Torched Page 8

  “No. I’m just going to eat myself into a sugar coma.”

  “Well, I’m here if you need me.” She sounded sincere, but my mom was good at that. Not so much on the follow-through, though. My mom loathed uncomfortable topics. When she tried to have the Sex Talk with me, she wound up just sending me the Wikipedia link. If I hadn’t already looked up all that stuff years before, I’d have been scarred.

  I pulled out a plate and a knife to cut the brownies, then stopped. My mom and I usually ate brownies like I imagined Victorian ladies nibbled crumpets: delicately. I’d cut them in perfect squares or hearts or even, when I got really ambitious, stars, and we’d pretend we were at high tea or something. We even dressed up for it. By habit, I’d taken out a fine china plate. I stared at it. It was perfect. It was beautiful. It made even brownies special.

  My hand seemed to move of its own volition as it picked up the plate, held it over the floor, and dropped it. The tinkling crash was loud, but no one came to investigate.

  Leaving the china shards where they lay, I grabbed a fork, the pan of brownies and the half-gallon of skim milk in the fridge and fled upstairs.

  Chapter 8

  The crowd roared as the Petalina Panthers scored another touchdown. I jumped into coordinated flips with Natalie while yearbook minions photographed us. A jolt of applause hit me like caffeine. I drank it in, pumping my pom-poms into the air and letting out a whoop.

  I loved football games, and Homecoming was the best of them. The energy, the dark night outside the floodlights turning the field and stands into an oasis of spirit, of yelling, of victory. We were crushing the Bulldogs; my lawyer’s worry had been unfounded.

  Because yes, Paxton was playing. I think I was the only one who didn’t clap when he ran onto the field. His ankle was wrapped, but his doctor had given him the OK to play. Clearly, the sprain hadn’t been that bad. Big surprise, right?

  The ref called halftime, and the crowd cheered the players off the field. Ben Reynolds, who along with Alina was emceeing the Homecoming festivities, took up the mike. He stood on a platform that held a folding table piled high with roses, along with the Best Float trophy.

  “Alright, Panthers, have we got a great lineup of halftime entertainment for you!” Everyone applauded, and I led my squad in revving the crowd even more. “Let’s start with the good stuff: it’s time to crown your Homecoming royalty! Candidates, join me on stage.”

  Hayley and I, along with a sophomore cheerleader up for her class’s princess, jogged over to the stand with the rest of the candidates. Alina came up too, carrying the Queen’s crown and the princesses’ tiaras. She ignored me; I returned the favor.

  “Good luck,” Hayley whispered. I glanced at her suspiciously, but Hayley’s smile held only nervous excitement. I felt a rush of gratitude for her sweetness, even if she was both competition and dating the enemy.

  “You too,” I said, and we clutched hands.

  If the vote had been taken this week, I wouldn’t have had a chance, but we’d voted before the whole arson thing ate through my life. I glanced at Ryan, standing as far away as possible without falling off the stage, and my heart clenched. It was silly, but a tiny, idiotic part of me felt that if Ryan and I were crowned tonight, everything might still somehow work out.

  Ben named the underclassmen princes and princesses first, building up to the main event. The winning pairs took their roses and tiaras from Alina and departed to the line of shining classic cars waiting to roll onto the track that circled the football field. Once the King and Queen took their spot, they’d all do a slow loop while the Homecoming floats were presented.

  “And your Homecoming King is ...” Ben paused dramatically, and I mentally chanted Ryan’s name. This week had been the most awful imaginable, but I still wanted us to win. I wanted Ryan to be in that car with me, if only so he’d have to confront the girlfriend he’d cheated on.

  “Paxton Callaway!” Ben shouted, and the crowd erupted in cheers. Hayley’s hand abandoned mine as she clapped for her boyfriend and squealed. Paxton accepted his crown from Alina, and the crowd hushed again.

  I felt like I was a balloon, and all the air had whooshed out. Paxton and Hayley had won; even before my fall from grace I’d been beaten. I half-turned away, wanting to get this over with so I could focus on nothing but rocking the bleachers with our new routine.

  “And now, for your Panther queen ...” Ben nodded to the percussion section of the marching band, which waited in the first couple rows of the bleachers. A drum roll built up, cresting just as Ben shouted, “Rose Whitfield!”

  There was a burst of applause, which trailed off except for Lindsay and a couple of the other cheerleaders. I had already taken a step away, towards the edge of the platform, since I’d assumed Hayley had won. My brain had linked the couples together, forgetting this was an individual vote. I turned towards Ben and realized with horror that the absolute worst had happened: Paxton and me, Homecoming King and Queen?

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

  Hayley hugged me. “You deserve it. Congrats,” she said with no apparent sarcasm, and nudged me towards Ben and Alina. My erstwhile best friend held the Queen’s crown. I walked over, forcing a smile as cameras flashed. Alina’s eyes were dark coals as she placed the crown on my head and reached for the bouquet. I half expected her to drop it so I’d have to kneel to pick it up, but she handed the flowers over icily.

  Ben was shaking his head at the crowd.

  “Come on, that was the most pathetic welcome for a Homecoming Queen I have ever heard! Let’s try again ...” He gave a little whoop, but it was no use--the applause trickled out half-heartedly. Then a group of girls booed, and the people around them laughed.

  Alina took the microphone. “Now everyone,” she said, “I want to hear a round of applause for our King and Queen. Let’s give it up for Paxton Callaway, the guy most likely to win, well, anything, and for Rose Whitfield, the girl most likely to ... burn down the competition!”

  Laughter. And, finally, applause, though whether it was for me, Paxton or Alina I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I wanted to crawl under the bleachers. Instead I clutched my roses, adjusted my crown, and marched in all my humiliated fury to the convertible at the front of the line.

  Our driver was a twenty-something guy who eyed me doubtfully. “If they don’t like you, why’d they vote for you?” He smirked. “What, did you sleep with the Homecoming committee?”

  I climbed into the car and perched on the top of the backseat. I didn’t even look at Paxton as he swung in on the other side. “I doubt they pay you for wit,” I told the driver. “Which is probably a good thing for your bank account.”

  The guy rolled his eyes and turned around. We started forward, and with one hand he reached for an iPod and put earbuds in. I heard music start. A girl from yearbook was taking pictures of each couple in their cars, so I froze a smile on my lips as we rolled past.

  In front of the bleachers, Ben and Alina described each class’s float, gauging the winner based on applause. The senior float won, of course. It was a mock-sailboat, with masts and canvas sails painted with Panther-related scenes. Our theme this year was Sail Into the Sunset. Remembering the afternoon when Alina and I brainstormed that theme into existence, I had to press rose thorns into my knee to distract myself from the urge to cry.

  “Thankfully, we kept our Homecoming Queen away from this boat,” Ben joked. Laughter filled the night, and my face burned.

  “Go on,” I said to Paxton without looking at him. “Go on and gloat.”

  “I don’t want to gloat.” In my peripheral vision, he shook his head. “Our feud is over.”

  Startled laughter burst from my throat. “Excuse me?”

  “You and me, we’re done.”

  “Funny, I’m getting a lot of that lately.” I’d lost sight of Ryan a
fter the Homecoming line-up, but he was here somewhere. Alina sparkled on the emcee platform; she held up the trophy for best float, and the crowd cheered her. Tears stung my eyes, and I turned my head to stare at the darkness beyond the fence around the field.

  “The prank war,” Paxton said. “It’s over.”

  Rage filled me. “You don’t get to decide when it’s over.”

  “Rose, someone could have been killed.”

  “Wow.” I shook my head in disbelief. “You should have tried out for the play this year.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  Well, Paxton was acing rule three. What had I expected? I didn’t dare look over to see the smirk surely plastered on his lips, because then I’d start throwing things at him, starting with my crown. And as sharp as the points were ... I didn’t need a battery charge on my record too.

  “Look, forget about Ryan,” Paxton said. “Forget about this. It’ll blow over.”

  If our driver had been listening, it probably sounded like Paxton was being nice. But I knew what he was really saying. Forget about Ryan? He meant that Ryan had been his friend first, and he’d finally reclaimed him from me.

  “Forget that everyone thinks I deliberately set fire to the Appletons’ boat? That’s great. Super. Thanks for the advice.”

  “It was an accident, though, right? The fire just got out of hand?”

  My head turned slowly until I was looking at him. I was already furious at how Paxton was rubbing salt into my wounds, but now a new anger surfaced. My dad and Mr. Prichard’s explanation for the arson wasn’t, as far as I knew, public knowledge yet.

  “It’s funny how Ryan was all about being private when we were together, and now he’s showing everyone the settlement papers.” Paxton’s gaze dropped, confirming my guess. “But don’t try to pretend,” I said. “You and I both know this wasn’t an accident.”

  I turned forward again, but could feel him staring at me. I watched Alina, still swanning about on stage. I wasn’t sure what hurt more, the fact that I had to sit here with the guy who’d ruined my life, or the fact that my best friend in the world hated my guts.

  Paxton followed my gaze. “I always told you she’d turn on you,” he said as we rounded the curve and stopped. Alina and Ben weren’t done handing out some kind of spirit awards, so we and the other couples stayed in our cars. Fury rose in my throat--Paxton just couldn’t resist twisting the knife, could he?--but I wasn’t going to let him get to me. I tried to sound bored.

  “You did, didn’t you? I forgot, when you threw that juice on me in eighth grade you were trying to do me a favor, right?” When I’d started hanging out with Alina, Paxton kept telling me that she was shallow, that she wasn’t a real friend. With cranberry juice dripping down my dress at the winter dance--no one had seen him toss it, so everyone thought I’d just spilled on myself--he must have thought she’d laugh along with the others.

  But she hadn’t. Alina had accompanied me to the bathroom, and later, when my date elected not to slow dance with me because of the pink stain on my robin’s-egg dress, she’d ditched her own date and pulled me into the coupled-off crowd. The memory swam like a ghost in front of my eyes.

  “Are you sure it’s cranberry juice?” she’d said, obviously trying to distract me as we twirled. “It could be cherry.”

  “Or grapefruit,” I’d said, playing along. I’d raised my arm and Alina went under, not a real dance, just winging it. People had stared, but I’d pretended it was because they wished they were having so much fun, not because they pitied my stained dress.

  “Boysenberry.”

  “Pomegranate.”

  Alina’s nose wrinkled in concentration. “Um. Apple juice?”

  “That’s not red.”

  “Damn, I can’t think of another.”

  “Then I win.” Between giggles, I’d spotted Paxton stalking out of the middle school’s gym. Glaring at his back, I’d vowed to get even.

  Back then, he’d just been a skinny dork. Now, with his broad shoulders and muddy football pads, he was much more intimidating. I silently vowed to get even anyway.

  “I guess you finally succeeded,” I said bitterly. If he thought I was beaten, he might lower his guard. “You win.” The crowd was cheering, for what I didn’t know, rattling the metal bleachers with their stomping feet. I smelled turf, and car polish, and male sweat. I held the roses to my nose to block everything out, but their cool petals might have been plastic for all the scent they gave off.

  Paxton was looking at me again. “It was never about winning.”

  I didn’t know what that meant. But then, I’d never really understood why Paxton turned on me. Because I’d started hanging out with Alina, sure, but it’s not like I couldn’t have more than one friend.

  Our car moved forward again, and we did one more pass in front of the crowds. I smiled and waved as if I didn’t care that none of the clapping was for me.

  “Yeah, Rose, you’re on fire!” Tiffany yelled from the bleachers.

  Our friends laughed, and I flushed. I knew Tiff well enough to know she was harassing me out of fun, but I was pissed at her anyway. She might not really mean it, but the others did, and now that she’d started it they yelled arson-themed catcalls too.

  By the bleachers, a yearbook minion snapped a picture. Documenting my fall from grace. I quit waving.

  Once past the bleachers, I hopped out of the car before it even stopped. I stashed the roses and crown by my duffle, then jogged over to the squad. We were up next. Pretending the hostile crowd belonged to a rival school, I let their jeers slide off of me. I was beyond mad to have to do that at my own freaking Homecoming performance, but I channeled it into focus. I’d worked hard on the choreography for this new routine, and even the jumps at the end had been perfect at practice yesterday. Time to shine, I told myself, and gripped my pom-poms firmly.

  One of the freshmen cheerleaders started the music, then ran into position. The opening beat started, the same one as the old routine’s backing track. After eight seconds of intro, during which we stood pom-poms at sides and heads down, it would switch to the new beat.

  Except when the intro ended and we all burst into motion, it wasn’t the new song. I leaped left--into Hayley, who’d been toe-touching in my direction. We tumbled to the ground. Her eyes were huge with surprise, but we were too experienced of cheerleaders to take more than a second to jump up again. In that second, I realized what had happened.

  Everyone else was doing a different routine.

  The old routine.

  When someone makes a mistake in a cheer competition, they have to keep going. Before I realized it, before the crowd’s laughter even made it through to my brain, my body had followed instinct. I joined in, taking my spot, merging into the rest of the squad.

  Jumps, basket tosses, toe-touches. I moved by reflex, my motions guided by hours of practice. Certainly not by my brain, which was buzzing. I shouldn’t have missed two practices in a row; it had given Nat the chance to blindside me. I should have seen it coming, should have known something was up when she’d been on such good behavior yesterday.

  At the end of the cheer, we all froze into our final positions as the music faded. The crowd roared its approval, and cameras flashed. I kept my smile plastered on my face, then turned to Natalie. If she thought I was too chicken to follow through on my threat to spill her affair-secret, she was dead wrong.

  “By the way,” Natalie said before I could tear into her, “I broke up with my boyfriend. So suck it, Rose.” She cart-wheeled jauntily off the track, and all but a third of the other girls followed. The ones who were left looked confused.

  Hayley was one of them. “Aren’t we doing the new routine now?”

  “Sorry, Rose.” Lindsay walked past me. “I didn’t know this was going down.” Shaking he
r head, she followed the rest of the squad.

  Jerkily, I headed over to the bench. The chill of the metal soaked through the spandex shorts under my skirt. The marching band took the field, and music blared. I stared at the drummers, refusing to look behind me where Natalie was surely grinning her stupid head off. I wasn’t alone, so I couldn’t cry. It was as simple as that. I felt hollow with the effort of keeping the tears in.

  Someone sat next to me, and I glanced over. Hayley. Her forehead furrowed as she contemplated the trumpet players walking sideways twenty feet in front of us.

  “Maybe I’m not the sharpest cheese in the deli,” she said, “but did Natalie just ...”

  “Yep.” My parents weren’t here to see it, at least. They’d cancelled their planned vacation because of the arson fracas, but there was some Club function tonight, and as usual they’d skipped my performance for it. For the first time, I was glad.

  “She lied to us.”

  “Yep.”

  Hayley cocked her head. “What are you going to do?”

  “I don’t know.” The answer might come to me later, but right now I couldn’t think, couldn’t do anything but focus on not running home to sob in my room. That was the wrong move, but I couldn’t for the life of me think of the right one.

  In front of us, a tuba boomed.

  “I think you should demote Natalie,” Hayley said.

  I laughed unhappily. “How? She’s got the whole squad on her side.”

  “No, she doesn’t. Besides, Mrs. Yancey is dating my uncle. She’ll demote Nat from assistant captain if I ask her to. You wouldn’t even have to say anything; I’ll just explain how Nat lied to everyone.”