Torched Page 11

  Lunging for the knob, I shoved Paxton aside. This time he let me. I threw open the door and dashed out into the hall.

  “Rose, wait!” I heard behind me, but if I stopped, Paxton might realize I still had this year’s Stalker Folder. I leaped down the stairs and didn’t stop sprinting until I was across the grass, through the trees and locked inside my empty house.

  Chapter 11

  My cell phone rang half an hour later. Pond Scum flashed on the screen. I narrowed my eyes, but picked up.

  “Okay. So you didn’t set fire to The Orchard,” Paxton said.

  Oh, shit! Where was my voice recorder when I needed it? I hastily punched the record button on my phone. “What did you say?”

  “But here’s the thing, Rose: I didn’t set the fire either.”

  Great, we were back to that. But doubt ate at me. “Prove it.”

  “I had a freaking ankle sprain. You really think I was hobbling around the harbor that night?” I let my silence speak for me, and after a moment Paxton sighed. “Don’t tell me: you think I faked the sprain.”

  “You looked pretty healthy at the game yesterday,” I observed.

  “I’ll send you the X-rays.”

  “X-rays of a sprain don’t show anything.” Was that true? I didn’t know. But X-rays were of the bone, and his bones wouldn’t have been fractured in a sprain.

  “But coach was worried enough to have them taken. You want to talk to my doctor?”

  He sounded ... sincere. A tight feeling attacked my lungs. Oh, no. I was starting to believe him.

  “How do I know you won’t just pay someone to pretend to be your doctor? Like when you paid those fake girl scouts to sell me fake cookies.” I’d spent a hundred dollars--I stockpile Thin Mints every spring--on what turned out to be cardboard and clay.

  “Go visit him at his office.”

  “But you could ...” Anything I dreamed up sounded farfetched, even for Paxton. “Yes, I want to see those X-rays.” Oh, God. What if he was doing the unthinkable ... telling the truth?

  “I’ll find them and bring them over.”

  I felt panicky. “You still could have done it!”

  “Driven with an ankle sprain, and run off a burning boat?”

  “It was your left foot that was hurt, wasn’t it? You drive with your right.”

  “Rose. I didn’t do it. I was here all night.”

  “The last time your family checked on you was midnight. The fire was started afterward.” The pictures were taken beforehand, but ... I don’t know, maybe he had an accomplice. I glanced down at the folder. “And I have your Stalker File now, I can prove that you’ve had it in for me, that you were--”

  “Going to swap your history text for a picture book of unicorns? You got me, Rose. I confess. But not to framing you for arson. I’ve never broken rule three.”

  I frowned. “Deny everything?”

  “What?”

  “That’s rule three.”

  “No, rule three is no serious repercussions.”

  “Oh.” Truth was, I didn’t see Paxton trying to seriously hurt me, which was why I’d been so shocked in the first place. It had seemed such a drastic retaliation. But if he hadn’t framed me ... I shivered despite my sweatshirt. “Paxton?”

  “Yeah?”

  “You swear you didn’t set the fire?”

  Silence on the line, and then Paxton said, “Why do you want so badly for it to be me?”

  I bit my lip. “Because I didn’t think anyone else hated me that much.”

  “Well, I didn’t do it. Sorry to disappoint.” He sounded annoyed. “Want me to bring the X-rays over now?”

  “No. Tomorrow.” I needed time to digest this, to prepare myself for the possibility that I had some unknown enemy who’d destroyed my life without me even knowing who they were. “Not before nine.” I hung up.

  At nine-ten the next morning, my doorbell rang. I was up, though my eyes were red and I felt leaden. Sleep had tap-danced around me last night like Alina in one of her musicals. I opened the door to find Paxton holding a paper bag and a folder.

  “It’s your daily delivery of bagels and X-rays.” Paxton handed me the bag, and we went into the kitchen, where I dumped the bagels and cream cheese tubs onto a plate. I inspected the bagels, sniffing one. It smelled like ... a blueberry bagel.

  “What, you think they’re tampered with?” Paxton looked amused.

  “Wouldn’t be the first time,” I muttered. “Where’s the coffee?”

  “You’re making it. I figured you wouldn’t drink anything I brought.”

  I shrugged, acknowledging the truth in this, and made hazelnut coffee. When it started brewing, I realized I was being a jerk--Paxton hated hazelnut, and I knew that. If Paxton hadn’t framed me, then I’d vandalized his desk for no reason, and he was being pretty nice about it. But making his least favorite flavor was habit.

  We silently slathered bagels in cream cheese, and when the coffee was done we sat at the table. Paxton started eating, but I pushed my plate aside. This wasn’t a breakfast date.

  “X-rays,” I said. I sounded tired, and grumpy. I gulped some coffee, hoping it would turn me into a human being soon.

  Paxton handed me the folder and kept eating. I slid the X-rays out and held them up to the light. He’d also brought his doctor’s notes. I didn’t ask how he’d gotten all of this--Mr. Callaway was an organizational freak, and liked to have copies of everything. Obviously, considering the Stalker Drawer, Paxton had inherited the trait.

  Here it was, proof that some unknown person, not Paxton, loathed me to the point of arson. Was it someone I thought was a friend, smiling in my face but glaring at my back, or someone lurking in the shadows, despising me from afar? A sour taste invaded my mouth, and I dropped the file in favor of my bagel. Strawberry cream cheese was sweet on my tongue, but I felt like I was chewing through sawdust.

  I swallowed with difficulty, then shoved the X-rays across the table.

  “Fine. I believe you.”

  Paxton watched me. He’d stopped eating.

  “You don’t look very happy about that.”

  I started to ask how I was supposed to be happy I’d taken a huge step back in my quest to clear my name, but was interrupted by a cheerful voice.

  “Oh, hi Paxton.” My mom strolled into the kitchen on my dad’s arm. They were dressed for a Sunday brunch social.

  “Hi, Mrs. Whitfield.” Paxton nodded a greeting at my dad too. I tried not to look so upset--the usual routine while parents were around was for Paxton and me to treat each other with bland pleasantness. Somehow it worked; our parents were just too clueless to pick up on the fact that we loathed each other.

  “Your father send you over for the keys to the blue car?” my dad asked Paxton. He didn’t look at me.

  Paxton did. “Um, sure.”

  “I think you might have to pry them from Rose’s fingers,” my mom laughed. I stared at her. Had I really signed away my shield of truth so she wouldn’t leave dad?

  Noticing my expression, my dad reddened and bustled them away.

  “See you kids later.” And they were gone. I felt about to cry--God, was I tired of that feeling--but couldn’t, not until Paxton left. I stood, jogged upstairs to grab my keys, and trudged back to the kitchen.

  “Come on,” I told Paxton. My voice sounded hollow. “I’ll clean out Cloudmonster so you can take him.” I grabbed a reusable grocery bag from under the sink and went out to the driveway, where I patted Cloudmonster’s powder blue hood. “Guess this is it, buddy.” I opened the driver’s side door and stuffed my things into the tote.

  “So you really didn’t do it?”

  I pulled out of the car. Paxton stood on the walkway, his hands in his pockets. I shook my head.

 
“I was doing homework here that night. I didn’t even know Ryan was ...” I looked away. “... until the police showed me the pictures.” I swallowed hard, then pinned Paxton with a stare I hoped would scare him into telling the truth. “Did you know?”

  “No. That Francesca thing surprised me too. As far as I knew, Ryan ... you know.” Paxton shifted. This was probably way outside the realms of Guy Talk. “Loved you.”

  Hearing that made tears spring to my eyes, but I ducked my head and blinked them away. I knelt on the driver’s seat and took my emergency road-trip-with-Alina granola bars out of Cloudmonster’s center console, then stuffed them in the tote.

  “What are you going to do?” Paxton asked.

  The only thing left was my phone charger. I pulled it out of the cigarette lighter and stood up. “Figure out who has it in for me.” Obviously. What did he think I was going to do? And why did he even care? I headed to Cloudmonster’s trunk. “Look, you’ve proved it wasn’t you. We don’t have to keep talking.”

  “I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that you’re being framed,” Paxton said. “I mean ... damn. And your dad sold your car? That really blows.”

  “So you, what, pity me?” Paxton felt sorry for me. It was unbearable. “Go away.”

  Paxton watched me pull the toolbox and spare blanket from Cloudmonster’s trunk. “I’m guessing you need a ride to school tomorrow?”

  “Not from you.” It came out automatically. I nearly took it back, but even if Paxton wasn’t responsible for me losing Cloudmonster, I couldn’t take his charity. Besides, who knew what he’d plant on the seat before he picked me up? I’d have to be on my guard constantly.

  Paxton looked annoyed again.

  “You’d rather take the bus than ride to school with me? Fine. Suit yourself.” He held out his hand. “Hand over the keys, arsonista.”

  I flung them at his chest and slammed the trunk. Arsonista. It, well ... burned, even though I knew it was supposed to. I grabbed my tote bag and glared at Paxton.

  “You’re pissing yourself in glee, aren’t you? You think I deserve this.” My dad did. Maybe everyone did. But Paxton frowned.

  “Why would I think you deserve this?”

  “Well, you thought I deserved cranberry punch on my dress, and--”

  “I get it. But no.” Paxton’s eyes were brown and serious, and for a moment I felt myself softening toward him. Then he opened his mouth again. “You’re selfish like a pageant queen and shallower than a dry creek, so if you deserve to be punished for anything, it’s that. Not a crime you didn’t commit.”

  Could a vote of support get more backhanded? I wondered if he’d been saving up those descriptions of me. He probably brainstormed stuff like that in a file somewhere.

  “Wow, Paxton. Thanks.” Pushing past him, I ran inside. I threw the car stuff in the hall closet, then returned to the door. Paxton adjusted Cloudmonster’s seat and mirror, then backed out of my driveway. It hurt to watch Cloudmonster roll away without me.

  I pictured myself taking the bus tomorrow while Paxton sneered. No way in hell was that happening. I grabbed my phone and found the contact I wanted.

  “Hi, Lindsay,” I said when she picked up. “You drive yourself to school, right?”

  Lindsay wasn’t slow. “What happened to Cloudmonster?”

  “He’s in the shop.” I smiled bitterly. “The shop of ‘my dad sold him’.”

  “Oh, no!” She knew how much I loved my car. “What time should I pick you up tomorrow?”

  Gratitude rushed through me, and renewed determination. Lindsay really wanted to be squad captain next year, and if I didn’t claw my way out from under the ignominy Natalie had dumped on me at the game, Lindsay would be toasted by Natalie’s crony Uma. And that would be tragic, because Lindsay would make a kickass leader for the squad.

  “Seven,” I said. “Thanks, you rock. See you.”

  ~ ~ ~

  The next morning dawned warm and sunny, so I went outside after making myself coffee. I chewed on a peanut butter granola bar and turned my face to the sun as I waited for Lindsay by my mailbox. Being trapped in school for nine hours sucked on days like this, but at least I could enjoy the fresh air beforehand.

  I spotted a flash of blue from my left, and sighed as I saw Cloudmonster turn out of the Callaways’ driveway, Juliette at the wheel. Forcing a smile to my lips, I waved.

  Cloudmonster rolled to a stop in front of me. “The great Rose has to ride the bus?” Juliette said. I shook my head.

  “My ride will be here soon.”

  Juliette frowned. “Who? I thought all your friends were mad at you.”

  My stomach twisted, but I made myself shrug.

  “Lindsay. From cheerleading.” I patted Cloudmonster’s side and cocked a brow. “Unless you want to drive me?”

  “If I don’t, are you going to siphon gas out of my car?” She sounded annoyed, and I realized I still hadn’t apologized for making her late two Fridays ago. Before I could, Juliette added, “Anyway, I can’t--got to pick up a friend. See you at school.” She drove off.

  Paxton’s black BMW, the top down, pulled out of their driveway, then cruised up and stopped in front of me like his sister had.

  “Have you reconsidered about that ride?” Paxton asked. “And hey, I was thinking. If you want help finding out who framed you, I’m in.” He raised a brow. “Assuming you can get over yourself and ask nicely.”

  I sipped my coffee. “Please, Paxton, won’t you help me?” I said sweetly, then cocked my head. “Like that?”

  Paxton’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “I guess that works.”

  I chewed my lip. “Really, you want to help?”

  “Yeah, I do.”

  “Okay.” I pretended to think about it. “I need you to drive to Oregon.”

  “Oregon?”

  “Yeah. Go to a Wal-Mart, to the camping section.”

  Paxton looked confused. “How does that help?”

  “It would really help me to know you’re living in a Wal-Mart.” I managed that with a straight face, but when Paxton got it and glared, I doubled over laughing.

  Paxton straightened in the driver’s seat and put his car in gear.

  “Have fun riding the cheese, arsonista,” he said, and peeled away.

  Lindsay drove up a few minutes later, and I hopped in smiling. I hadn’t laughed like that since this whole arson thing started.

  On the ride to school, I considered letting Paxton help me. After all, he was right--I didn’t have a lot of friends right now. The list of people who believed I was innocent couldn’t field a baseball team.

  And the people on that list who would help me ... yeah.

  When it came down to it, though, I didn’t trust Paxton. Maybe he hadn’t framed me for a felony, but I had enough to handle without guarding against pranks off his “Possibilities” list. Even if he felt sorry for me, some things were habit, like me making his least favorite coffee. Wasn’t there an Aesop’s fable about how leopards couldn’t change their spots?

  I tracked down Beverly at lunch, finally finding her in the library. She had a novel in one hand and an apple in the other.

  “Why do you eat in here?” I said, sitting down across from her. She glanced up in surprise, then frowned.

  “I don’t, not always. I eat at lots of different tables. I just felt like reading today.” Pointedly, she went back to her book.

  “Lots of different tables? You don’t have a usual table?” She didn’t answer, and I gazed at her. Considering her history, I wondered if BB--no, I had to stop thinking of her as Burping Bev--if Beverly table-hopped because she didn’t want to commit to a single group. Diversification of friends. Then if one dropped you, you still had the rest. It sort of made sense, but it seemed sad.

 
I cleared my throat. “What kind of apple is that?”

  “Honeycrisp,” she answered, not looking up. After another minute, she still hadn’t turned a page, so I knew she wasn’t really reading.

  “What did you do last weekend?” I asked.

  Beverly looked up, her eyes wide.

  “Oh, no. You think that because Alina dumped both of us, we can be besties now.” She looked horrified. I flushed.

  “Because that would be the worst, apparently?”

  “What do you want, Rose?”

  Okay, no small talk. “You’re possibly the only person in school who believes me,” I said, silently omitting Paxton. “About not setting the fire.”

  “So?”

  “So I was hoping you might help me. Not that you actually have to do anything, but you mentioned, before, that you could name half a dozen people who hated me off the top of your head. I was hoping you would. Name them,” I clarified.

  Beverly studied me, then flipped her book over and put it on the table, spine in the air. “You want a suspect list.”

  “Yeah, basically.” I glanced at the cover of her novel and realized it was a mystery. Someone who loved mysteries wasn’t about to turn down the chance to help solve one, right? No matter how stand-offish she seemed. “Please?”

  Beverly sighed.

  “Fine. I’ll give the list to you tomorrow.” She picked up her book again.

  “Tomorrow?” How long did it take to jot down six or so names?

  “Tomorrow. Right now I am finishing this chapter.”

  I stood up before she could get irritated enough to change her mind. “Awesome. I owe you one.” Beverly didn’t look up as I left.