Fire With Fire (18 page)

I hang around after school on Friday to go to
a Spanish tutorial that Señor Tremont is holding in advance
of our midterm. I get to the classroom first and worry for a
second that maybe I got the date wrong, but then ten other
kids from my class arrive and sit in the same seats as they do
in sixth period. They’re the students I’d expect to see here,
ones who never, ever, ever talk in class. Like me. We’ve all
perfected the art of staring down at our desks when Señor
Tremont asks for volunteers to do conversations with him.

The only one who isn’t here is Señor Tremont.
Ten minutes go by, then fifteen. The halls have emptied out
and quieted; the noise comes from outside. I unzip my school
bag, open my Spanish textbook, and review the stuff Señor
Tremont covered in today’s class. But the others are way less
patient. After twenty minutes, one of the other kids makes a
big, huffy show of standing up. He says, “What the eff, man?”
and a few others push back from their desks, ready to follow
him out.

But then Señor Tremont bursts through the door with a cell
phone in his hand. He shouts excitedly,
“Mi esposa está teniendo
un bebé!”
the words coming out faster than the dialogue in the
Spanish soap operas he lets us watch on Fridays.

The students stare at each other like
Huh?
, because we don’t
have a clue what Señor Tremont is saying. Did he forget that this
is a remedial session? Señor Tremont doubles over laughing and
translates it for us.

“My wife is having a baby!”

With this news, the entire mood of the room shifts from
annoyed to happy in a second. Everyone claps for Señor and
cheers him on as he shoves his papers into his briefcase and
sprints out the door. The whole thing brings tears to my eyes;
I’m not sure why. Maybe because I have this feeling that Señor
Tremont will be a good dad. Or because I miss my parents. It’s
probably both.

On my way out of the classroom, I see Lillia down at the
other end of the hall. I can tell it’s her because of her hair. No
one in our school has hair as long and as shiny as Lillia Cho.

I open my mouth to call out for her, but then change my
mind. Lillia’s probably on her way to the pool to swim with
Reeve. I hang back but keep her in my sights. And I follow her,
to be sure.

Lillia walks through the snow to the new pool building. She
doesn’t use the same side door we used to, back when she, Kat,
and I would meet up to plan our revenge schemes, back when
the pool was being renovated. Instead she follows the sidewalk
to the main double doors at the front of the pool building. By
the time I reach them, I see Lillia make a left into the girls’
locker room.

I should go home. I know I should. Only something is drawing me into the building. I’ve wanted to sneak in and watch them
before, many times, but I’ve always managed to talk myself out
of it. Maybe because Lillia’s told me plenty about what goes on
with her and Reeve when they swim together. She’s happy to
share the details.

But suddenly I need to see it with my own eyes. Them
together. While she’s changing, I hurry down the hallway into
the pool area. The whole space is finished now, and it looks
beautiful. They’ve installed the diving board, painted a big
seagull mascot on the far wall. The entire ceiling is glass, and
it lets in a ton of light. It bounces off the cool blue water.

Off to the side of the diving board is the utility closet where
Kat, Lillia, and I once had to hide out from a construction
worker. I wish I could duck inside there, but there’s no way.
Reeve’s down at the shallow end, doing high knee lifts. He’d
definitely see me.

I glance in the other direction and see a row of metal stadium bleachers bolted along the wall, running almost the
length of the entire pool. Quickly, I duck underneath them.
Lucky for me, someone has stacked up a bunch of blue kickboards, which gives me enough cover if I kneel down on the
floor.

Perfect.
For a few minutes I have the chance to watch Reeve alone.
He’s working hard out there. And though he’s lost a bit of the
muscle from early in the football season, I like his body even
better now. It’s less bulky, more lean. Cut.
After he finishes a set of his exercises, Reeve swims over to
the entrance and looks down the locker room hallway. He’s
waiting for her.
Then Lillia comes into the pool. She’s changed out of her
school clothes and into a black one-piece. It’s definitely not
something she’d ever be caught dead wearing on the beach, but
it still looks great on her. If I didn’t know she couldn’t swim,
I’d think she was there to lifeguard. She sits on the edge of the
bleachers right in front of where I’m hiding, and tucks her hair
up into a white swim cap.
“Yo, Cho,” Reeve calls out. “You’re late.”
Lillia doesn’t answer. Even though there’s a ladder that’s
closer, she walks down to the shallow end of the pool and
climbs into the water there. She’s timid, and she reacts like it’s
freezing cold.
As soon as Lillia is in the pool, Reeve abandons his own
exercises and starts instructing her. He helps her practice
floating, with his hands underneath her back. He has her
practice her arm movements in the shallow end. Every exercise he gives her, he watches her intently, like a coach. He corrects her plenty of times, which definitely seems to frustrate
Lil, but when she can’t see it, he’s nodding and smiling like
she’s perfect.
For a while I close my eyes and think about that day when
Reeve shoved me into the water. Would it have happened if
those other kids hadn’t been there? I bet it wouldn’t have. I bet
we would have ridden the ferry home together, like always. I
feel the tears come out of my eyes, and I let them fall.
When I open my eyes again, Reeve is out of the water, drying off right where I’m standing. Close up, I can see he still has
a few scars from homecoming night, places where the glass cut
into his skin. The skin in those spots is pinker than the rest of
his body. Pink and pale and almost translucent.
I swallow hard and wipe away my eyes with my sleeve.
“I’m going to go get changed, Cho. Why don’t you take the
kickboards out and do some laps in the deep end?”
Reeve leaves, and Lillia goes to do what she’s told. But when
she comes over to grab a kickboard, she sees me and almost
screams.
“I’m sorry!” I whisper.
“Mary!” She looks over both her shoulders. “What on earth
are you doing here?” And then, I think, the answer comes to
her. She looks suddenly joyous. “Have you been watching the
whole time? Did you see how many times he tried to touch me?
It’s really, really working!”
“Yes, it is working,” I say quietly.
Lillia adds, “As a bonus, I’ve gotten a lot better in the water. I
think I might actually take that swim test for real.” She shivers,
and water droplets fly off her. “It’s a win-win!”
I blink a few times. Thank goodness Lillia doesn’t know all
the things I feel deep down about Reeve. I don’t want anyone to
know, not ever. “That’s awesome,” I say quickly, in a whisper.
“I’m so glad you’re getting something out of this too.”
But I’m not sure if Lillia hears me. Her eyes turn to the
hallway. “Crap.” She quickly takes a kickboard off the top of
the stack and leaps into the pool awkwardly.
Reeve enters a few seconds later, fully dressed. “You punking
out on me, Cho?”
“No. I . . . I just . . . I don’t like to go to the deep end when
I’m by myself.”
Reeve crouches down at the edge of the pool. It takes some
effort; I can tell his leg is stiff and sore from the workout. Plus
he has his walking cast back on. He says, “Don’t worry. I’m
right here.” And then he adds, “You owe me an extra lap for
that,” but he says it in a tender, joking way.
Lillia uses the kickboard and works her way down to the
opposite end of the pool. Reeve walks alongside her, every step
of the way. His leg has gotten better. Stronger.
As soon as I get my chance, I run out of the pool, and all the
way home. I’m the one who’s in deep water. I’m the one who’s
sinking.
CHAP
TER THIR
T
Y -ONE

While I dry off, Reeve goes to the parking lot
and starts my car so it’s warm for me. It’s super cold out. I didn’t
even have to ask him to, which is a great sign.

I gather up my stuff and meet him out there. I keep my eyes
peeled for Mary, to see if she’s still around, but she’s nowhere
to be found.

Reeve’s taken the icer and chiseled the frost off my windshield. Reeve’s truck is also turned on, and frostless, parked
right next to mine. But he’s waiting in
my
car, sitting in my
driver’s seat, listening to my music. I force the grin off my face
and hop into the passenger side. “Hey,” I say, pointing the
vents so they’re blowing right on me. “Thanks for starting my
car up for me.”

“No problem.” He doesn’t make a move to get out, so I
stay put too. Abruptly he says, “Hey, you never told me how
Boston went.”

“Oh, it was good. My interview with Wellesley went really
well. The lady who interviewed me used to visit Jar Island when
she was growing up, so we had that in common.”

“Cool, cool.” Reeve drums his fingers on my steering wheel.
“So did Lindy finally man up and make his move?”
My eyes go wide. Did Alex make a move on me? I mean, we
did kind of hold hands. But it’s not like that’s a
move
move. I’m
not going to tell Reeve that, though. Better he thinks Alex did.
“Why? Are you jealous?”
Reeve makes a “pfft” sound and looks out the window. “Is
Lind jealous of our pool time?” he counters.
I force a swallow. “He doesn’t know about it.” I want to tell
Reeve,
Please don’t say anything,
but I can’t do that. Instead I
think fast and say, “Does Rennie?” even though I’m sure of his
answer. Because if Rennie even had a clue about us, I’d definitely know.
Reeve scrunches up his forehead. “Nah. I haven’t mentioned it.”
“Okay.”
“Okay.”
So neither of us has told anyone. Rennie and Alex don’t
know. But I’m dreading the moment they do. Because this is
happening. The train is on the tracks, and it’s speeding up.
Reeve takes his hands off the steering wheel and lets them
fall to his lap, where he fidgets for a moment. Then he looks at
me, and I can tell he’s about to say something. Or do something.
I panic.
I whip out my cell, pound out a fake text, and tell him, “I
should get home. Maybe I’ll see you this weekend?”
He bites the inside of his cheek and says, “Sure. See you, Cho.”

On Saturday, on my way out of Milky Morning, I run into PJ.
“Hey, stranger!” I say, as he holds the door open for me.

He holds his hand up for a high five and says, “See you
tonight, Lil.”
I hand him my box of muffins to hold while I zip up my
puffer. “What’s happening tonight?”
“Ren scored a ton of free booze. We’re going to meet up in
the woods by her house. She didn’t tell you?”
“No,” I say. “She didn’t.” Neither did Ash. At Rennie’s command, I’m sure. If that’s how Ren wants to play it, so be it. Two
can play at that game.
“What time are you guys meeting up?” I ask him.
“Nine.”
“It’s so cold, though,” I say. “We’ll freeze out there.”
“The booze will keep us warm. Besides, where else are we
gonna go?”

Lucky me, my mom and Nadia are off island at a horse show.
They won’t be back until tomorrow afternoon. My mom wanted
me to stay at Rennie’s or ask Carlota to stay over, which I told
her was ridiculous—I’m seventeen, and in less than a year I’ll
be away at college. I’m old enough to stay by myself for a night.
“Besides,” I said, “don’t you trust me?” My mom caved at that.
“Of course I do,” she said.

I text Alex first.
It’s so cold out. Wanna come over and watch a movie tonight?
9? Bring Derek!
He writes back immediately.
Sounds good!

Next is Ash. I know that if I dangle Derek in front of her,
she’ll take the bait. She’d blow off Rennie in a second to hang
out with Derek. She’s been crushing on him since last year,
and they’ve hooked up a few times, but they’re definitely not
exclusive.

My mom and Nadia are off island tonight. Wanna come over
and watch a movie? The guys are coming—Derek too!
Yes! What time?
9
Yay!
Then Reeve.
Movie night at my house if you’re interested.
Reeve takes his sweet time writing back. One word.
Cool.

I jump into action. Carlota was here earlier today, so the
house is sparkly clean. But we need snacks.
I bake a batch of brownies, not from scratch, from a box, but
it’s a fancy brand my mom got from some specialty food store
in Boston. It cost eleven dollars, so I figure it must be good. For
good measure I throw in a handful of chocolate chips. I grab a
not-too-expensive-looking bottle of red wine from the wine cellar, and I set that out too, with some glasses. At the last minute
I pop a bag of kettle corn and figure that will be good enough.
Then I run upstairs to get ready. I change out of my school
clothes and put on skinny jeans and an off-the-shoulder creamcolored sweater. I dab some Lillia perfume on behind my ears
and in the hollow of my neck. No makeup, though, only cherry
ChapStick.
Casual.
But I’m excited inside. Excited thinking about Rennie alone
in the woods with her bottles of booze, freezing her butt off
while she waits for everybody to show.
We’re all lounging in the TV room. Ash and Derek are cozied
up in our leather armchair with a blanket, where I told them to
sit. Alex and I are on the sectional. No Reeve. I guess he met up
with Rennie after all. I’m trying not to feel disappointed, when
the doorbell rings.
“Who else is coming?” Alex asks me.
“I don’t know,” I say, and run for the door.
I open it, and there’s Reeve in his puffer vest and sweater.
“Hey!” I say. I get up on my tiptoes and give him a hug. He
looks taken aback, and I smile at him, sweet as cotton candy.
“Lind is here?” he asks me, looking over my shoulder and
frowning.
“Yup . . .” Then it dawns on me. He thought it was going to
be the two of us. Like maybe a date. Wow. That’s good. That’s
really good. I can’t wait to tell Kat and Mary all about it. I link
my arm through his and lead him into the house. “Everybody’s
in the living room.”
Reeve follows me down the foyer. “Reeve’s here,” I announce,
even though, duh, he’s here; we all have eyes.
“What up, Tabatsky,” Derek says.
Alex makes room for him on the couch. When Reeve sits
down and starts to put his feet up on the coffee table, Alex
says, “Dude, they don’t wear shoes in the house here.”
“Calm down, Lindy,” Reeve says. But he obeys; he takes his
shoes off.
“You too,” Ash says to Derek.
“It’s fine,” I say, but I’m relieved Alex said something. I hate
to be the one going around telling people to take their shoes off;
it’s so awkward. But my mom will seriously kill me if our white
furniture gets dirty. It’s like her life’s mission is to buy everything
in white and then rise to the challenge of keeping it that way.
“Does anybody want any wine?” I ask. I feel so grown-up
until I realize I don’t even know how to open a wine bottle.
“Yes, please!” Ashlin chimes in.
I fumble with the wine opener until Reeve takes it from me
and pops it open in like two seconds without saying a word.
Then he pours the wine for all of us. “Where’s Ren?” he asks
me, setting the bottle back down.
Shrugging, I say, “No idea.” I hop up and run to the kitchen
and come back with the plate of brownies. “Fresh baked!” I
sing out. I shimmy over to Ash and Derek, and they take one
and share it.
I come back to the couch and offer one to Alex, who accepts
it. Then I put the plate back on the coffee table and sit down
between him and Reeve. “So what are we watching? There are a
few good things on demand—”
“You’re not even going to offer me a brownie?” Reeve interjects. “What kind of hostess are you?”
“You don’t eat sweets!” I know this about him, for a fact.
“I don’t eat sweets during the season,” he corrects. “And the
season’s over. For me, anyway.” His green eyes glint as he opens
his mouth and says, “Ahh.”
I slide the plate in his direction and he shakes his head.
“Ahh,” he says, patiently.
I roll my eyes and pop a piece of brownie in his mouth. “Diva!”
With his mouth full Reeve says, “Delicious.” I give him
another angelic smile as a reward.
“These brownies are awesome, Lillia,” Alex chimes in.
“I baked them myself,” I say. It’s not like they need to know
they came from a box mix. Grabbing the remote, I say, “I vote
we watch this French movie I heard about.”
Reeve groans and Alex says, “The one about the cat burglar?
They were reviewing that on NPR yesterday. It’s supposed to
be good.”
Reeve mutters, “Why don’t you two move into the retirement home already.”
“We don’t have to watch it,” I say. “Ash, Der, what do you
guys want to watch?”
They are whispering to each other and feeding each other
brownie crumbs and not even paying attention.
Reeve grabs the remote from me. “Let me see what’s on
SportsCenter for a sec.”
Holding out my hand, I say, “Give it back, Reeve!”
“I want to check the score on the game,” he says.
“Reeve!” I keep reaching for the remote, but he keeps twisting away from me. “Oh my God, I feel sorry for whoever marries you,” I say, and then I fall back against the couch and take
a tiny sip of wine. I almost spit it back out into the glass. It
tastes like smoke to me. Like barbecued wood. I don’t know
how adults drink the stuff.
I meant it as a joke, but Reeve obviously doesn’t take it
that way, because without looking away from the TV he goes,
“Likewise.”
“Come on, man, give her the remote,” Alex says.
Reeve tosses it to me and starts looking at his phone while I
queue up the French movie and Alex turns on the surround sound.
“Should I dim the lights?” Alex asks me.
Reeve stands up. “I’m gonna get out of here.”
“Already?” Derek asks, turning around.
“Yeah. People are hanging out in the woods by Rennie’s.
Wanna come?”
Derek looks at Ash and says, “Nah. Too cold.” Ashlin snuggles closer to him.
Reeve eyes Alex. “Al, I’m guessing you’re not going anywhere.”
“Yup, I’m good,” Alex says, stretching out on the couch.
“All right. I’ll hit you guys up after.” Reeve shrugs back into
his coat and picks up his shoes. “Later.”
“Bye,” Alex says, settling back on the couch.
“Bye, Reevie,” Ash calls.
I can’t believe he’s leaving. Rennie snaps her fingers and he
comes running?
Reeve heads toward the hallway and I follow him. “Why
don’t you hang out a little while longer?” I ask him.
“No thanks,” he says over his shoulder. “Didn’t realize I was
crashing a double date.”
“Don’t go,” I say, reaching out to touch the hem of his puffer
vest. I drop my hand when he doesn’t turn around.
He steps back into his sneakers, and then he opens the door,
and at first I think he’s going to go without saying bye or anything, but he stops and looks back at me. He hesitates, and then
in a low, uncertain voice he says, “See you on Monday at the
pool?”
Smiling slowly, I nod. Then he leaves, and I close the door
behind him and lock it.
CHAP
TER THIR
T
Y - T
W
O

I watch my alarm tick down, and a minute before
it’s supposed to go buzz, I turn it off. I close the photo albums
I pulled out last night and set them on my floor. Then I pull the
blankets back up over me. My head finds the still-warm dent in
my pillow, and I lie there for a minute.

Since she passed away five years ago, I’ve made it a habit to
stay up the entire night before the anniversary of my mom’s
death to think about her. I don’t sleep, not one minute. It’s like
some depressing form of meditation, I guess, but it’s what I’ve
always done. I think about her all through the night.

I can trace that whole last shitty year of her life back to the
moment it started, to the day Mom had to drop me off at school
early because she had to go off island for an appointment with
some specialist doctor.

I think about the day she and Dad sat us down at the kitchen
table to tell us. How it wasn’t good, but we still needed to have
hope. Mom was calm and Dad cried so hard he couldn’t breathe,
and Pat ran straight out the back door in his socks and didn’t
come home for three whole days. I felt anything but hopeful.

I think about when I told Rennie, when we first got the diagnosis. I rode my bike over early, before she was even awake,
and basically ambushed her. She sat in her bed, still half-asleep,
while I knelt on her floor and cried and cried. There was a sick
part of me that was happy to have such a sad story. By then she
was already starting to pull away from me. She was completely
obsessed with Lillia and creaming her pants over the fact that
Lillia was moving to Jar Island full-time after next summer. It’s
pathetic to admit, but I remember hoping that Rennie might
pity me enough to be close with me again, at least while I went
through this terrible shit, but my mom getting sick only made
things weirder between us.

I think about how Mom was strong for so long, until she
couldn’t be, and then over a single freaking week she evaporated.
Cancer eats you from the inside out, and I watched her waste
away to skin and bones, to a hollow body, in seven days. The last
day, she only opened her eyes once, and I don’t know if she saw
me standing there, at the foot of her bed. Dad called out her name
and Pat said he loved her, but her eyes didn’t focus. It was like we
all saw the door closing. I wanted to say something meaningful,
but I couldn’t get it out before her eyes shut again. We brought a
stereo into the room and played “Suite Judy Blue Eyes” on repeat.

It was almost a relief to see her go.
All those memories, plus the good stuff from before she got
sick, typically take up most of the night. Once the sun rises, I
shift gears and wonder how things might have been different if
she’d lived. I go through the old photo albums, the letters she
wrote to me as soon as she found out she was sick.
I do it all and I never, ever sleep.
The bonus to this is that I can sleepwalk through the actual
day it happened. I’m so tired I don’t have to feel anything. That
means I won’t cry in front of strangers; I won’t break down. It
keeps things nice and tidy.

When I come downstairs, Dad is already at the table, staring
over his newspaper off into space. Pat is quietly eating a slice of
cold pizza over the sink. Well, as quietly as Pat can eat. Dude is a
wildebeast. This is exactly what this day is like. Our loud, crazy
family turns the volume down as low as it can go.

I give Dad a hug, and it brings him back into reality. He taps
the newspaper and says, “Found a coupon for the store. Half off
a pumpkin pie for Thanksgiving.”

Thanksgiving used to be awesome. Mom would entrust me
with her recipe box, a wooden thing Dad had made to keep all
her index cards. I’d set out the ones we’d need, each one sticky
and stained with use. It would be my job to line up the ingredients on the counter for each of the recipes. Sugar yams, green
bean casserole, turkey rubbed with sage and butter, cranberry
sauce and sausage stuffing.

Needless to say, it’s not like that anymore.
Dad tried, and failed miserably, at recreating the family meal
the first few years after Mom died. Every time it was a disaster, and he’d feel bad about the money he wasted and how he
couldn’t survive without Judy, and the whole thing was so awful
that we started buying a rotisserie chicken and frozen veggies.
The only thing we’d make at home was baked potatoes. And
even though it’s nearly impossible to fuck up a baked potato, it
still never tastes right to me.
Dad starts bawling at the table. I wonder what memory he’s
thinking about. And like every year that this shitty anniversary
falls on a Monday through Friday, I hate the thought of spending this day without him.
Even worse, this time next year I won’t be on Jar Island.
“I’m not feeling well,” I tell my dad, my voice soft and
quiet, like my throat hurts. “Maybe I should stay—”
“Don’t even,” he says.
“What? Come on, Dad.” I know the sick sound is gone, but
seriously? “I never skip!”
“I know you don’t. And that’s why you’re going to school.
Your mother would never forgive me for letting you miss school
on her account.”
I open my mouth to keep arguing, but Pat shoots me a look.
He’s right. This day is hard for everyone, and I don’t want to be
starting shit with my dad. So I trudge back upstairs, get dressed,
and head out the door.
One good thing—I don’t think many people know that I
don’t have a mom. Not besides Ms. Chirazo, anyhow. It’s not
like I come to school and everyone treats me different. Which
I’m glad for, because I couldn’t deal with any pitying looks. But
part of me does wonder if Lillia remembers. If she’ll say anything. She wasn’t around for the funeral—her family still lived
in Boston back then—but they made a donation in my mom’s
name to some cancer society.
I walk past Lillia in the hall. She’s talking to Ash, and she sees
me and gives me a tiny smile, but it’s the same one I get every
day. No different.
I’m pretty sure I’ve mentioned my mom to Mary, but it’s not
like I told her the exact day she died.
It’s weird, even though I’m totally used to going through this
day alone, somehow this year it’s worse.
I open my locker door to chuck in my jacket. But I freeze.
There’s one white daisy inside, laid at the very top of my pile
of shit.
Daisies were my mom’s favorite flower. Everyone placed one
on top of her casket before it got lowered in the ground.
I spin around and look behind me. Who did it? It wasn’t
Lillia. And it wasn’t Mary. She wouldn’t know that.
And then, for a second, a split second, I see Rennie peering at
me from around the corner of the hallway. Our eyes meet.