Fire with Fire

I’M IN THE MIDDLE OF MY CALC EQUATION WHEN there’s a knock at our classroom door. It’s the school secretary, Mrs. Gardner, wearing a totally unflattering navy blazer. It’s way too long, way too boxy for her, with buttons that are huge and gold. It looks like she stole it from her husband’s closet—in 1980. Short women should never wear blazers, in my opinion. Unless they are cropped and super fitted with, like, three-quarter sleeves.

Anyway.

I go back to my worksheet. We’re solving derivative problems. It’s not even hard. All everyone said last year is that calc is the hardest thing ever. Umm, seriously?

But then Mrs. Gardner drops a yellow slip of paper on my desk. Lillia Cho is written on the first line. Then it says Report to guidance office. There’s a line for the time I’m supposed to be there. It says Now.

Inside me, everything tightens up. I push my hair over my shoulder and pack up my stuff. Alex looks at me on my way out the door. I smile and shrug my shoulders, carefree, like, Weird. What could this be about?

I walk quickly down the hall. If I were in trouble, if someone figured out what I did to Reeve at the dance, I’d be sent to the principal’s office. Not to guidance.

Mr. Randolph has been my guidance counselor since freshman year. He’s not old. His college graduation diploma is dated ten years ago. I checked on that once. I bet he was cute, back then, but he’s started to lose his hair, which is unfortunate. His parents own the stables where we board my horse, Phantom. There are equestrian plaques and medals all over the place, from when he used to compete.

I wait for a second in his doorway. He’s on the phone, but he waves me inside.

I sit down and rehearse in my head what I’ll say, in case he does confront me. I’ll scrunch up my face and go with something like, Excuse me, Mr. Randolph? Why would I ever, ever do something like that? Reeve is one of my closest friends. This is, like, beyond ridiculous. I don’t even know what to say. Then I’ll fold my arms and stop talking until I get a lawyer.

Mr. Randolph makes an annoyed face and rubs his balding head. I wonder if that’s why he’s balding prematurely, because he’s so stressed and he rubs his head all day. “Yeah, okay, yeah, okay. Thank you.” He hangs up the phone and lets out a deep breath. “Why so nervous, Lillia?”

I force myself to smile. “Hi, Mr. Randolph.”

“I haven’t seen you at the barn much lately. You aren’t thinking of selling that horse, are you?”

“No! I’d never sell Phantom!”

Mr. Randolph laughs. “I know, I know. But if you ever change your mind, you know who to call first, right?”

I nod, but there is no way. I’d never make that phone call. I’d never, ever sell Phantom. “Right.”

“So . . . I was going over your transcripts. They look really good, Lillia. Really good. You might even have a shot at salutatorian.”

Relief washes over me. “Wow. That’s amazing. My dad will be happy.”

Mr. Randolph opens up a file with my name on it. I’m wondering if he’s going to tell me my class rank, but then he says, “However, I did notice that you still haven’t taken the swim test.”

“Oh.” Ever since Jar Island had the indoor pool built, it’s mandatory that all students pass a swim test. It’s part of graduation requirements.

“Unless that’s a clerical error?”

I wriggle back in my seat. “No. I haven’t taken it.”

He rocks his head from side to side. “Well, you do understand that passing the swim test is required for graduation.”

“Unless I get a doctor’s note, right?”

He looks surprised. Surprised and disappointed. “Correct. Unless you get a note.” He closes the file. “But don’t you want to learn to swim, Lillia?”

“I know how to not drown, Mr. Randolph,” I assure him. “But actual swimming is just not my thing.”

He gives me a look like I’m being ridiculous. “It’s a good life skill, Lillia, especially for a girl who lives on an island. It could save your life one day. Or someone else’s. Promise you’ll think about it.”

I will think about it. I’ll think about how to ask my dad to write me a doctor’s note. If he won’t, I’m sure I could get Kat to do it on his stationery.

As I walk back to class, someone’s stapling paper pumpkins on the big bulletin board, framing the October calendar. It’s only been a little more than a month since Kat, Mary, and I ran into each other in the girls’ bathroom. I’m not sure if it was good luck or maybe even fate that brought us together. Whatever it was, I’m so glad it did.

We’re all at the lunch table, and people keep coming over, trying to sign Reeve’s cast. The Reeve I know would have lapped up the attention; he would have loved every second. But not this guy. This guy couldn’t care less. All he wants to do is talk about his physical therapy plan with Rennie. They’re huddled together on the other side of the table, his cast up in her lap.

“While I have the hard cast on, I’m focusing exclusively on my upper body. Chest, biceps, triceps, back, core. Bulk up from the waist up. Then three, maybe four weeks and I’m in the soft cast. Boom. Hydrotherapy.”

I’m mesmerized as I watch him tear through two steamed chicken breasts and a huge ziplock bag of cut-up carrots and spinach. He’s inhaling food like he’s a vacuum.

“I ordered you a buoyancy belt last night,” Rennie says. “It should be here by the end of the week.”

Alex keeps leaning over and trying to convince Reeve to come to the football game on Friday, but of course selfish Reeve isn’t having it. Alex says, “Come on, Reeve. You know it would be huge for morale. The guys are scared shitless about Lee Freddington quarterbacking for us again.”

“That’s ’cause Freddington can’t throw for shit,” Derek says, his mouth full of pizza.

It’s true. We had our first game without Reeve last Friday, and it was a complete disaster. We lost big-time to a team that’s second to last in our division.

PJ pipes up, “We miss you, man. And, I don’t know, maybe you could give Freddington some tips or whatever.”

“Yeah,” says Alex. “You don’t have to suit up or anything. Just be on the sidelines. I really think it’d make a big difference.”

Reeve gulps down his Muscle Milk. Wiping his mouth, he says, “You guys are on your own now. I can’t carry you anymore. I’ve gotta worry about myself. If I don’t get my shit straight, I don’t play next fall.”

“You’re still a captain of this team,” Alex reminds him.

“I have to focus on my recovery,” Reeve says. “I’m in bed by nine and up by five thirty to work out. You think I have time to go to a football game?”

“Just think about it,” Alex says. “You don’t have to decide today. See how you’re feeling on Friday night.” It gives me a stomachache to see Alex be so patient with Reeve’s temper tantrum. If I were him, I’d tell Reeve to forget it.

Shaking his head regretfully, Derek says, “Damn, man. I can’t believe this happened to you. I was looking forward to watching you throw TDs on ESPN next fall.”

Reeve jams a forkful of salad into his mouth. Chewing forcefully, he says, “You’re still gonna see me on ESPN. Don’t count me out.”

“Yeah, Derek,” Rennie says, glaring at him. “From here on out, this is a no-negativity zone. Only positive thinking allowed.”

Reeve heaves himself out of his seat and up onto his crutches.

“Where are you going?” Rennie asks him.

“Bathroom.”

He lurches off, and Rennie watches him like a hawk, ready to spring into action if he needs her. When he’s gone, she looks around to make sure no one else is listening, and then she says to Ash, “He’s being so strong. He practically cried in my arms the other night when he heard Alabama was out. That was one of his safety schools! And there he was, begging the coaches to redshirt him for the first season.” She closes her eyes and rubs her temples. “They don’t think he’ll ever get back to where he was. I can’t wait until he proves those idiots wrong.” Rennie takes a sip of her soda. “Sure, he might not end up at a D-one school after this is all over, but any division two or three school would be lucky to have him.”

“Did you spend the night over at his house again?” Ash whispers.

Again? They’re doing sleepovers now? I fully believe that Paige would let Rennie sleep over at a guy’s house, but Reeve’s parents have always seemed pretty traditional to me. They go to church every Sunday, and Reeve calls his dad “sir.”

Running her hands through her hair, Rennie says, “I’m basically the only thing keeping him going right now.”

“Did you guys finally DTR?” Ash asks her.

“What does DTR mean?” I wonder aloud.

“Defne the relationship,” Rennie says, rolling her eyes like I am a moron for not knowing. But she doesn’t look at me. “And no, we didn’t. Not yet. He has too much on his mind right now. I just want to be there for him. That’s all he needs.” Rennie stands up and gathers her things. “I’m going to go look for him.” She leans down and gives Ashlin a peck on the cheek. “Bye, Ash. Bye, Peej, bye, Derek.”

Without even a glance in my direction, she takes off. No one seems to notice that Rennie said good-bye to everyone but me.

It’s been like this since homecoming, and every day it gets a little worse. I’m pretty sure Rennie’s mad at me. Like, really mad.

As soon as she’s out the door, I say to Ash, “Has Rennie said anything to you? About me?”

Ashlin shifts in her seat, avoiding my eyes. “What do you mean?”

“She’s been acting like a total bitch to me ever since homecoming. Is it because I got queen and she didn’t?” I bite my bottom lip. “I’ll give her my tiara if she wants it that badly.”

Ash finally looks up at me. “Lil, it’s not because of that. It’s because you kissed Reeve onstage at the dance.”

My mouth drops. “I didn’t kiss him! He kissed me!”

“But you let him. In front of everybody.”

I feel like I’m going to cry. “Ash, I didn’t want him to! He basically forced me. You know I don’t even like him. And . . . why is she mad at me and not Reeve?”

Ash gives me a sympathetic shrug. “He’s her first love. He’s her Reevie. She’d forgive him for anything.”

“But it’s not fair,” I whisper.

“Tell her you’re sorry,” Ashlin suggests. “Tell her you’d never think of Reeve like that.”

I frown and rock back in my seat. Maybe that would make it better, but I kind of don’t think so. “That’s the thing,” I say. “I shouldn’t have to.”