my friends got hurt!” Jeri popped around the end of the fire truck, bumping into the fire marshal’s back. “I overheard you,” she explained. “My friend got cut, and Abby just went to the hospital for some doctor to stick a camera down her throat.”

  The fire marshal rocked back and forth. “I’m sorry to hear about your friends.” His eyes were the bluest Jeri had ever seen. “I’m just glad no one was killed.”

  “We could have been,” Jeri said. “Which girl would do something like this? That is so sick!”

  The fire marshal sat on the bumper of the fire truck, pulled on his earlobe, and then looked Jeri in the eye. “It’s probably not a student. Arsonists usually set fires and then leave the immediate scene to escape being hurt.”

  “Then who?” Jeri asked.

  “Lots of people were around—teachers, janitors, security, even strangers. This fire was apparently set just before class started. Not much damage occurred compared to what would have happened if the fire had been set after classes or in the night.”

  Jeri frowned. “Then what was the point?”

  He pulled his earlobe again. “It could have been set to scare someone. We won’t know until we’ve conducted a thorough investigation.”

  The Head touched Jeri’s arm. “Second period is nearly half over already. You need to make it to your third-period class.”

  “All right.”

  Jeri looked up at the clock tower. She had thirty-five minutes. She ran to Hampton House, dropped Abby’s backpack in her room, changed into her last clean jumper uniform, and headed back to the media lab to check out a camera. If she hurried, she could get Lyndsey’s photo and still make it to class on time.

  When she passed Herald Hall again, the sun was trying to break through the clouds and the drizzle was ending. Firefighters had finished rolling up the hose and taken down the extension ladder. Tim was nowhere to be seen, but Jeri spotted Ms. Todd.

  I should interview her too, she thought. But Ms. Todd looked exhausted. Covered with soot, she was deep in conversation with a security guard just outside the door. She’d catch her later, after getting the photo.

  Back at the infirmary, Jeri hated seeing Abby’s empty bed next to Lyndsey’s. Three other beds besides Abby’s were also stripped. Jeri tiptoed to the bed across the large room, keeping an eye peeled for Nurse Hitler. “How’s your arm?” she asked Lyndsey.

  “Not bad. It stung when she cleaned it out.” Lyndsey grimaced. “Germs wouldn’t dare to live with that nurse around.”

  Jeri laughed. “I got a camera. Can I take your picture now?” At her nod, Jeri positioned Lyndsey to show her bandaged arm better. “Smile, but not too much. A brave smile that shows you’re in pain.” She shot from a couple angles. Lyndsey’s huge eyes gave her a sad, waif-like appearance. Just perfect. “That should do it.”

  Jeri lowered her voice and leaned close. “Don’t pass this around, but I found out something about the fire that I’m adding to my article.” She glanced over her shoulder. “The fire marshal said the fire was no accident.”

  Lyndsey’s smile faded. “You mean … someone started the fire on purpose?”

  “Looks like it.”

  “Who would do something like that?”

  “I don’t know.” Jeri rubbed her tiny pearl earring. “I wonder if somebody’s mad at Ms. Todd. It was mostly the stuff on her desk that got burned. Maybe somebody she flunked is getting revenge?”

  “Maybe.” Lyndsey plucked at the blanket. “Others might not like her for different reasons.” She paused. “Like the morning guard maybe. I heard them in the hallway once. He asked her out, and she turned him down. Maybe he’s mad.”

  “Really?” They’d been together outside a few minutes ago. Was he asking again? “Well, don’t tell anyone about it being arson,” Jeri repeated. “I think I got the information first. I bet the Lightning Bolt publishes my article now.” If so, it would be Jeri’s second article in there.

  On the way to her next class, Jeri stopped in the basement of Herald House at the newspaper office. It didn’t even smell like smoke down there. No one would guess that just an hour ago there’d been a smoky fire three floors overhead.

  Jeri waited at the long wooden counter that ran the length of the room instead of pushing through the swinging door to the newsroom. Claire, the junior editor, continued to work, bent over her large, scarred desk. Jeri bet she’d seen her come in and was ignoring her. Claire had made it clear that sixth graders were neither talented nor welcome on the staff. So when the Lightning Bolt advisor had hired Jeri a month ago anyway, Claire was forced to tolerate Jeri’s presence. And she resented it.

  Jeri cleared her throat. “Claire?” When she got no response, she repeated her name louder.

  “What?” Claire snapped, peering over her tiny glasses. “Where’d you come from?”

  “From the fire. It was my biology lab that caught fire this morning.” She took the plunge. “I could write a good eyewitness piece about it for the paper.”

  Claire stuck her pen behind her ear, shoved her chair back, and sauntered up to the counter. Today her long red hair was in a braid down her back. Very efficient, Jeri thought. “It’s already covered. Stick to your beat, Lois Lane.”

  “I don’t have anything to report on for Spanish or French Club,” Jeri protested, “but I’ve got a great story about the fire and a photo of a girl in my class who put it out.”

  Claire shook her head and rolled her eyes. “The fire’s the story, not some little sixth-grade girl.” She turned her back on Jeri. “You’ve got a lot to learn, kid.”

  I guess so, Jeri thought as she left for her next class. But so do you, Claire. Just because the Lightning Bolt junior editor didn’t want her article didn’t mean it wouldn’t get published. And soon.

  3

  where there’s smoke …

  By lunchtime, Jeri noticed that her throat hardly hurt anymore. Being out in the hall at the time of the explosion had kept her from serious harm. She only wished Abby and Lyndsey had been as far from the smoke and flames.

  At the dining hall Jeri spotted her house mother standing under the massive chandelier in the entryway. “Ms. Carter, do you know how Abby’s doing?”

  “Yes.” She wrapped her arm around Jeri’s shoulders, walking with her over to the French doors that opened onto a balcony. “You’ll be glad to hear that the bronchoscope showed little damage. The medicine seems to be controlling the cough.” Sheer white curtains waved in the slight breeze from the window. “They want to keep her overnight for observation, though.”

  “Can we go visit her?”

  She shook her head, but her short, sculpted hair stayed perfectly in place. “No student visitors, the doctor said. Anyway, it hurts her to talk.” At Jeri’s sigh, she added, “I’m taking a bouquet of carnations over tonight. If you’d like to send her a get-well card, I’ll take it with me.”

  “I’ll make one right after school,” Jeri said.

  Although Rosa and Nikki were already near the front of the lunch line, Jeri went to the end. While they ate, Jeri would talk to them about making cards for Abby. Nikki and Abby were roommates, although the petite blonde from England and the tall, sturdy American horsewoman couldn’t have been more different. After they made the get-well cards, Jeri would put together a special edition of their newspaper with the news about the fi
re on the front page.

  Let’s see, I’ll use my arson article and Nikki’s write-up about her dressage competition. Rosa, always the social butterfly, could write some more advice about next weekend’s Hawaiian luau and dance …

  Gradually, from a group ahead of her in the lunch line, Jeri became aware of Tim’s name being tossed around. The voices of Lisa Poole and her friends carried clearly as they made fun of him.

  “Let me see!” Melinda Rabb, her cheeks and hands bright pink, grabbed a piece of paper with a drawing on it.

  Jeri craned her neck and saw a portrait of a girl with long blondish hair and even longer earrings. Huge beads around her neck spelled LISA.

  “Cool, Poole! It looks just like you!” Melinda snickered and held it up for others to see.

  “Give that back,” Lisa hissed, her face mottled an unbecoming red.

  Someone asked, “Are you going to frame it?”

  “Maybe Tim will autograph it for you. He’ll put, ‘All my love, Tim!'”

  “Shut up, you guys!”

  Lisa was mean enough by herself, Jeri thought, but the teasing from her so-called friends made her even worse.

  Lisa tore the portrait in half, then in half again, and then threw the pieces at them. “Wait till that dork decides he likes one of you!”

  “No chance. He’s madly in love with you,” Melinda said. She made a kissing noise on the back of her chapped hand.

  Jeri fumed. Why did they have to talk that way about Tim? He couldn’t help being mentally impaired, and he was always really nice to people, which was more than she could say for those snobby girls. If Tim treated me special, I’d be a lot nicer to him than Lisa. Tim had a heart and feelings like anyone else. All the special needs kids did.

  The other three students from New Hope Academy—Carl, Cindy, and Linda—worked there in the dining hall. Cindy served the rolls, and Carl and Linda scraped dirty plates in the kitchen. According to Tim, Carl and Linda liked working back there, but Cindy disliked her job. It was easy for Jeri to see why. Up ahead, Lisa and Melinda made faces at the girl with Down syndrome. Jeri wished the Head would catch those two and nail them.