Burn for Burn (Burn for Burn #1)
Page 31“I’m sorry I’m late, Senor,” he says, rushing in. “I had a doctor’s appointment.”
Senor Tremont frowns. Then he puts a hand up to his ear, pretending like he can’t hear Alex. “En español, Senor Lind. Por favor.”
Alex is halfway to his seat. He stops, his shoulders sag, and his eyes roll to the back of his head. I have to cover my mouth to keep in a laugh.
“Yo . . . yo soy . . . ,” Alex tries.
I lean forward on my elbows and cradle my chin in my hands. I really, really, really wish Lillia and Kat were here to see this for themselves.
Alex is trying to conjugate the verb “apologize” for the third time when the fire alarm goes off.
CHAPTER TWENTY
KAT
ONCE THE FIRE ALARM STARTS GOING OFF, I FLICK MY hand so that the cap of my Zippo lighter snaps closed. Just in time too, because I think I’m almost out of butane. Plus the metal case is blazing hot. I blow on it, jump off the radiator in the girls’ bathroom, and crouch down at the door. The top part of the door is wood, but the bottom is covered in thin slatted vents. I watch the hallway light get sliced by pair after pair of legs hurrying their way to the nearest exit. I hear one of the teachers say, “We didn’t have a drill planned for today, did we?” Another teacher says, “I think this might be the real deal.” They instruct their students to hurry along with urgent This is not a test voices.
Yeah. Hurry the eff up. I’ve got work to do.
Jar Island only has a volunteer fire department, so I figure it’ll take them at least ten minutes to get here. It takes one, maybe one and a half, for the school to empty. As soon as the coast is clear, I push open the door and start running.
The senior hallway will do the most damage, so that’s where I start, slapping up the photocopies every few feet. On classroom doors, on lockers, on the spout of the water fountain.
I know this is supposed to be Lillia’s revenge, but I have to admit, this feels pretty freaking awesome. Alex has tried calling me a few times in the last week. Not that I bothered to answer, or to call him back. He doesn’t deserve to ever speak to me again. That’s how it is with me—you do me wrong, you’re dead to me.
Except for Lillia. I’m making a temporary exception in her case.
At the end of the hall, I kick the door of the stairwell open and take the stairs two at a time, putting up copies as I go. The alarm is so loud, my ears are about to bleed. The emergency lights are giving off big bright flashes. I remember my brother’s friend Luke pulling the fire alarm my freshman year. He got suspended for a week, and he had to pay a big fine for wasting the volunteer fire department’s time. I hustle even faster.
When I reach the landing, I duck so I’m out of sight at the window, then sprint the rest of the way up to the second floor, where the freshman lockers are. Adrenaline pumps through me, and I feel like I could run forever.
I think about Nadia coming back in, seeing Alex’s face and reading his stupid poem, and being completely mortified. I doubt she’ll ever want to go for rides in his SUV again. I freaking love it. I love that Alex is going to get dumped by a freshman, that everyone in school is going to laugh at his corny ass.
I get another stretch of hallway done, though it takes me a lot longer this time because I have to stop and rip off pieces of tape.
Then I hear the sirens.
I’m just about on the first floor when a team of firemen burst through the doors. They’ve got their hard hats on, flashlights beaming, walkie-talkies crackling.
Luckily, I’m right in front of the auditorium. I duck inside and hide myself in the folds of the big American flag. A second later two firemen bound in. I hold my breath and watch their flashlights hit the walls, the ceilings, the stage.
They yell “Clear!” and duck back out into the hall, continuing their search for a fire.
They won’t find one, but Alex is gonna get burned.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
LILLIA
I DIDN’T EVEN HAVE TIME TO GO TO MY LOCKER AND get my jacket. The teachers were freaking out, pushing us along through the hallways like the building was really on fire. It’s super-bright outside, but it’s freezing, especially for this early in September. I’m shivering, huddled close to Ashlin, who puts her arm around me.
PJ says, “You want my jacket, Cho?”
I nod. “Yes, please!” PJ shrugs it off and hands it over. I put it on, and Ashlin zips me up, hopping from foot to foot. It smells as mildewy as PJ’s basement, but it’s better than nothing.
We had a fire drill last week. This doesn’t feel like a drill. The teachers didn’t seem to know anything about it. I wonder . . . could this be Kat’s doing? She said she’d get those posters up, but even for her this is gutsy.
“Maybe,” I say as the volunteer fire truck comes barreling into the parking lot. Some of the freshmen start clapping and chanting “Let it burn! Let it burn!”
So juvenile.
We’re in the parking lot for another half hour while the firemen check out the building. I can’t feel my toes. The firemen finally come out and give the all clear, and the teachers start ushering us back inside.
I’m walking down the senior hallway when I see them. Our posters, with Alex’s smiling face and his poem right next to it—on lockers, on walls. They’re everywhere.
Alex has seen them too. He’s stopped short in front of a whole cluster of them on a set of lockers. Slowly he says, “What the . . .”
Reeve tears a sheet down and starts reading it out loud, doubling over with laughter. “Winter stars fall so I keep wishing. . . . I love the way you look in sweaters. Can we Eskimo kiss all night long? ’Cause your red ribbon has me tied up in knots!”
That doesn’t sound like the poem Kat was reading in the car. “The Longest Hallway” one.