Red (3 page)

Chapter Three

Kia

Monday mornings sucked as much in the fresh country air as they did in city smog.

The drive to school in Sara’s cupcake van took me about half an hour, and was filled with more wildlife than I was used to. I’d already been roped into making deliveries for her to the cafés in town. I wasn’t complaining—not only did it mean I didn’t have to use the limousine Holden had offered, but I’d also make some money for comic books. Assuming anyone even delivered out here.

I saw a flock of wild turkeys, which scared the crap out of me when they waddled onto the road, and a deer lying in a ditch. I could see its exposed rib cage, where something had eaten through its flesh. I looked away, missing the subway more than ever. I passed cottages, more pine trees than a Christmas theme park, and outdoor supply shops. The main lake was three times the size of the Blackwoods’ private lake. Docks and expensive boathouses jutted out onto the water.

Havencrest Academy took up most of a block, the lawns trailing to a beach and more forest. There were outbuildings and a boathouse where rows of canoes waited in the grass. The parking lot was filled with expensive cars and two vintage motorcycles. I wasn’t just stuck in a small cottage town; I was stuck with the elite. Girls with perfect hair paraded up to the front door, passing guys with white smiles and tans. Everything about them was glossy and perfect.

“I’m in hell,” I muttered. It was surprisingly difficult to convince myself to get out of the truck. Tough Kia Alcott of the bad reputation was nervous about trust-fund kids.

No.

Just, no.

I went up the walkway, trying not to feel stupid in my school uniform. The front hall screamed old money, from the black-and-white marble tiles on the floor to the chandelier hanging from the ceiling, and it didn’t smell like sweat socks and French fries like my old school. I slipped between the other students, ignoring the sidelong glances, since they were hardly unexpected.

“I hear she got expelled,” someone whispered loudly.

“I heard she burned down her last school,” someone else added. “Look at her scars.”

I whipped my head around, pinning the girl with a straight, unblinking look. “It was the parking lot, actually.”
And my best friend
, but I wasn’t about to say that.

She jerked back, startled. I was probably supposed to politely ignore her or run crying to the bathroom or something. And technically, it was the neighbor’s rose garden that really got me expelled, but she didn’t need to know that. Old lady Greyson threatened to sue the school over the damages. She didn’t care that it was an accident—she only cared about her prize-winning roses. And she already hated living next door to a high school. She called the cops over every little thing. As if it was my fault someone built the school there.

I clenched my hands into fists when my fingertips started to burn.

I’d tried keeping my head down after the accident, tried to fade into the background and act meek. It hadn’t taken long to realize I was better at mouthing off. So, new plan: being snappy and obnoxious was a good way to make people keep their distance. No one asked questions when no one wanted to get to know you better.

“Don’t let them see your fear,” Sloane said from behind my shoulder. There were flowers in her hair.

“I’m not afraid. Shut up.”

“Please, I can practically smell it on you.”

“How can you smell anything over all this perfume?” I asked as we headed down the hall. Companionable bickering put me at ease. I must be as crazy as my old classmates thought I was. But at least I was no longer focusing on my tingling fingertips. Especially when we passed Ethan, trailing beautiful girls behind him. Sloane and I exchanged a knowing glance, much like we had during the awful dinner at the castle.

“Welcome to the hallowed halls of Havencrest,” she said.

“Yay.” I walked away, even though part of me wanted to stay and talk. I really missed having someone to snark with. I couldn’t change what had happened to Riley, but I could damn well make sure it never happened again. I could still see her burns. And the way she looked at me afterward. She didn’t believe it was an accident.

School was school. When I ducked into the girls’ bathroom at the end of lunch, Justine followed me.

She and two of her friends cornered me as I came out of the stall. There was so much hair flipping it made me dizzy. “Kia,” Justine said, smiling with a kind of sweetness that made me think of poisoned candies, the ones parents warned you about at Halloween.

I pushed past her to wash my hands. I kept an eye on her in the mirror, fingertips burning faintly. “You know I got expelled for beating up a guy twice my size, right?” Okay, I’d only gotten detention and anger management classes for that. I was expelled over the fire and the roses, but that didn’t sound nearly as intimidating.

Justine only looked haughtier, if that were possible. “You’re at the bottom of the barrel here, and you’d better not forget that. So stay away from me, and stay away from Ethan, and maybe, just maybe, we won’t make your life a living hell.”

“Are you transferring somewhere else, then?” I asked. “Because not having to look at your face again would hold up your deal of not making this place hell.”

She sucked in such an offended breath that I had to laugh. Until she shoved me again and my tailbone smacked into the counter. Pain radiated up my spine. “You did not just do that,” I said, furious. I exhaled slowly, deliberately, the way Mr. Yang had taught me. I even pictured bald Buddhist monks in orange robes chanting serenely in an incense-filled temple. Visualizing was supposed to help me keep my temper in check, and there was nothing more serene than monks singing, “Om.”

It probably didn’t say much about me that the incense turned to smoke in my mind’s eye and the monks’ orange robes turned to fire.

“I can do a lot worse than that, so stay the hell out of my way,” Justine snapped.

It must be my charming personality that won me so many friends. Or my right hook.

I clenched a fist but before I could swing it, the garbage can caught fire. The spark caught in the crumpled paper towels and flared suddenly, nearly touching the ceiling. Justine and her friends shrieked and leaped toward the door.

“Crap! No!” My hands felt as if I’d put them on a hot stove top. Panic clamped around me. My breath caught, choked. The fire licked at the sides of the garbage can. Smoke filled the air.

“No, no, no!” I kicked the can as close to the sink as possible, then fumbled to open the taps, filling my cupped hands and flinging them at the fire until it finally sizzled out. Water ran down the mirror in rivulets. The smell of wet, charred garbage was gross, all old banana peels and rotting apple cores. I darted out of the smoke-filled bathroom, coughing. I leaned against the wall for a minute to catch my breath. “Not again,” I muttered, rubbing my face. My hands were shaking.

My hair dripped, my sleeves were soaking wet, and I stank of smoke. If the headmaster or anyone saw me like this, they’d never believe I didn’t set the fire on purpose. And this time there were witnesses. There was no way Justine could know the truth. So, like hell I was going to wait around to be accused.

I ran into the nearest empty classroom and yanked open the window. I flung my leg over the sill and jumped down to the ground, dragging my backpack behind me. I stayed low, running across the lawn until there were no more trees to cover me. Then I switched to a casual amble. I’d give myself away if I sprinted guiltily to Sara’s cupcake van. I didn’t breathe again until I was safely behind the wheel.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” I muttered, turning the key in the ignition as the bell rang. I’d thought I was getting better at controlling myself. I’d spent most of Sunday in my attic bedroom without a single burning eyelid or tingling fingertip. I hadn’t felt hot, not once. But clearly I’d been deluding myself. Clearly, one good day wasn’t enough to fix me.

I was still dangerous, still a freak.

Still angry.

And I was going to have to be more careful. I couldn’t have a firestarter reputation follow me around. I’d read enough comic books to know that wouldn’t end well. I’d be locked up in some government facility or a mental institution. I kept my eyes on the road, letting the gray pavements and the green pine trees soothe me until my hands stopped shaking. Cool air from the open window dried the sweat on the back of my collar. “It’ll be okay,” I told myself. “You will not set yourself on fire and die a horrible death. And you will not set anyone else on fire. Probably.”

As a cheerleader, I clearly needed work.

I was halfway home when a loud pop tore through the van. I yelled, thinking it was a gunshot, thinking that government agency had already found me. Apparently I wasn’t quite as calm as I thought.

The steering wheel jerked in my hands, wheels wobbling on the road. I fought for control as a series of sick-sounding thuds rattled through the van. It was rhythmic, centered on the left side. I slowed down, struggling to keep from going off into the ditch. I finally got the van to a stop and lowered my head shakily to the steering wheel. Not a secret society or a government operative. Just a flat tire.

“Idiot.” I laughed at myself, to prove I could. I climbed out, waving the dust of the road out of my face. It billowed in clouds as the gravel crunched under my boots. I went around to the front and saw the flat tire, looking pathetic and useless. I kicked it. “Perfect. Just perfect.”

I checked the back for a spare tire but there was none, which didn’t matter anyway, since I had no idea how to change it. There was no one around; it was me and the crows cawing in the woods and Sara’s pink baskets filled with cupcakes and pastries. I was supposed to deliver them after classes, but I’d forgotten in my hurry to get the hell off school grounds.

Before I could pull out my cell phone, a car came speeding down the road toward me. You know what was worse than no one around for miles?

Ethan Blackwood right there in front of me.

Worst. Day. Ever.

He stepped out of his convertible. His tie was loosened and his pants weren’t the standard-issue polyester uniform pants. They actually looked good on him. The wind teased his hair, as if he were on a photo shoot. God, even the air loved him. “Shouldn’t you be in class?”

“I’m free after morning classes on Monday,” he said. “What’s your excuse?”

I didn’t answer him. “Know how to fix a flat tire?” I asked instead.

“No.”

“Figures.”

He raised an eyebrow, looking amused. “Do you?”

He had a point. “Well, no.”

He crouched down to take a closer look. “This isn’t an ordinary leak,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

He yanked a nail out of the rubber. “Someone did this on purpose. It’s too straight to be just off the road.”

Justine must have run out into the parking lot and jabbed my tire while I was freaking out in the empty classroom. Who else would have bothered to vandalize my car? I clenched my fists as sparks shot from between my fingers. I squeaked and shoved them behind my back before Ethan could see. God only knew what he would think if he knew what I could do. He’d tell his dad, and his dad would tell Abby. There would be therapist appointments, because no one would believe me. And if they did believe me, it would only be worse. Special powers were dangerous.

He stood up, squinting into the sun behind me. “Are you okay?”

“Um, yeah. Fine.” I tried to smile, praying that it didn’t look like smoke was coming out of my ass. Bad enough that the road dust clung to my damp hair.

“Well, hop in,” he said, getting back into his convertible. “My dad’ll send someone to pick up the van.”

“I should probably stay here,” I said, rubbing my hands together behind my back, trying to smother the fire. Sparks landed on the gravel. I scuffed dirt over them. “Or I can walk back or something.” Why wouldn’t he just go away? I wondered if I should stick my hands in my pockets, then wondered if I’d end up setting my jacket on fire. I started to walk, hoping he’d take the hint. He started his car, but he only rolled along beside me.

“You can’t walk all the way home,” he said through the open window as I picked up my pace. “It’s too far. And a wolf might eat you. Another hiker went missing just last week.”

I thought of the deer at the side of the road this morning. I knew how to deal with crazy old men on the subway who smelled like pee and beer, not wild animals. “Shit,” I muttered, finally sliding into the passenger seat. If I argued too much, it would be suspicious. Not as suspicious as smoldering hands, but still. Maybe the pressure of the wind in an open car would put out the fire inside me. “Do people get eaten by wolves a lot around here?”

“City girl.” He laughed, but I didn’t feel like he was mocking me, only teasing me.

“Did someone seriously go missing?”

“Yeah. It happens.” He sniffed once.

“Are you
smelling
me?” That was distracting enough that my hands went from searing to lukewarm. I could almost unclench my fingers.

“Yeah, hard not to. You reek of wet smoke.”

“Oh.”

“I heard your day was epic.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I get all the fun.”

“So you really were caught smoking in the girls’ bathroom?” He shook his head “Way to be original there, Alcott.”

I stared at him. “Is that what they’re saying?”
Look unconcerned
, I reminded myself sternly. “And how did you find out so fast?”

“Justine told me you nearly set her on fire.”

I leaned my head back, trying not to panic. “I did not.”