Fire with Fire (Burn for Burn #2)

David looks taken aback. He doesn’t know what to make of me, which I’m okay with. Tonight I can be whatever I want. “Yeah. You’re pretty. Real pretty.”

“Well, I don’t look like myself tonight,” I tell him, with more urgency than I intend. “I don’t wear this much makeup.”

He shakes his head. “But that’s the point of Halloween, right? To wear a disguise?”

I realize that I have been wearing a disguise. I might not look like the sad little fat girl anymore, but that’s definitely who’s underneath it all.

He looks nervous. I can tell he’s not sure what to say. “You know what? I used to have a lazy eye. I had to wear a patch for three years to build up the muscle.” He smiles as he confesses this. “Can you pick which eye? I bet you can’t.”

I stare into his face. His handsome face. I can’t tell, so I don’t even try to guess. Instead I say, “Can you take me home?”

David does most of the talking on the drive. He moved here from California two years ago, with his mom, after his parents got divorced. Mostly we talk about how weird it is to live here. I appreciate that David doesn’t bash it. He’s not like Kat, who I know can’t wait to move somewhere else, because everything about Jar Island annoys her. David is very measured. For example, he hates the fact that there is no good Mexican food, which I guess is a California thing. But he loves that he can still surf here.

He offers to give me a lesson.

At a red light he takes one hand off the steering wheel and slips it into mine. “Your hands are so cold.” He seems embarrassed; the words kind of fall out. I fight the urge to pull my hand away. I think, This is who I was supposed to be. A girl who isn’t afraid to flirt with boys, a girl who is confident and fun and down to have a good time. And really, I never used to be shy. Not until Reeve broke me.

I have him drop me off in front of my house. He pulls up to the curb, puts his car in park, and then leans over.

He kisses me.

I kiss him back.

It’s my first kiss, my very first one. David puts a hand through my hair and gently cups the back of my head. His mouth tastes sugary, like candy corns.

I kiss him because this is the life I should be living.

Except the only part that feels good is the part of him wanting me. I only wish I could want him back.

He pulls away from me and says, quietly, “I’m going to look for you on Monday, Elizabeth.”

I don’t say anything. My eyes are on the clock—it’s almost midnight. David closes his eyes and leans in for another kiss. Slow motion, movie style.

This time I turn my head.

The disappointment on his face is immediate.

“I should go,” I say.

“Wait. Give me your number.” He turns to the backseat, looking for his phone.

In those few seconds I bolt from the car and run up to the house. I don’t like David; I don’t want to kiss him. This isn’t my life; this isn’t who I am. I’m not . . . normal. I can’t pretend I am, not even for a night.

I sneak in the back door. I figure Aunt Bette is already asleep, but then I catch sight of her in the living room, peeking out the curtains.

“Were you spying on me?”

Aunt Bette gasps like she’s been underwater. She spins around and stares at me. “Who was that boy?”

I’m annoyed that she was watching me. It’s creepy! Don’t I deserve some privacy? Like Kat said, I’m a teenager now; I’m not a little girl anymore. “He’s no one. I’m going to bed.”

Aunt Bette follows me up the stairs. “You shouldn’t do that, Mary. These things you’re doing . . . it’s not right. You could hurt someone.”

I want to laugh. “So what? It’s not like anyone’s ever cared about my feelings!”

Aunt Bette sets her jaw. “He’s not the boy who hurt you.”

Aunt Bette’s the only person I’ve ever told about Reeve. How I felt about him, the way he treated me. “I know that!”

“That’s why you’re here, isn’t it? Because of that boy. You need to forget him, Mary. You have to let him go.” She reaches out to touch my arm, but then pulls her hand back fast, like I’m raging hot. “You have so much anger inside you. It . . . radiates.”

I stare her down. “Don’t talk about him, and you know what? I am angry. At you.” I fold my arms. “What are all those books in your room? Are you putting spells on me?”

“Mary, I—”

“Those freaky strings you’ve got hanging up on your bedroom wall. What are they for?”

Aunt Bette is shaking. “Mary. It’s for protection.”

“What do you mean, ‘protection’?” Aunt Bette looks like she doesn’t want to tell me, which makes me want to know even more. She starts backing up through the hall, but I keep closing the distance. “What are they exactly?”

Aunt Bette puts up her hands. “They aren’t working, anyway.”

I suck in a deep breath and scream, “What are they?” at the top of my lungs.

Aunt Bette sinks to the floor. “They’re binding spells,” she tells me, in a whisper of a voice.

Binding? My mind immediately flashes back to that morning when I couldn’t open my bedroom door. And the way that smoke made me feel so sick.

Could her spells have worked?

I shake these insane thoughts from my head. How could I believe this nonsense for even a second? Aunt Bette isn’t a witch. These aren’t actual spells. She’s just . . . crazy.

I crouch down so I can look her in the eyes. “Aunt Bette, you need to get out of the house. You need to start painting again. You need to go out and live your life, not try to keep me locked up in here with you.” Aunt Bette cradles her head in her hands. She won’t look at me. There’s no reasoning with her. I don’t even know why I’m trying to talk sense to a crazy person. “I want that string thing taken down. Tonight. And I want you to stop burning your little smudgy things, the chalk stuff . . . it stops, or else I’m going to call Mom and Dad and tell them all about the weird things you’ve been doing to me.”

She starts crying. And maybe it makes me a terrible person, but I don’t want to hear it. Not tonight, when my heart is already broken.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

I wake up to the sweet, sweet smell of toaster waffles. Usually, I have to wait until Saturday to have breakfast with my dad, but we’ve been given Thursday and Friday off for some kind of teacher conference. I fire off a quick text to Lillia, about going us to Mary’s house later to check on her, and then head downstairs in my big sleep shirt and socks.