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  “Because I’m innocent.”

  “Because you’re scared of going to jail.”

  Alina wore a bullheaded expression I recognized; there was no getting through to her right now. I should just walk away, let her cool down. But I didn’t. After English I felt like I’d already lost Ryan, even if I couldn’t admit it out loud, and I couldn’t bear to lose Alina too. My world was turning cold and dark, and I wanted more than anything to cry on Alina’s shoulder, but she looked at me like she’d run me over with her Jaguar if I tried.

  “I thought we were friends,” I said.

  “Not anymore.” Alina snapped her fingers. “Tell you what--if you come clean and apologize, maybe I won’t have you run out of school.”

  Anger and outrage replaced the welling tears. I scoffed.

  “Who do you think you are, the mob?”

  Alina stepped forward, close enough that I could smell oranges. Alina loved citrus perfumes. “I’m the girl who’s going to make your life a living hell if you don’t do what you’re told,” she said, her voice pitched to carry in what I realized was a pool of silence around us. “Now get down on your knees and tell me how sorry you are.”

  She wasn’t kidding. She’d done it to other people, like when a junior unwittingly took our preferred parking spot, or a freshman jostled her too hard in the hallway crush. I’d always found it hilarious when they knelt and mumbled apologies, and she tapped them on the head like disobedient puppies. Now it wasn’t so funny.

  Everyone was staring. The whole cafeteria had hushed. Seeing my best friend’s icy glare made something inside of me quail, and for a second I nearly did it, even though it was unfair and I was innocent, just to try and make things better. But out of the corner of my eye I saw Paxton leaning on his crutches, and any thought I had of caving evaporated.

  I crossed my arms. “I’m sorry you’re moronic enough to believe I’d light a boat on fire.”

  For a second, everything crystallized in the flash of Alina’s dark eyes. She jerked her chin at the scared-mouse girls sitting at the table. Too late, I realized they all held opened cartons of chocolate milk in their little paws.

  Then the cartons were flying at me.

  Thunk thunk thunk! I was drenched before I could even stagger backwards.

  The girls at the table grabbed their bags and darted off. Some idiot guys whooped, as if they were at a football game and our team had just scored a touchdown. Alina casually took a single napkin from the now abandoned table and offered it to me, and the whole cafeteria erupted in laughter.

  I turned and ran.

  I know. Cowards run. I’d never thought of myself as spineless, but I’d never thought of myself as stupid either, and it was obvious I had fewer brain cells than a blow-up doll. I knew Alina’s mean streak was blind when she thought she’d been wronged, but I somehow hadn’t been able to believe she’d do something like that. To me.

  No crying, I told myself as I ran, chocolate milk dribbling down my sweater. Classmates jabbered like jays in my wake. No crying. But as I ducked into the girls’ room, tears joined the brown liquid splashing onto the tile floor. Two freshmen stared at me in the mirrors, then scrammed.

  Throwing my bag down, I peeled off my sweater. It used to be green, but now the front looked like the bottom of a pond. Clad in my camisole, I started washing my sweater in the sink.

  “Chocolate milk?” I muttered. “What is this, freaking middle school?” The similarity to Paxton’s cranberry-juice attack was inescapable. Back then, it meant I’d lost a friend. The sweater in my hands blurred.

  A toilet flushed, and one of the stall doors opened. Beverly Bingham stepped out, pausing when she met my bleary gaze in the mirror. She eyed my camisole and the wet sweater.

  “Hey, Rose.”

  “Hi, BB,” I said, trying to be casual, as if I’d just been clumsy, but my voice was thick. Beverly’s nickname was ostensibly because of her initials, but most people remembered when Alina had christened her Burping Bev in eighth grade.

  Beverly went to the open sink and turned on the water. She nodded to my sweater.

  “Let me guess: Alina the Adored decided you’re no longer worthy to be her friend?”

  “It’s just an argument.” There I was, building that ice wall while the desert sun beat down. Beverly didn’t buy it either.

  “Please. She’s cut you off like a gangrenous limb. Just like she did to me.” She glanced up from soaping her hands. “You remember, right?”

  It happened just before Alina and I became friends. “You made fun of her mom’s wig.”

  “A terrible crime,” Beverly said dryly. “I should have gotten the electric chair.”

  “Her mom was fighting cancer, BB.”

  “Yes, it was insensitive. But I apologized a million times--not that it mattered to Alina.” Beverly’s mouth twisted. “You know, it took me until sophomore year to realize I wasn’t the scum she said I was.”

  “I hate that she’s mad at me,” I admitted.

  “Should have thought of that before you nearly killed her dad.”

  “I did not!”

  Beverly shrugged. “Alina’s never been reasonable when it comes to her parents. Believe me, I should know.”

  “I didn’t set that fire. Besides, we’re not in middle school anymore. She’ll snap out of it soon.”

  “Doubt it. Girl can carry a grudge. Take it from me, you’re done being Alina Rose’s BFF.” Beverly took in my expression and sighed. “Not that I particularly like you, but my advice? Save yourself some grief and move on.”

  “I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  Beverly snorted. “I’m not saying I don’t get it. Ryan and Francesca, jeez.” She shook her head. “I’d go ballistic too, if I were you.”

  In the mirror, the person wearing my face turned red and blotchy.

  “It doesn’t matter what he said. I didn’t set that fire.” I would not cry in front of Burping Bev, no matter how much my run-in with Alina had hurt. “I’ll prove I’m being framed. You’ll see.” I focused on washing my sweater.

  Beverly went to the blow-dry hand station, and the bathroom filled with the roar of hot air.

  When it died, she turned to me again.

  “You know, I kind of believe you.”

  I felt like she’d thrown me a life preserver. “You do?”

  “Well, I believe that if you’d decided to set fire to Ryan’s boat, you wouldn’t have left photos with your fingerprints.” Then Beverly shook her head. “Not that it matters. In the Court of Queen Alina, you’re a condemned criminal, and that strips you of her protection.”

  Annoyance undercut my gratitude. “I don’t need her protection.” This was Petalina High, not 1920’s Chicago.

  “I can name half a dozen people off the top of my head who’ve been burned by your pranks, Rose. There’s a lot of people who are gonna make damn sure you get your comeuppance. My advice? Start living defensively.”

  I shook my head. Okay, it was true that pranks intended for Paxton sometimes went awry, but Paxton had just as many innocent-bystander casualties as I did. What about that time he planted the stink bomb at my biology lab station, but it got Missy Trenchton instead?

  “I’m just saying,” Beverly continued, “that in the war of the Roses, you’re not gonna win.”

  “Go to hell, BB.” Why I was taking out my anger on the one person who’d been nice to me today, I didn’t know.

  Beverly grabbed her bag.

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” she said, and left.

  My sweater, as far as I could tell, was now purged of chocolate milk. I wrung it out, held it over a hand dryer nozzle, and hit the power button for the first of a million times.

  “Alina doesn’t own this school,” I muttered as the hot ai
r roared. I hadn’t expected her to pull that junk in the cafeteria, but if that was the way she wanted to play it, fine. I wasn’t going to waste any more of my time begging to talk to her. I’d prove my innocence on my own, and then she’d be the one groveling for forgiveness.

  I spent most of the afternoon fuming in silence, but by last period I couldn’t take the stares and whispers anymore. Word was our Calculus teacher was absent today, and our sub wasn’t in the room yet, so I flung my bag onto my desk and clapped my hands to get everyone’s attention. Cheering is my sport, and my claps are loud. All eyed turned to me.

  “I just want everyone to know right now that I am innocent of the arson charge,” I declared. “Got it?”

  No one said anything, but then Kaitlyn Tresser stood up. “And I want everyone to know that I ...” she bit her lip, “am a virgin!” Everyone laughed--Kaitlyn had slept with half the football team. I wanted to scream. I couldn’t stand that everyone thought I was guilty.

  I was about to sit down when someone said my name. It was Missy Trenchton, two rows over. “Don’t worry, we believe you. Come sit over here.” Tiffany sat next to her, and she nodded as if regretting leaping to conclusions this morning. Grateful for the support, I ditched my usual spot and was about to sit when I paused. There was something about Tiffany’s expression, like she was holding her breath ... I checked the seat.

  Gum, right at the edge where I might not see it. I pointed.

  “We didn’t do that,” Missy said, too quickly.

  Tiffany’s brown eyes were wide. “We’re totally innocent. Don’t you believe us?” Then they cracked up like hyenas. I stalked back to my usual seat.

  Sometimes, it occurred to me, my friends sort of sucked.

  By the time cheerleading practice rolled around, I was more than ready for some exercise to purge the day from me.

  “Hey, Rose,” Whitney Shepherd said when we all congregated on the mat. “I’ve got a new joke. Want to hear it?”

  Her too-casual tone warned me I didn’t. “Not really. Come on, ladies, let’s stretch it out.”

  “I want to hear it,” Natalie said, and Whitney smirked.

  “What has two breasts and likes matches?”

  Everyone glanced at me. Some of the younger girls giggled nervously. I knew my face imitated a tomato. “Up yours, Whitney.”

  “A barbecue grill.” Her smile could cut glass. “Why, what did you think it was?”

  “That doesn’t make any sense,” I snapped. Did it? I didn’t care.

  Hayley was frowning too. Natalie nudged her. “Chicken breasts, get it? On the grill?” Hayley looked at me and smiled uneasily.

  Deciding I needed to wrest control back stat, I clapped my hands.

  “Come on, girls, get stretching. Then we’ll work on the last jump sequence in the new Panther Paws cheer. We’ve got to get it right before Friday.”

  “Actually,” Natalie said, “we took a vote and decided we’d do the traditional routine for Homecoming.”

  This again? Did Natalie think she could trample over me because of Alina, because I was supposed to hang my head like a naughty puppy and roll over to be kicked in the stomach? Instead, I gave Natalie a weapons-grade smile. When her smirk faltered I grabbed her elbow. “Excuse us for a second, ladies. Keep stretching.” I dragged Natalie to the corner of the mat.

  “Here’s the deal,” I said in her ear. “You’re going to drop this--permanently--or I’ll tell everyone where you were at the back-to-school assembly.” See, unbeknownst to Nat’s boyfriend, she occasionally gets real friendly with a junior from her art class.

  Natalie yanked her arm away. “No one would believe you.”

  “Good thing my cell phone has a camera.” Okay, so I wasn’t tacky enough to photograph Natalie and her fling polishing each other’s molars. But she didn’t know that.

  After a long moment, Natalie turned with false enthusiasm to the rest of the squad. “Everyone, we’re doing the new routine, since it means so much to Rose.” Sugar in her voice, plus a few razor blades. Hayley and Lindsay looked relieved; some of the other girls frowned. I took note of which ones, so I could protect myself from the knives headed for my back.

  “Everything alright, girls?” our coach and faculty sponsor, Mrs. Yancey, called from the gymnasium doorway. After the first week of the semester she’d stopped even pretending to coach us, which was actually better since she had no idea how. She’d only taken the position because it came with a stipend.

  “Rose won’t let us do the traditional cheer for Homecoming,” Uma Grift complained. She was a junior who backed Natalie the way Lindsay Bonner backed me, and clearly thought to curry favor by going over my head. But Mrs. Yancey just shrugged.

  “She’s the captain, girls. You elected her. Do as she says.” With a last wave, Mrs. Yancey disappeared. That was probably the last we’d see of her until the game. Usually her indifference irritated me, but today it totally rocked.

  I skewered Uma with my smile. “And for that, you can run ten laps around the track. See you when you’re done.” I looked at the rest of the girls, who were suddenly doing their best meek-lamb impressions. “Anyone want to join her?”

  No one did, and I felt better than I had all day. Alina might own the rest of the school, but the cheerleading squad was mine. I shoved my hurt away and let the energy I always found in our routines cleanse me of everything but fierce concentration.

  Chapter 6

  If I’d thought Monday sucked, Tuesday was worse. When I opened my locker before homeroom, my notebooks were damp on top, and smelled like apple juice. Start living defensively, BB had warned. I still had some time, so I jogged out to my car, grabbed an emergency poncho from the kit in my trunk, and arranged it so nothing invading the vents of my locker would be able to further damage my stuff.

  I slammed my locker shut just as the conversations around me melted into silence. I put on my game face, then turned.

  Alina, flanked by Elizabeth and Tiffany, halted two paces away.

  “Hey, guys,” I said. “Ready to apologize?”

  Alina crossed her arms. “Funny, that was my line.” We had a fake-smile standoff for ten seconds, until she broke it. “Look, here’s the deal. You kneel and say you’re sorry, and it’s over.”

  “And we’ll be besties again?” I said it sarcastically, but Alina seemed to take the question seriously. For a moment I saw how hurt she was by my alleged crime.

  “No. You and I are done. There’s a saying: screw me once, shame on you. Screw me twice, shame on me. I’m not letting it get to twice.”

  “Cute motto. Sort of beside the point, though, since I didn’t set fire to Ryan’s boat.”

  “We’re not at the police station, Rose,” Alina said. “You don’t have to lie here.” I crossed my arms, not dignifying that with a response. Alina gave an impatient huff. “So no apology?”

  “Alina, you’re the one making a mistake,” I said quietly. “Not me.”

  “Apologize, dammit, and we’ll leave you alone.” She looked upset. I realized she didn’t want to get into a war with me. We both knew too much about the other, held too many secrets, had spent too many nights crying to each other about her mom’s illness or my parents’ distance, to make a fight anything but painful to us both. But she’d stated the terms of my surrender in front of the whole cafeteria, and until I met them she couldn’t withdraw from the battlefield.

  Maybe I should apologize, despite my innocence. Restore the peace. But it wouldn’t fix our friendship. Plus if I apologized, she’d be done with me for real. She’d move on, like when she cut Beverly out of her circle. I didn’t know how she could do that, how she could dissolve years of friendship like salt in the rain, but I wasn’t about to make it easy for her.

  “I already apologized,” I said. “And yes, I’m still sorry you’re du
mb enough not to believe me.”

  As that sunk in, Alina’s face closed. She nodded, as if I’d thrown down the gauntlet and she accepted. Pivoting, she headed towards homeroom.

  Tiffany lingered. “Dumb move, Whitfield. Get used to more of that.” She nodded at my locker. I furrowed my brow.

  “I like the smell of apples. I thought you were doing me a favor.” That elicited a hint of a smile. Tiffany had helped me pull some of my pranks on Paxton, and liked competition in any form. “Tiff, wait,” I said, and she paused. “I get why Alina’s mad, even though she’s wrong. But what’s with you and Elizabeth?”

  “Alina--”

  “Forget Alina for a sec. I thought we were friends.”

  “Friends don’t burn down friends’ boats.”

  “Tiff, if I had done this, I would admit it. This is serious, not a mysteriously flat tire or a mouse in a desk.”

  She grinned; those were pranks she’d helped with. Then her smile faded. “You always say that rule three is deny everyth--”

  “Screw rule three. I didn’t set that fire. Will you just consider that I might not be lying?”

  Tiffany studied me the way she studied opponents on the basketball court. “Sure.” One of her eyebrows rose. “But it won’t save you from spitballs today.” She walked off whistling, and I sighed. Tiffany enjoyed this kind of stuff. The only way I’d get her to knock it off was to turn into a pathetic crybaby, because she felt it unsporting to pick on “weaklings.” That wasn’t going to happen, so I was in for it. Still, I felt better for talking to her.

  The first time someone tripped me in the hallway, I brushed it off as an accident. Then I was shoved into a trash can. I tried to figure out who’d done it, and spotted two soccer guys high-fiving. By fourth period I walked through the hallways like a turtle. I actually hoped my tormenters were acting on Alina’s behalf, because the alternative was that this was Ryan’s doing. That was a theory I just couldn’t take.

  At lunchtime, I hesitated at the doors of the cafeteria, then sighed and went in. When I came out of the line with mushy tater tots in hand, a girl I barely knew waved me over to her table. Without other options, I went, telling myself this was an opportunity to make new friends. Real friends, I corrected, glancing over at Alina. Not ones who threw you down the bleachers when you needed help.