by Wendy Heard
Mick pushes my wheelchair in the front door, spinning me around so she can bump me up over the threshold. She’s been doing this for a month and a half. She’s getting good at it. I might even miss this when I’m cleared to walk again. Is it wrong that I like having her at my beck and call?
“Who were you on the phone with at swim practice?” Mick asks me. “Looked intense.”
“Donna.”
“Oh.” She stops walking. Donna is our lawyer. “What’d she say?”
“Nothing new. They’re still looking for Nico. We’re good.” I don’t want to get her thinking about lawyers any more than I have to; she’s been stressing herself out worrying about how she’ll pay my parents back for her half of the bills. To change the subject, I tell her, “I don’t know how you practice so much. Don’t you get tired of soaking yourself in bleach and urine? Humans are land animals. Land animals, Mick.”
She pushes the front door shut with her butt and wheels me toward the kitchen. “No one pees in a high school pool.”
“That you know of.”
“Isn’t your arm almost better? You’re going to be pushing your own self in this thing pretty soon.”
“No!” I cry. “You’re so good at it!” Before she can pull me inside, I say, “Hey. Mick. Come here.”
She kneels down in front of me. “What’s up?”
I reach for her face, run my good hand through her hair. “I’m worried you’re allowing all this photo stuff, the tour and everything, because you’re stressing the lawyer bills. You really don’t have to do that. You have your whole life to worry about paying my parents back. I can take pictures of palm trees again if it makes you feel more comfortable. Or I can find a different model.”
“I’m not. It’s…” She looks at the scars on her palms. “It’s therapeutic. It’s showing Liz and my mom and everyone else that I really do not give a shit what they think.” She shivers. “I don’t like the way it feels, but I’m proud of myself for doing it.”
I search her face for any sign of deception. She seems like she’s telling the truth. “Okay,” I say at last.
“Okay.” She kisses me and hops to her feet. “Plus I have a feeling you’re going to be an expensive prom date. I can’t even imagine what you’re planning. I’m already humiliated.”
“Ooh,” I squeal. I haven’t even started thinking about prom yet. My brain launches into action. We could be the couple in High School Musical. Or, no. Rocky Horror. I could be Dr. Frank-N-Furter, she could be Janet. Yes.
Suddenly, I remember Nico’s words. They come back to me in cruel, unexpected moments. He called me typical. He said I was boring, that I’m all show and Mick is the one with substance. I suddenly feel stupid for my Rocky Horror prom idea.
And then I slap the thoughts aside. Nico is a murderer. He killed our friends. He can eat a bag of dicks.
In the kitchen, my mom has something cooking on the stove and her laptop open on the counter. “Shhh!” she hisses as we enter.
“What?”
“Shhh!” She waves her hands.
Mick and I exchange a confused look, and she wheels me around the counter so we can see what my mom is watching.
“You’re watching the news?” I ask. “God, you’re getting old.”
“All of LA is on fire.” She turns the volume up.
A young newscaster stands in front of a screen on which are flashing pictures of massive wildfires. “Firefighters from all around the state are working on containing a series of fires consuming green spaces throughout Los Angeles, from Calabasas to Malibu to the Sepulveda Pass to Griffith Park. Authorities are requesting that everyone who is unaffected remain home; all freeways and major streets are needed by firefighters to—”
A picture of the logo from Universal Studios pops up on the screen behind him. “Hang on.
“We’re getting reports of an active shooter situation at Universal Studios. The Universal Studios theme park is currently on lockdown. Again, reports are coming in that the Universal—” He touches his ear. “I’m sorry. We have a report of another active shooter situation. This one is on the USC campus, in the student center and in the— We also have one coming in from the UCLA Medical Center. And Pepperdine University, which is also affected by the Malibu wildfire. And Grand Central Market in downtown LA. Police are asking that everyone not affected by the fires or the active shooter situations remain—”
He stares at the camera blankly. Behind him, the screen flashes a picture of a bunch of different logos—NBC, Warner Bros., Disney, Nickelodeon. He says, “We’re getting reports that a number of different studios are reporting active shooter situations as well. We’re not sure—there seems to be indication that this is some sort of—”
The screen goes green. And silent.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
NICO
The lights go out in the hotel room.
The city had been humming around me, through the windows and through the walls. But now it’s eerily silent.
I’m grinning. Laughter bubbles up inside me. I can’t sit still. I hop up, take three long strides to the sliding door, and let myself out onto the balcony.
The city is blanketed in complete darkness.
Except for the fires. At the horizon, the hills shine orange light into the night sky. The headlights and taillights on the streets far below are like reflections of the stars you can’t see beyond the smoke.
Good job, little nine-year-old Jessica, with your backpack at the Department of Water and Power.
Around me, some office buildings flicker with low yellow lights, the ones that have functioning backup generators.
I learned a valuable lesson during my last series. If you go after a man, you create a martyr. If you want people to see the failings of a system, you have to attack the machine.
It’s time to go to the roof. Time for the finale.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
VERONICA
We’re huddled on the couch, watching TV. The newspeople have gotten their generators working, and a frazzledlooking woman is saying, “We’re reporting from downtown LA. The city is mostly without power. Authorities say an explosion at the DWP is to blame.”
The screen flashes to an aerial view of Los Angeles. All the hills are glowing orange with fire. The downtown skyline is dark. The newscaster says, “Residents not evacuated are being warned to stay inside. The city is on official lockdown. Reports of active shootings at Universal Citywalk, Grand Central Market, UCLA, and USC have been declared a hoax. It appears that the sound of gunshots was simulated using explosive devices and fireworks placed strategically in high-traffic areas—”
A loud, shrieking sound interrupts her. She spins to look at the screen. As we watch, a series of fireworks explode above the downtown skyline.
“I’m not sure—” she begins.
The fireworks are red. Sparkling ones, spiraling ones, flashing ones. It’s a magnificent display, huge against the dark silhouettes of buildings. My mom grips my good hand. Beside me, Mick’s eyes are wide.
The fireworks stop.
The newscaster says, “We think that might have been unrelated, perhaps a previously planned display of—”
Another shriek and explosion. Silver fireworks blossom in the downtown sky. At first, I don’t understand their strange formation, but then they expand into the shape of a long-stemmed rose.
“No,” Mick whispers. Her hand is pressed to her mouth.
“What is it?” I ask.
She removes her hand from her mouth and whispers, “It’s Nico.”
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
NICO
I ignite the rose from the roof, and I watch it bloom over the dark, smoking city.
I survey the work I’ve done. The wreckage. The chaos.
Mick? Do you see me?
As the rose fades into the smoky air, I feel sad and nostalgic. They’ll put out the fires; they’ll turn the power back on. This day will vanish into history, like all days do.
I take out my phone and navigate to your new Instagram account. I stare at your photos and devour your words. I have them memorized.
I did that. I molded you—a human being—into something else. You’re mine, and you’re glorious.
Eventually, when I get tired of watching your shiny, brand-new life unfold from a distance, I’m sure our paths will cross again. When that happens, it will feel like fate.
I’m so glad I didn’t melt you down with steel and turn you into a lifeless, shining doll. What a waste that would have been. You’re too pretty to burn.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This book would not exist in any form without the combined efforts of Jessica Anderson and Lauren Spieller. I owe these two a great debt of gratitude for their work on this project. They provided invaluable guidance and inspiration, and working alongside them has been an actual dream come true. Thank you, Jessica, for providing me the opportunity to tell this story and let it take its strange and winding course. I appreciate the creative freedom and the incisive direction; you’re a master of words. Lauren, thank you for your infallible steadiness and wisdom. You are a rock, and these years of working with you have been better than I could have imagined.
My dear friend Kit Rosewater was my artistic coconspirator, planning Nico’s antics alongside me. Without Kit, there would be no forest party, no Fishing for People. My critique partner, Layne Fargo, was, as always, an incredible sounding board for ideas and editorial eye on drafts of this book. Erica Waters, thank you for reading a broken early piece of this book and kindly helping to guide it. Of course, my mother was brought in to consult on art crime locations around San Diego; a mother’s job is never done.
So many writer friends have provided a sounding board, a sympathetic ear, and a sense of community: Diana Urban; Mike Chen; Aiden Thomas; Hannah Mary McKinnon; Halley Sutton; Kristen Lepionka; Laura Weymouth; and all the writing colleagues who have encouraged me, providing a willing ear, and inspired me to do better, be better. JT Ellison, Kimberly Belle, Emily Carpenter, Jenny Hillier, Wendy Walker, Riley Sager—you’ve given encouragement and guidance freely and without reserve. How can I thank you for your mentorship and openness?
This book is dedicated to the memory of my grandmother, Veta Denton. She was the namesake of my only daughter, and she loved books more than anyone.
Above all, this book is for those who see themselves in its difficult moments. You’re never a waste; you’re so much more than pretty little things. Go forth in power and kindness.
PRAISE FOR SHE’S TOO PRETTY TO BURN
“A smoldering, hypnotic thrill ride. Heard’s YA debut crackles and pops with electric psychological suspense.”
—KIT FRICK, author of See All the Stars, All Eyes on Us, and I Killed Zoe Spanos
“An expertly plotted deep dive into a complex web of friendship, desire, and murder.”
—MINDY MCGINNIS, author of The Female of the Species
“An anxiety-ridden ride as two girls’ lives crash together through secrets, love, and danger. Captivating and stunningly visual.”
—AIDEN THOMAS, author of Cemetery Boys
“Heard paints a mesmerizing portrait of love and betrayal amidst a slow-burn thriller … and once the murders begin, it’s impossible to look away.”
—DIANA URBAN, author of All Your Twisted Secrets
“A gritty, compulsively readable thriller that shimmers with California heat.”
—HANNAH CAPIN, author of Foul Is Fair
“A powder keg of psychological suspense that recognizes the dark side lurking within all of us, this thriller had me riveted right from the very first page.”
—CALEB ROEHRIG, author of Last Seen Leaving and White Rabbit
“She’s Too Pretty to Burn holds you by the throat until the very last page. Heard has written a perfect, ultra-modern teenage noir of early queer love and the battle to resist our most destructive impulses. Ambition is truly a killer.”
—ADAM SASS, author of Surrender Your Sons
“Veronica and Mick’s complex, compelling relationship grounds this intense and unrelenting thriller, full of impossible choices, betrayals, mistakes, and danger.”
—KATE ALICE MARSHALL, author of I Am Still Alive and Rules for Vanishing
“Gorgeously written and expertly paced, She’s Too Pretty to Burn is an intense, wild ride that keeps the reader on the edge of their seat until its stunning conclusion.”
—LIZ LAWSON, author of The Lucky Ones
About the Author
Wendy Heard is the author of two adult thrillers: The Kill Club and Hunting Annabelle, which Kirkus praised as “a diabolically plotted creep show from a writer to watch.” She is a member of Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers, and Mystery Writers of America, is a contributor at Crimereads.com, and cohosts the Unlikeable Female Characters podcast. Wendy lives in Los Angeles, California. She’s Too Pretty to Burn marks her YA debut. Visit him online at wendyheard.com, or sign up for email updates here.
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CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Epigraph
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chapter Thirty
Chapter Thirty-One
Chapter Thirty-Two
Chapter Thirty-Three
Chapter Thirty-Four
Chapter Thirty-Five
Chapter Thirty-Six
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Chapter Forty
Chapter Forty-One
Chapter Forty-Two
Chapter Forty-Three
Chapter Forty-Four
Chapter Forty-Five
Chapter Forty-Six
Chapter Forty-Seven
Chapter Forty-Eight
Chapter Forty-Nine
Acknowledgments
Praise for She’s Too Pretty to Burn
About the Author
Copyright
Copyright © 2021 by Wendy Heard
Henry Holt and Company, LLC
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First hardcover edition 2021
eBook edition 2021
eISBN 9781250246769