Fire With Fire

TITLE:
Fire with Fire
AUTHORS:
Jenny Han and Siobhan Vivian
IMPRINT:
Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
ON-SALE DATE:
9/3/13
ISBN:
9781442440784
FORMAT:
hardcover
PRICE:
$17.99/$19.99 CAN
AGES:
14 up
PAGES:
528

THESE ARE ADVANCE PROOFS BOUND FOR REVIEW PURPOSES.
All trim sizes, page counts, months of publication, and prices should be considered tentative and subject to change without notice. Please check publication information and any quotations against the bound copy of the book. We
urge this for the sake of editorial accuracy as well as for your legal protection
and ours.

Please send two copies of any review or mention of this book to:
Simon & Schuster Children’s Publicity Department
1230 Avenue of the Americas, 4th Floor
New York, NY 10020
212/698-2808

Aladdin • Atheneum Books for Young Readers
Beach Lane Books • Beyond Words • Libros para niños • Little Simon
Little Simon Inspirations • Margaret K. McElderry Books
Simon & Schuster Books for Young Readers
Simon Pulse • Simon Scribbles • Simon Spotlight

An imprint of Simon & Schuster Children’s Publishing Division
1230 Avenue of the Americas, New York, New York 10020
This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and
incidents are products of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to
actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2013 by Jenny Han and Siobhan Vivian
All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction
in whole or in part in any form.

is a trademark of Simon & Schuster, Inc.
For information about special discounts for bulk purchases, please contact
Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-866-506-1949
or [email protected].
The Simon & Schuster Speakers Bureau can bring authors to your live event.
For more information or to book an event, contact the Simon & Schuster
Speakers Bureau at 1-866-248-3049 or visit our website
at www.simonspeakers.com.
Book design by Lucy Ruth Cummins
The text for this book is set in Stempel Garamond.
Manufactured in the United States of America
10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Han, Jenny.
Fire with fire / Jenny Han and Siobhan Vivian.—First edition.
pages cm.—([Burn for burn ; 2])
Summary: Jar Island teens Lillia, Kat, and Mary’s ongoing
revenge plot against Reeve has unexpected consequences.
[1. Revenge—Fiction. 2. Friendship—Fiction. 3. High schools—Fiction.
4. Schools—Fiction. 5. Islands—Fiction.] I. Vivian, Siobhan. II. Title.
PZ7.H18944Fir 2013
[Fic]—dc23
2013000541

“Something of vengeance I had tasted for the first time;
as aromatic wine it seemed, on swallowing, warm and racy:
its after-flavor, metallic and corroding, gave me a
sensation as if I had been poisoned.”
—C
HARLOTTE
B
RONTË

I couldn’t decide what to wear. At first I thought
casual, like jeans and a button-down; then I thought no, in
case his parents are there I should wear a dress, something
somber like my gray scoop neck with the skinny belt. Then
that looked too much like a funeral outfit, so I tried a marigold
silk shirtdress, but that looked too spring, too cheerful.

The elevator doors ding open and I step out into the hallway. It’s early Monday morning, an hour before school starts.
I’m carrying a wicker basket of freshly baked chocolate chunk
cookies and a get-well card covered in pink- and red-lipsticked
lips. I’m wearing a navy turtleneck sweater and a camel-colored miniskirt, cream tights, brown suede ankle booties with
a high heel. I curled my hair and did it halfway up, halfway
down.

Fingers crossed I don’t look as guilty as I feel.
At least it wasn’t as bad as it could have been—that’s what
I keep telling myself. It certainly looked bad that night. It
looked horrible. Watching Reeve fall off the stage and onto
the gym floor in a twisted heap . . . it’s something I’ll never
forget. But there was no spinal damage, just some bruising and
soreness. His only injury was a broken fibula. Which, I guess,
isn’t great.
He would have been released sooner if not for the hospital
running a bunch of tests to make sure Reeve hadn’t suffered a
seizure. As far as I know, they didn’t test him for drugs. I was
sure they would, but Kat was pretty confident they wouldn’t
bother with someone like Reeve, an athlete. So no one knows
about the ecstasy that I slipped in his drink. Reeve won’t be
suspended and I won’t be going to jail. He’s supposed to be
discharged today.
I guess we both got off easy.
Now we go back to our normal lives. Whatever that means.
After everything that’s happened this year, I don’t know if I’ll
ever feel “normal” again, or if I even want to. It’s like there was
the Before Lillia and now there’s the After Lillia. The Before
Lillia didn’t have a care in the world; she didn’t have a clue.
Before Lillia couldn’t have handled any of this—she wouldn’t
have known what to do with herself. I’m a lot tougher now,
not so soft and lily-white. I’ve been through things; I’ve seen
things. I’m not the girl on the beach anymore. That all changed
the moment we met those guys.
I used to be scared of leaving Jar Island, of being so far away
from my family and my friends. But now I think about how
when I go to college next year, no one there will know Before
Lillia or After Lillia. I’ll just be Lillia.
The woman at the reception desk smiles at me and asks,
“Are you here to see our celebrity football player?”
I smile back and nod.
“He’s at the end of the hall.”
“Thank you,” I say. Then I ask, “Is anybody here with
him?”
“That cute little brunette,” the woman says with a wink.
Rennie. I don’t think she’s left his side since Saturday night.
I’ve called her twice, but she hasn’t called me back. She’s probably still annoyed with me for getting homecoming queen
over her.
I make my way down the hall, clutching my basket and the
card. I hate hospitals; I always have. The fluorescent lights, the
smells . . . When I was little, I would try and hold my breath
for as long as I possibly could. I’m good at holding my breath
now, but I don’t play the game anymore.
The closer I get to his room, the faster my heart beats. All I
can hear is the sound of it beating and the clacking of my heels
on the linoleum.
I’m standing outside his hospital room now. His name is
written on the door. It’s closed all but a crack. I set my basket
down so I can knock, and then I hear Reeve’s voice, defiant
and husky. “I don’t care what the doctors say. There’s no way
my recovery time is gonna be that long. I’m in peak physical
condition. I’ll be back on the field in no time.”
“That’s right, Reevie. You’re in the best shape of your life. A
broken bone isn’t going to stop you from getting what you’ve
worked so hard for.”
Someone brushes past me. A nurse. “Excuse me, hon,” she
chirps, and open the door wide. The nurse pushes through the
curtain that divides the room in half and disappears into the
other side.
And then there’s Reeve, in a faded hospital gown. He hasn’t
shaved, there’s a bit of scruff on his chin, and there are black
circles underneath both of his eyes. He’s got an IV drip in one
of his arms, and his leg is in a huge cast, from his foot up to his
thigh. It’s suspended in a big sling mounted to the ceiling. His
toes, what I can see of them poking out of the cast, are purple
and swollen. His arms, too, are all cut up and scabby, probably
from the broken glass that fell down on top of everyone that
night. A few of the bigger wounds are sewn closed with thin
black suture strings. He seems strangely small in the hospital
bed. Not like himself.
Rennie’s eyes are red-rimmed, and they narrow when she
sees me. “Hey.”
I swallow and hold up my card. “It’s from the girls on the
squad. They—they all send their best.” Then I remember the
cookies. I move to bring the basket to Reeve, but I change my
mind and set it on a chair by the door. “I brought you cookies.
They’re chocolate chunk, I think I remember you liking them
when I baked them for Key Club bake sale last year. . . .” Why
am I still talking?
Reeve quickly wipes his eyes with the bedsheet. Gruffly he
says, “Thanks, but I don’t eat junk during football season.”
I can’t help it. I stare at his cast. “Right. Sorry.”
“The doctor’s coming back any minute to discharge him,”
Rennie says. “You should probably go.”
I can feel my face reddening. “Oh. Sure. Feel better, Reeve.”
I don’t know if I’m imagining it, but when he looks at me
over Rennie’s shoulder, I think I see hate in his eyes. Then he
closes them. “Bye,” he says.
I’m halfway down the hallway when I stop and finally let
out a breath. I still have the card clutched in my hands. My
knees are shaking.
“It’s dead,” I say, and let my head fall onto the
steering wheel. “Dead as a doornail.”
My older brother, Pat, wipes his hands on a dirty rag. “Kat,
quit being such a drama queen and turn the freaking key
again.”
I do as I’m told. I turn the key in the ignition of our convertible. Nothing happens. No sound, no rumble. Nothing.
“This is stupid.” I say it, because even though Pat knows what
he’s doing when it comes to any kind of engine, there’s no
saving this jalopy. Our family needs a new car, or at least one
built in this freaking decade. I climb out and slam the door so
hard the entire convertible shakes. I don’t need to be walking
to school, freezing my ass off this winter. Or worse, taking the
bus. Hello! I’m a senior.
Pat shoots me a dirty look and then goes back to the engine.
He’s got the hood popped open and he’s pitched forward
between the headlights. A few of Pat’s friends are gathered
around, watching him while pounding our dad’s beers. Their
favorite way to spend a Monday afternoon. Pat asks Skeeter
for a wrench, and then starts tapping it on something metallic.
I come around behind my brother. “Maybe it’s the battery,” I say. “I think the radio turned off before it crapped out
on me.” It happened this afternoon. I decided to skip eighth
period and drive to Mary’s house. I wanted to check in on her,
because I hadn’t seen her in the hallways. I bet she was still
too shaken up after what happened at the dance to come to
school. She was scared out of her mind that Reeve might be
hurt. Poor thing. But I didn’t get far. The car died, right there
in the school parking lot.
My first thought was
Is this karma?
For all the pranks we
pulled the last few weeks?
I sure as shit hope not.
Pat turns to reach for another tool and he nearly knocks me
on my ass. “God, would you relax? Go smoke a cigarette or
something.”
I have been a little, um, skittish the last few days. I mean,
who wouldn’t be, after what went down at homecoming?
Never in a million years did I expect to see Reeve wheeled
out on an ambulance stretcher. We wanted him kicked off the
football team for getting caught high on drugs. We didn’t want
him put in the hospital.
I keep reminding myself that what happened at the dance
wasn’t our fault. It was an electrical fire. The newspapers even
said so. The explosions were what caused Reeve to freak out
and fall off the stage. Not the drugs Lillia slipped in his drink.
I’m sure it makes me sound like a terrible person, but facts are
facts.
And to be honest, the electrical fire was actually a blessing in disguise. Obviously, it sucks that people got hurt. A
bunch of kids had to get stitches from the falling broken glass,
a freshman boy had a burn on his arm from the sparks, and
one of the older teachers got treated for smoke inhalation. But
the electrical fire took the heat off us—pun intended. Reeve’s
injury was just another casualty of the chaos. There’s no way
he’d remember Lillia giving him the spiked drink, with all that
was going on.
At least that’s what I keep telling Lillia.
Pat holds up the silver dipstick to his buddies and they
shake their heads, like it’s some kind of travesty. “Geez, Kat!
When’s the last time you checked the oil?”
I roll my eyes. “Hey, Pat. Did you take my cigarettes?”
“Maybe one or two,” he says sheepishly. Pat points over at
his workbench. I go grab them, and of course my brand-new
pack is empty.
“You want a ride to the gas station?” Ricky asks me, helmet
in his hand. “I need to fill up my bike anyway.”
“Yeah. Thanks, Ricky.”
As we walk out of the garage, Ricky puts his hand on the
small of my back. Immediately I think of Alex Lind, and how
he gallantly led Lillia out of the pandemonium to safety. I wish
I hadn’t had to see that go down. Not that I’m jealous or anything. More like the corniness made my stomach hurt. I wonder if he was being nice, or if he actually is into her. Not that I
care. As I climb on the back of Ricky’s bike, I inch up as close
as I can to him, so we’re practically spooning.
He turns his head around and says, in a low voice, “You’re
killing me. You know that, right?” before flicking his helmet
visor down.
I can see my reflection in it, and I look pretty hot. I give
him a wink and an innocent look. “Drive,” I order him. And
he makes his engine growl for me.
The truth is, if I want a guy, I can get him. Alex Lind included.
The sun is setting on a gray sky, and the roads are mostly
empty. This is what it’s like here on Jar Island come fall. More
than half the population in summertime vanishes. There’ll be a
few tourists that come in to geek out over foliage and stuff, but
mostly it’s dead. A bunch of restaurants and shops are already
closed down for the season. Depressing. I can’t wait until next
year, when I’m living someplace else. Hopefully Ohio, hopefully in a sweet dorm at Oberlin. But I’ll live anywhere, so
long as it’s not Jar Island.
While Ricky gasses up his bike, I buy a fresh pack from the
convenience store. Smokes are expensive. I should quit, save
this money for college. When I turn back to the bike, I see the
big hill that leads up to Middlebury. To Mary’s house.
“Hey, Ricky, are you in a rush to get back?”
He grins at me. “Where are we going?”
I point the way to Mary’s house. No one answers the front
door, not even her freaky aunt. There’s a ton of mail bursting
out of the mailbox, and the lawn is mangier than Shep. I walk
around the side and find a rock to toss up to the second floor.
The lights are out in Mary’s bedroom, her curtains pulled
shut. I check the other windows for signs of life. Every one is
dark. The house looks . . . well, creepy. I let the rock fall out
of my hand.
I wish I could talk to Mary for just one second so I could
ease her mind. She has nothing to feel sorry for. She shouldn’t
feel bad for what happened. That a-hole got what he deserved,
plain and simple. Hopefully now that our revenge stuff is all
over and done with, Mary can move on with her life and not
waste another second on Reeve Tabatsky.
I’ve been crying for two straight days. I can’t
eat; I can’t sleep. I can’t do anything.
I hear Aunt Bette in the bathroom, washing her face and
brushing her teeth. Her nightly routine. On her way to bed,
she stops in my room. She has her robe cinched tight around
her waist and a newspaper under her arm.
I’m lying in a heap on my bed, staring at the ceiling. I can’t
even bring myself to say good-night.
Aunt Bette stands there, watching me for a second or two.
Then she says, “There’s an article in the paper today.” She
holds it up for me. The story above the fold is about the dance,
the fire. There’s a picture of the gym, black smoke trickling
out the windows, a stream of students pouring out the door.
“They think it was electrical.”
I roll away from her, toward the wall, because I don’t want
to talk about homecoming. I don’t even want to think about it.
I’ve already gone over it a million and one times in my head.
How everything went so wrong.
I was finally ready for him to see me that night, in my beautiful dress, proud and strong and changed. I had this idea of
how it would go. Reeve, completely spaced out on the drugs
we’d slipped him, would keep noticing me in the crowd.
Something about me would seem familiar. He’d be drawn to
me. He’d think I was beautiful.
Each time our eyes met, I’d touch the daisy pendant necklace he’d given me for my birthday, smile, and wait for him to
figure out who I was. Meanwhile the teachers would be watching Reeve act more and more crazy. They’d sense that something was off. And as he realized who I was, they’d haul his
butt off to the principal’s office and he’d get the punishment
he deserved.
Only that wasn’t what happened. Not even close.
Reeve knew who I was as soon as he laid eyes on me. Despite
all the ways I’ve changed since seventh grade, he saw the fat
girl who’d been dumb enough to believe he was her friend.
Reeve saw Big Easy. Hearing him say it knocked the wind out
of me, the same way it had when he’d pushed me into the dark,
cold water. I’d only ever be one thing to him. Nothing but
that. I was so angry. So hurt. And I snapped.
I can hear Aunt Bette breathing shallow breaths a few steps
away from my bed. “Was it . . .”
I roll back toward her. “Was it
what
?” It comes out so mean,
but I can’t help it. Can’t she tell I’m not in the mood to talk?
Aunt Bette’s eyes are wide. “Nothing,” she says, and backs
out the room.
She’s scared of me. And the truth is, I’m scared of me too.
I can’t deal. So I get up, wrap a sweater around my nightgown, slip on my sneakers, and creep out the back door.
I walk down to Main Street and head toward the cliffs.
There’s a big one I used to love to look out from, because you
could see for miles.
But tonight there’s nothing but blackness beyond the cliff.
Blackness and quiet, like the edge of the world. I shuffle my
feet until the tips of my shoes hang over the rock. Some gravel
tumbles over the edge, but I never hear it hit the water. The fall
goes on forever.