The Stepsister (12 page)

She heard someone come into the girls' room. Heard shoes scraping against the tile floor. Heard water running into the sink.

The water stopped. Someone coughed. Then the shoes scuffed against the floor. The door opened and closed. The bathroom was empty again.

A few seconds later Emily smelled smoke.

She got up quickly and hurried out of the stall. Her heart was pounding.

The room was filling with white smoke.

Where was it coming from?

Emily held her breath. The wastebasket. Flames leapt from the wastebasket at the end of the stalls.

So much smoke, she thought, for a wastebasket fire.

Coughing, her eyes starting to tear, she ran over to see if she could smother the flames. But the flames were leaping high from the can, too high to get near enough to move the can.

And then suddenly the paper on the floor caught fire. And now the flames were leaping up to the wooden moldings on the walls.

I've got to get out of here, Emily thought, surprised by how frightened she felt. I've got to set off the alarm.

The fire started to spread over the wooden doors of the stalls.

Emily ran to the door leading to the hall and shoved.

“Hey—what's going on?”

The door seemed to be stuck.

“Hey!”

She shoved again, jamming her shoulder hard against the door.

But it didn't budge.

It
couldn't
be stuck.

Was someone standing on the other side, holding it closed?

Don't get paranoid, Emily, she thought.

She coughed again. The smoke was burning her throat.

Don't get paranoid? While Emily was in the stall, someone had come in and set the wastebasket on fire!

Jessie?

She tried the door again. It didn't move.

Trying desperately to hold her breath, she lowered her head and ran past the flames to the little window in the back of the bathroom. Her eyes closed, she grabbed the window frame and tugged.

No.

Come on. Come on. Move.

No.

She tugged harder. The window wouldn't raise.

Choking on the acrid smoke, she opened her eyes and saw the problem. The window frame had recently been painted. The window was painted shut.

“No! Help! Somebody—help!”

The smoke had turned black. It seemed to billow up in all directions.

She ran through the flames to the door at the front and heaved herself against it with all her might.

The door wouldn't move.

“I'm going to die in here,” she said aloud.

Prove It!

H
er throat burned. Her eyes burned. She couldn't catch her breath.

She ran to the nearest sink and turned on both faucets, splashing her face with water.

It didn't help.

It wouldn't help at all, she realized.

But what if she filled the wastebasket with water and then used it to douse the flames?

Yes. That might work. But where was the wastebasket? The smoke had formed a swirling, black curtain. She couldn't even see the wastebasket.

I—I can't breathe, she thought.

I'm going to suffocate.

Uttering a loud sob, she pounded on the door with her fists.

“Help me! Please—help me!”

No reply.

The bell must have rung. Everyone must have gone upstairs to class. The downstairs hallway would be deserted by now.

“Help me! Please—help me!”

She tried to pound on the door, but she could feel herself weakening. Her arms felt so heavy, she could barely lift them.

She choked, gasping for breath.

If only I could catch up with my breathing. . . .

She couldn't see.

The flames were so hot now. So high . . . so close. . . .

And then she heard someone struggling with the door. “It's my imagination.” Did she say that aloud, or did she just think it?

Her mind was becoming a cloud, as dark and swirling as the smoke. She felt light, as light as a flame.

The door was pulled open.

She wanted to run to it, but she was floating now, floating in the dark, dark air.

“Is anyone in there? Oh, my God—Emily!”

Emily floated, so warm, so unbearably warm.

“If only I could breathe . . .”

Strong arms pulled her away. She floated through the dark curtain of smoke. She floated to the door.

“Emily—are you okay?”

Choking and sputtering, she staggered out into the cool, cool hall. She tried to take deep breaths but her heart was pounding too hard.

“Emily, just sit down on the floor.” Mrs. Hoffler, the teacher, looked very worried. “I've got to sound the alarm.”

Emily leaned against a column, pressing her face against the cool concrete. I'm going to be okay. I'm going to stop choking. I'm going to breathe again. And I'll be okay.

She saw Mrs. Hoffler open the glass door in the alarm and pull the lever. A bell went off somewhere above her head.

I'm going to be okay.

“Mrs. Hoffler!” Emily called. The teacher was tall and very skinny. The kids called her Mrs. Stork behind her back.

“Mrs. Hoffler! I'm going to be okay!”

The teacher hurried to Emily's side. “Yes. Yes, you are,” she said, looking very relieved.

Flames leapt out from under the bathroom door.

“We've got to get out of here,” Mrs. Hoffler said, shouting over the alarm. “Think you can walk?”

“Sure,” Emily said. She took a step away from the column, then another. So dizzy. So light-headed.

She fell to her knees. “Ouch.”

“Let me help you,” Mrs. Hoffler said. “You must have breathed in a lot of smoke.” She pulled Emily to her feet and, putting a strong arm around her waist, guided her to the door. “This doorstop was stuck under the door,” she said, holding up the wooden triangle, then tossing it away. “It's usually under the hallway door right here. How on earth did it get stuck in the bathroom door?”

They reached the stairway leading to the first floor. “Emily, how did the fire start?” the teacher asked.

“I don't know,” Emily said, still struggling to catch her breath.

I'll bet Jessie knows, Emily thought angrily. Jessie was the only one who knew I was in that bathroom.

Her legs felt so heavy going up the stairs. Mrs. Hoffler practically had to drag her.

Emily stopped at the top step, leaning heavily against the tall teacher, one hand refusing to let go of the railing. “I—I can't breathe!” she cried suddenly, her voice so terror-filled, she didn't recognize it.

“You'll feel better in the cold air,” Mrs. Hoffler said, pushing open the heavy door and guiding Emily outside.

The cold air was a shock. Emily breathed deeply. She was shaking all over, but it didn't matter.

I'm alive, she thought. I'm breathing.

The dark curtain seemed to lift from her eyes. The world became clear again. Colors returned.

What were the sounds that grew louder and louder?

It was the laughter and loud voices of Shadyside students. Leaning against Mrs. Hoffler, Emily realized for the first time that they weren't alone out here on the sidewalk, out here in the gray afternoon cold. Everyone was here. Everyone had been evacuated from the building. Everyone was standing out here, coatless, jumping up and down to keep warm.

Emily heard sirens in the distance. The fire trucks must be on their way, she thought.

And then Nancy was standing in front of her. “Oh, Nancy!” Emily cried emotionally and, to her surprise, collapsed into Nancy's arms.

“Em—what's wrong?” Nancy cried, catching Emily before she fell.

“She was trapped in the bathroom, where the fire started,” Mrs. Hoffler explained quickly.

“Oh, no!” Nancy's normally pale skin became flour white. “Are you okay?”

“I think so,” Emily said.

“Is she in shock or anything?” Nancy asked Mrs. Hoffler.

“Why don't you ask
me?”
Emily demanded, angry for some reason. “Why ask
her?”

“No, I guess not,” Nancy said, a little color returning to her cheeks. “She sounds like herself.” She grinned at Emily, a grin of sheer relief.

Everyone cheered as the fire trucks pulled right up onto the grass of the school grounds and serious-faced firemen leapt off and began pulling out a long, gray hose.

“It was scary,” Emily told her sister, hugging herself to keep warm.

“I'm going to take Emily home,” Nancy told Mrs. Hoffler. “Unless you think she has to go to the hospital or something.”

“No,” Emily said. “I mean, I'm fine. Really.” She heard the sound of breaking glass. The firemen must be using axes, she thought. Everything was clear now, clear and bright. She stared at the smiling, laughing faces of the kids huddled in groups all over the school grounds, delighted to have this excuse to be out of school.

They don't know what it's like, she thought. They don't know how frightening fire is. “Take me home—please,” she told Nancy.

“I guess it's all right,” Mrs. Hoffler said. Someone was calling her. “Go ahead.” She turned and headed toward the insistent voice.

“Thank you, Mrs. Hoffler!” Emily shouted. She wasn't sure the teacher had heard her. It was an inadequate thank-you for saving her life, anyway, Emily realized. She decided to bring Mrs. Hoffler a present—flowers maybe—tomorrow.

A few minutes later Emily slid into the passenger seat of the small Corsica Nancy drove to school. Nancy started the engine. Emily closed the door and rested her head on the seatback, closing her eyes.

“Are you sure you're okay?” Nancy asked. The car started on the second try.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“You know, there's an ambulance here. It came after the fire trucks. Maybe someone should look at you. You know, examine your lungs or something.”

“No, Nancy. Please. I'm okay. Let's just go home. I'll lie down for a bit at home. Okay?”

Nancy backed out of the parking spot and carefully headed out of the student parking lot and onto Park Drive. Behind them, kids were cheering for some reason. Maybe the fire had spread over the entire building. Emily didn't turn around to see.

“So where were you? In the bathroom?” Nancy asked, speaking quickly, her voice tight.

“Yes. Downstairs. You know. Across from the gym.”

“And a fire started?” Nancy sounded very confused.

“It didn't start. Somebody started it,” Emily said, opening her eyes and sitting up.

“Huh?”

“Nancy, look out!”

Nancy had driven through a Stop sign and had nearly hit an oncoming car. The driver shouted something out his window and shook his fist.

“Sorry,” Nancy called out meekly. She turned to Emily. “What did you say? Why didn't you get out of the bathroom? Why didn't you go out the window or something?”

“The window was painted shut,” Emily explained. “Besides, it was a basement window. You know. Underground. I would've had to climb up to—”

“But why didn't you go out the door?” Nancy asked, putting both hands high on the steering wheel, trying to concentrate on her driving even though she was more interested in getting Emily's story.

“It was jammed. Somebody jammed it shut with the doorstop from the hallway door.”

“I don't believe it!” Nancy exclaimed, shaking her head.

“Believe it,” Emily told her bitterly.

They turned onto Fear Street. A few more blocks and they'd be home.

“Someone came into the bathroom. I didn't see who it was. And they started the fire,” Emily explained.

“You mean someone deliberately tried to—”

“Someone deliberately started the fire. And then jammed the door shut. I know it,” Emily said, surprised at how calmly she could say those words.

“Sometimes kids start fires in wastebaskets for no reason. Just messing around. You know. And I guess the doorstop could have gotten stuck accidentally.”

“I don't think it was an accident,” Emily said, her voice still calm, still cool. “I think it was Jessie. And I think she knew what she was doing.”

Nancy pulled the car up the drive and slammed on the brakes. Neither girl moved to get out of the car.

Nancy turned in the driver's seat to face her sister. “That's a serious accusation.”

“It was a serious fire,” Emily said, crossing her arms over her chest, looking straight ahead through the windshield. “Jessie tried to kill me. I know it.”

“But how would she know you were in that bathroom?”

“I ran into her coming out. She started yelling at me, accusing me of being terrible to her.”

“What?”

“You heard me. She ran off, doing this phony crying routine. She didn't fool me for a second. But, of course, I had no way of knowing she planned to come back and murder me.”

“This is dreadful,” Nancy said, her voice cracking. She looked as if she might cry. She took Emily's hand in both of hers and squeezed it tightly. “And you really think that Jessie started the fire?”