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  Unfortunately, my would-be friends wanted nothing more than to congratulate me for my supposed crime. “We think it’s completely awesome what you did,” said Beth, the girl who’d waved me over.

  “I didn’t do it,” I said, but she laughed.

  “I mean, damn, a felony!” She started going on about how cool I was for setting fire to The Orchard, and my stomach turned. I stood up.

  “I forgot, I have to study.” I abandoned my lunch, and my admirers, for the library.

  It got to be a game, avoiding the elbows and feet in the hall. At least, I treated it like a game, like hazing or something, so I wouldn’t cry. Just before calculus I spotted Ryan going upstairs, and because of my lost focus I didn’t see two of Alina’s theater friends coming at me sideways. They shoved, and I toppled into someone; we wound up in a heap on the floor.

  I’d tumbled into Paxton’s sister. Trying to ignore the jeers and whispers, I helped Juliette to her feet. “You okay?” I asked.

  She stared after the theater girls. “What the hell was that?”

  “They were aiming for me,” I said. “You’re collateral damage, I think.”

  Juliette brushed off her shirt and shot me an annoyed look. “Aren’t I always?”

  Reminded of last Friday when I’d made her late, I winced. “Look, I made you cookies but totally forgot to bring them over, with ... with everything that happened.”

  Juliette shifted a step back. “Yeah, I guess you were busy, setting fires and going to jail and all.” She started to turn away, but I caught her arm.

  “Jules, you know it was your brother who set the fire, right? He’s framing me.”

  She laughed, then saw I was serious. “Paxton sprained his ankle, Rose.”

  “He’s faking. He’s got to be,” I said. “Please, you have to believe me.” I tried to stare the truth into her, and finally Juliette’s brow knit.

  “I guess he didn’t seem to be in all that much pain,” she said slowly. “And he went to bed at like ten; I don’t think anyone checked on him after that. So I guess ... maybe it’s possible?”

  I felt suddenly electrified. “Really?” I’d been struggling with doubt all day, but this clinched it. “You have to help prove he framed me.” With a mole behind enemy lines, I could clear my name, I just knew it.

  But Juliette recoiled, shaking her head.

  “No way. If this is one of you guys’ pranks, I’m not getting involved.”

  “But--”

  “For all I know, you did do it and are just trying to pass it off on Paxton. Look, I don’t know. But it is so not my problem.” She walked past. “I gotta go to class. Bye.”

  “Please! I’ll bake you so many cookies you’ll--”

  “Wake up, Rose,” Juliette said. “You can’t fix everything with cookies.” She left me standing in the hall. My hurt faded quickly, though--Juliette had given me hope. Paxton’s alibi was toast, so all I had to do was find proof he was behind the fire.

  After school, I wolfed down a granola bar from the snack machine, then headed for the gym. Just ahead, Ryan emerged from a classroom. Spotting me, he stopped in his tracks.

  The hall was empty besides us, but suddenly it felt filled to bursting. With the party where we met, and the fireworks in the sky, and between us. With the way he always kept a bag of gummi worms--which he hated--in his car for me, and how when we were on a date he’d make a point of kissing me as the sun set. Memories of the backseat of his SUV, with his shirt--and my bra--on the floor and his hands on my skin, flooded me, and I realized I was never going to accept that Ryan had cheated until I heard it from his mouth.

  My dad seemed to think if I got within ten feet of Ryan he’d slap me with a restraining order, but that wasn’t what I read in Ryan’s green eyes. I walked over. I’d be late to practice, but this couldn’t wait.

  “Hey, Ryan.”

  “Hey.” He dropped his gaze. “I heard some guys were harassing you today. I talked to them. They’ll stop.”

  “Thanks.” A knot untwisted in my stomach, but it was like icing a bruise while an artery bled out. “Why haven’t you called? I’ve been going crazy.” I’d coached myself not to cry, but tears invaded my eyes. Through them, I saw Ryan frown.

  “I figured when you torched my parents’ boat, you were breaking up with me.”

  “First, I didn’t set that fire. I’m being framed.” I didn’t even get to my second point--that whether we broke up depended on a certain set of pictures--because Ryan put his hand up.

  “Wait, wait. Framed? By who?” A light came on in his eyes, and with a rush of relief I knew, just knew, that somehow he’d known I wasn’t guilty, that he’d been waiting for a reason for his head to believe what his heart already understood.

  “Paxton. For the gas-siphoning thing.”

  The light disappeared. “Rose, he sprained his ankle.”

  “He’s faking, I’m sure of it.” I started to explain how Juliette had pretty much decimated Paxton’s alibi, but Ryan held up his hand again.

  “You know, I never thought you thought I was stupid,” he said. “Until now.”

  “I don’t. Are you kidding? Look, I know the so-called evidence looks bad, but you have to believe me.” I swallowed hard, then summoned my courage. “Ryan, what’s with those photos of you and Francesca? And by the way, I didn’t even see them until the police shoved them in my face. I don’t know how my fingerprint wound up on them, but I did some research and apparently it’s possible to transfer prints, so ...” I trailed off. Babbling didn’t hide the fact that Ryan wasn’t saying anything. “What’s with the pictures?” I asked again.

  Ryan shrugged.

  “Hello? Explanation please?”

  Ryan face was stony. “The pictures are kind of beside the point, don’t you think?”

  “Beside the point?” My voice rose. “You kissing another girl is beside the point?”

  “Compared to arson, yeah.”

  “But I didn’t do that.” I didn’t know what else to say. I felt like a horde of wasps were stinging my ears, my nose, my lips. That was it, then. Confirmation of what I’d known since yesterday in English.

  “You lie about your pranks all the time, Rose. Now you expect me to believe you when you say you’re being framed? By my friend, who you say lit my parents’ boat on fire while limping around on a sprained ankle? Come on.”

  “I would never hurt you, Ryan. Or your family.” I took a deep breath, then made myself say it. “Even if you did cheat on me.”

  “There are words, and then there are actions.” His jaw was set, his green eyes angry. I fought back tears.

  “What about our oak tree, Ryan? What happened to all that?”

  “I guess you burned it down,” he said, and walked away.

  Chapter 7

  “Good news.” Mr. Prichard shook my dad’s hand, then joined us at the kitchen table. It was Wednesday after school. I’d had to miss cheer practice for this meeting, which was unfortunate since I’d skipped practice yesterday too, after my run-in with Ryan. The less said about last night’s attempt to fill my entire room with soggy tissues, the better.

  I’d come up with a rule that let me function: I could only cry when I was alone. Whenever around other people, I had to pretend nothing was wrong. My mom was an expert at that, so I mimicked her Shields of Normalcy. Any expression on my face felt fake, but at least I’d gotten through school today.

  The weird thing was, even though Ryan had admitted the cheating thing to my face, I wasn’t sure I believed him. I’d seen him in the hall with Francesca today, and they didn’t act like they’d exchanged hot kisses on the side. Nothing I could pinpoint, but the body language wasn’t there. But maybe I was kidding myself. Maybe being busted had killed the illicit spark or something.

  Anyway.
I’d lost track of the news my lawyer was sharing. “Wait, what?”

  “The Appletons are willing to settle out of court. You’re to pay back the damages and make a personal apology to the family, plus fulfill some hours of community service, and the whole thing will go away.”

  My dad was so relieved he was grinning, something he rarely did. I scowled.

  “Pay back the damages I didn’t cause?” Worse--let everyone think I was guilty? “No way.”

  Mr. Prichard exchanged a glance with my dad. I felt like they were ganging up on me. Of course, my mom had “accidentally” scheduled a facial for this afternoon, so she didn’t have to be present for something so anti-fun as a lawyer’s visit.

  “Miss Whitfield, the police aren’t even looking for another suspect, and the fact is that if the case goes to trial, you will likely lose. And it will be expensive. I’m not a criminal defense lawyer; you’d have to hire someone else.” Mr. Prichard stood up. “The offer expires on Friday; Mr. Appleton wants this wrapped up quickly. I’ll give you a day to think it over, but I advise you to take the deal. These are the best terms you’re going to get.” He handed a Manila envelope to my dad. “Here are the papers.”

  My dad walked him out. “Thanks, Harold,” I heard him say. I stewed at the table and tried to keep fear from tearing at me like a piranha. This was all happening so fast. I’d thought trials took weeks, months even. I’d thought I’d have some time to research and investigate and clear my name.

  My dad returned to the kitchen. Holding the envelope, he paused in the doorway. I waited for him to tell me the deal was the best thing since Monopoly’s Get Out Of Jail Free card.

  “Rose, I know this is awful,” he said instead. Horrifyingly, I felt my chin tremble.

  “I’m not doing it,” I blurted.

  My dad sighed, then sat down across from me. He put the envelope on the table. “If you don’t, I’m going to lose my job,” he said.

  “What? Your job has nothing to do with this.”

  “Don’t be naïve.” My dad’s gray eyes were tired. “Mr. Appleton has a lot of sway with the Club’s board. I’ve been told--informally of course, but in no uncertain terms--that if you refuse the deal I’ll be let go.”

  Feeling outraged was starting to feel like status quo. “Dad, that’s unfair.” To the Nth degree. “I didn’t do it.”

  “I know you didn’t, Rose. But life isn’t fair, and I--we--can’t afford to lose my job.” My dad rubbed his face. “We’re going to have to clean out the college account as it is.”

  Wow, he did think I was naïve, didn’t he?

  “Don’t be ridiculous, dad. There isn’t any money in there.” He tried, I knew. But mom had a taste for designer fashion, and every once in a while, usually after they had a fight, the college savings would mysteriously disappear, and a couple days later mom would wear something uber-fabulous. My dad claimed he wanted me to carry on his tradition by going to Harvard, but putting myself through school by playing waitress to trust-fund snots was not on my list of college memories to make. I was also applying to half a dozen schools where I had a shot at scholarships.

  My dad gave me a stern look.

  “I’ll figure something out for this, and for college. That’s my problem, alright? Don’t worry. You just focus on school.”

  “School. Right. Where everyone thinks I set my ex-boyfriend’s boat on fire.” It hurt to say that. Ex. Ryan, who I’d thought was my soulmate, was just an ex now. I blinked hard to keep tears at bay.

  My dad opened the Manila envelope and scanned the papers, then handed them to me.

  “Just look them over, okay?’

  Reluctantly, I did. When I was done reading, I threw the papers on the table. My hands shook. In black and white, everything seemed so real.

  “This is total bullshit. I’m not signing this.” It stated that the fire was an accident, that all I’d intended to burn were the pictures of Ryan cheating, but that the flames had gotten out of hand. My dad and Mr. Prichard must have concocted the story. I guess it was better than saying I’d intentionally set the boat on fire, but this made me look super-pathetic. Not to mention incompetent.

  My dad was silent; I knew he was counting in his head. It occurred to me, as I started counting too, that this was the longest conversation we’d had in months. Potential jail: a prime parental bonding opportunity. Who knew?

  “If I lose my job, your mother will leave me,” my dad said just after I’d reached 12. Anger shot through me, and fear.

  “I heard they invented something last week. It’s called a different job.”

  “I won’t find one, not in this town.” He’d obviously already thought this through, and his certainty was like a sudden calm in a gale. All my howling, windy protests faded, and I studied him, my uptight father who bent over backwards keeping my mother happy. Would mom really leave if we were broke? She couldn’t go more than two weeks without a manicure. I’d complained to Alina often enough that my mom loved the high life more than she loved my dad. Until now I wasn’t sure I’d ever believed it, but I realized my dad did.

  That scared me. I still thought I could prove my innocence if I fought, if I held the truth like a bloody, battered shield, but would it even be worth it if I destroyed my family in the process?

  “Rose, you’ve been offered a gift,” my dad said. “If the Appletons wanted you in jail, they could keep three lawyers on retainer just for that purpose.”

  “So because they’re richer than we are, I have to admit to a crime I didn’t commit?” He sighed, which set me off. “You don’t believe me, do you? You think I’m just being stubborn, that I’m trying to pull one over on everyone. Well, you’re--”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think. It matters what the Appletons think. If you refuse the deal, I’ll tell you what will happen. I’ll lose my job, and your mom will divorce me for one of the billionaires she flirts with at the Club.”

  “And, as you and Mr. Prichard keep saying, I’ll go to jail. But I guess that’s a minor detail.”

  “Rose, stop it. Think about this: if you’re sent to jail, you’ll never get into Harvard.”

  “Even if I sign this pile of crap, they’ll see the arrest on my record, dad.” And so would all the other colleges. Realizing that, I savagely chalked one more tally on Paxton’s score. He was pretty far ahead at this point. Get Rose dumped: check. Make Rose friendless: check. Screw Rose’s college chances: check.

  My dad sighed. “We’ll spin it with your essay.”

  I sat in mutinous silence, but inside I was crumbling.

  “This is the easy way out,” my dad said quietly. “Take it. You didn’t set that fire, but if you say you did, this will disappear. We’d be paying for damages you didn’t inflict, but if you don’t, you’ll go to jail for it instead.” He placed a pen on the papers in front of me. “It’s the lesser of two evils, Rose. You’re a smart girl. I know you’ll make the right choice.”

  I thought about what everyone at school would say, if I signed an admission of guilt after so vocally claiming innocence. I thought about how this played right into Paxton’s scheme, tied his loose ends up for him. I thought about vomiting. I thought about screaming.

  But then I thought about mom leaving. I thought about Christmas, my favorite holiday, and how my mom lit up the house with her laughter, how proud she always was of my gourmet-quality cookies. I thought about how if my dad lost his job and my mom left, I’d be baking cookies for no one, because my dad would be broke and disappointed and my mom would be pretending that the world was perfect, that she didn’t have a jailbird daughter.

  I picked up the pen and signed my name.

  ~ ~ ~

  Ten minutes later, my dad left to drive the papers to Mr. Prichard’s office, as if I might scratch out my signature if he waited.

  To
tell the truth, I kind of wanted to. What had I just done? I felt like I’d stabbed myself in the back. But I’d had to sign, or what was left of my life would fall apart. I’d already lost Ryan and Alina; I couldn’t lose my parents too. So I mentally shoved all doubts from my head and taped up the seams so they couldn’t get back in.

  I thought about Ryan again, and tears slipped down my cheeks. I’d never had my heart broken before, but this tearing, twisting void must be what that felt like. What had I done wrong, to make Ryan cheat? Was our last kiss going to be that brief, annoyed one before practice last Friday? Would he forever think I’d set fire to his parents’ boat?

  I felt antsy, like I should go charging off to uncover proof of what really happened, but what was the point? I’d admitted guilt. If Ryan hadn’t believed me before, he sure wasn’t going to now.

  There was really only one band-aid that appealed to me at the moment: dark chocolate brownies. I was just taking them out of the oven when my mom came home.

  “Oh, those smell great.” She swanned into the kitchen. “Yum!”

  “They’re not for you.” I sounded angry.

  “None of them?” My mom pouted. “Are you taking them to a party?”

  “Yeah, a party for teenage criminals.”

  “I’m not sure I like your tone, Rosy Posy.” She said it playfully, like nothing was wrong.

  “I’m not sure I like yours, mom.”

  “Well, you’re certainly in a mood.” She headed for the stairs.”Thanks for being here for the meeting,” I said loudly.

  “Your father said it went well.” My mom hesitated, one foot out in the hall. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  Did I want to talk about the fact that I’d just signed away my truth because I was afraid she might abandon me and dad if I didn’t? I was furious with her, but being mad at my mom was like being mad at a cat. They’d scratch up your stuff and you’d yell and they’d scram, but an hour later they’d come around again, purring. And you’d pet them, because what the hell point was there in being mad at a cat?