Burn for Burn

by Jenny Han

  “Let’s do it,” I say. I pinch my hand hard, the web of skin between my thumb and ring finger, just to make sure I’m not dreaming.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  KAT

  IT’S FRIDAY NIGHT. EVERYONE AND THEIR MOM IS OFF island for the first away game, and I’m down at the ferry dock, waiting for my brother’s drug dealer to come in on the eight o’clock. It’s so perfect, it’s almost cliché. If only someone was here to take a picture for the yearbook. Kat DeBrassio: Most Likely to Drug the QB.

  My back is up against a dock post. I’m smoking a cigarette as the ferry comes in on black waves of water. Right on time.

  I feel for the wad of money stuffed into my front pocket. Sixty dollars in fives and singles, enough for two hits of ecstasy. I didn’t bother asking Mary for money, because after that story she told us, it wouldn’t feel right to ask her to pay. But I did ask Lillia. We met up in the girls’ bathroom this morning. She unzipped her little pink purse and took out an even littler pink purse and unzipped that too. All she had in there was her ChapStick; a golden Chanel lip gloss called Glimmer, Rennie’s signature color; Lillia’s driver’s license; a red Jolly Rancher; and two credit cards.

  I told her drug dealers don’t accept plastic.

  Lillia felt bad, I could tell, and she promised to pay me back. I told her she could buy me a carton of cigarettes or maybe something for my boat, but then she started whining that her mother goes over her charges each month, so I said forget it. I got it out of what I saved from my summer job. Whatever. It’s not like sixty bucks will make or break my college fund.

  When Lillia went into a stall to pee, I opened up her purse and took out Rennie’s precious lip gloss. What a wannabe. She probably spent half a night’s pay on it. Whistling to myself, I dumped it into the trash can.

  Cars parked on the freight deck click on their headlights and drive off the ferry. I watch other passengers, men in suits, cleaning ladies, people in supermarket uniforms, file down the plank. It’s lit by tiny white Christmas lights.

  I get pissed when I don’t see Kevin, but he’s the last one off. He’s wearing the same beat-up jean jacket he always does. I think he’s had it since he was my age. He strolls down, stops halfway to light his cigarette, and then keeps going.

  I straighten up and walk toward him. He looks at my boobs first, then my face. Classic Kevin.

  “Kat?” he says, squinting through the dark. “Is that you?”

  “Hey,” I say, and shove my hands into my back pockets. “Pat sent me down to pick up his stuff.”

  “Oh, did he now?” Kevin grits his cigarette between his teeth and gives me a dry laugh.

  “Yeah,” I say breezily, trying to hide the fact that I’m lying my ass off. While Pat was in the shower, I used his phone to text Kevin for the drugs. Pat’s friends, my friends too, use Kevin. Mostly for weed. He makes the trip to the island every Friday to make deliveries to his customers. Even though Pat lets me smoke up with him sometimes, he’d freaking murder me if he found out I’d called Kevin on my own for harder stuff. “Pat’s up at the garage, working on his bike. He cheaped out and bought a rebuilt starter, and now he can’t get the thing to turn over. I told him to just return the piece of crap and get a new one, but you know how he is. Anyway, he sent me down here.” The way I say it, I make it sound complain-y. “Asshole.”

  “Pat doesn’t really strike me as an ecstasy kind of guy.”

  I’m not sure if Kevin’s on to me or just trying to chat me up. Either way, I have to think fast, because Kevin’s right. Pat is a stoner, through and through. “He’s finally hooking up with some girl,” I say. “Only, she’s not cute. So . . . maybe he needs help.”

  Kevin laughs hard at his, so hard he coughs. Then he lifts his arms up in a deep stretch. “Well, I couldn’t get regular E from my supplier. So I got the liquid stuff instead. I’d better call that SOB and make sure he’s cool with that.”

  Liquid ecstasy? I didn’t know that existed. That’ll be even easier for Lillia to slip into Reeve’s drink. “It works just the same as regular E?”

  “Actually, it’s stronger.” Kevin reaches for his cell.

  “Nice. I know Pat’ll be cool with that.” I quick take out the money from my pocket and hand it over to Kevin, before he has a chance to dial.

  He shoots me daggers. “Not here,” Kevin barks, and looks over both of his shoulders. “Walk with me.”

  So I put the money back into my pocket and follow him into town, feeling pretty stupid. We go over to the restaurant where Rennie works, Bow Tie, and head for the back door, where the kitchen is. You can hear all kinds of restaurant noise inside—dishes getting washed, pots and pans clanking around, guys shouting out orders. I’m figuring Kevin wants to do the deal here, because it’s pretty shadowy. I reach for my money again, but he waves me off and asks, “What’s your poison, Kitty Kat?”

  Gross. “They aren’t going to serve me here.”

  “I do business with some of the bartenders. We’ll be okay. So . . . let me guess.” He looks me up and down. “You’re a Sex on the Beach kind of girl.”

  I roll my eyes. “Whiskey,” I say.

  His face lights up. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  “Wait. Can we do the deal here? I should get back to Pat. I don’t want him to freak out.”

  “Come on my rounds with me tonight, and I won’t tell your brother you’re buying E off me and trying to use him for cover.” He sighs and looks around. “This island is so damn boring. I don’t know how people live here. Come on. Keep me company. You’re my friend’s baby sister, so I ain’t gonna try nothing. Hey, I’ll even knock five bucks off what I’m charging you. Come on, Kitty Kat. What else are you doing tonight?”

  I’m not doing anything, but that’s beside the point. I just want my ecstasy and to go the hell home, not keep Kevin company on his drug runs. But I’ll take one for the team. For Mary. “All right, deal.”

  I wait while Kevin struts into the kitchen. He comes out a few minutes later with two drinks from the bar. A beer for him and a whiskey for me. The glass is small, but the brown liquid is poured to the very top. I doubt it’s top shelf. Probably well booze, the cheap stuff.

  “I like it with ice,” I say, just to be a snot. As I take the glass, some of the whiskey drips over the edge and onto my fingers. I lick them clean.

  Kevin grins out the side of his mouth. “You are a sassy little Kitty Kat, aren’t you?”

  Flirting with Kevin makes me want to barf, but I know that’s what I have to do to get what I want. And whatever. I’m good at it. I hiss and pretend to swipe at his face with my claw.

  I expect Kevin to sit down with his beer. Instead he starts walking away from the restaurant. He tucks his beer up the sleeve of his jean jacket. “Next stop, the Jar Island Retirement Home.” I guess I make a face, because he says, “I’ve got a bunch of glaucoma patients in there who need the weed.”

  I guess that’s sort of a mitzvah or whatever. Helping sick people smoke up. Noble, almost.

  “All right,” I say. I take a sip of my whiskey and pick up the pace. “We don’t want to keep the grammys and grampys waiting.”

  * * *

  I spend two hours with Kevin and then walk him back to the ferry. The island’s dead, and I don’t have anything to do, so I decide to drive over to Middlebury and stop by Mary’s house. She keeps creeping into my mind, after that story she told us. Poor thing. It’s honestly a miracle that she doesn’t have PTSD or some shit.

  I park outside her house and walk up the front steps. There’s a soft light on in the living room and the flashing light of a television. I press the doorbell and wait.

  The volume goes down, but nobody comes to the door. I press it again, then lean over the railing and peek in the windows.

  The house doesn’t look lived in, more like it got hastily closed up at the end of summer. There’s a telescope collapsed and lying on the floor. A chair with a sheet draped over it. Stacks of unopened mail sorted into
teetering piles, some newspapers and catalogs. And about ten big black trash bags bulging with God knows what.

  And then Mary’s aunt darts past the window, like she’s trying to hide. I get a prickly feeling in the small of my back as I shrink away from the glass. I lean over the railing and look up at Mary’s bedroom. A light is on, but it immediately clicks off.

  I practically sprint down the stairs and back to my car.

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  LILLIA

  ON MONDAY MORNING MR. PEABODY PASSES OUT THE homecoming ballots during homeroom.

  No real surprises. There’s Rennie, who is the obvious shoo-in. Even if she wasn’t campaigning so hard, she’d still have it. She’s the queen of Jar High, just like she always wanted. Then there’s my name. Anybody who would vote for me will vote for Rennie. Even my own sister. There’s Melanie Renfro, who is known to be slutty, so she’ll probably get some votes from random guys. Carrie Pierce, who is way into theater and basically only got nominated because people wanted an “alternative” homecoming queen. Last there is Ashlin. Ashlin who wants this almost as bad as Rennie, but she could never say so, at least not out loud. She wouldn’t dare. Ashlin will get a good number of votes, because she’s nice to everyone—to their face. She’s never beaten Rennie at anything. Until now. I’m actually happy for her, that she’ll get to beat her this one time.

  I’m about to check off Rennie’s name, when, next to me, Rennie raises her hand.

  “Yes, Ms. Holtz?” Mr. Peabody says. He has his arms crossed; he looks amused already. Teachers love Rennie. They think she’s a spitfire, a ball of energy.

  “Can I just say one thing, Mr. Peabody?” She doesn’t wait for him to say yes. She swivels around in her seat to face the rest of the class. “Before everybody votes, I just want to remind you guys of something. Homecoming queen isn’t a beauty contest, and it’s not about popularity. It’s about dedication, and school spirit, and making this a better place to go to school.”

  As if planning parties not everyone is invited to makes this school a better place. Ugh. She’s so transparent, I can’t believe everyone else doesn’t see through her.

  Rennie lowers her eyelashes, fake-humbly. “So please consider that when you vote, you guys.” As soon as she’s done with her speech, Rennie whispers to me, “This is so mine.”

  “Nobody deserves it more than you,” I whisper back, showing her my ballot with her name checked off.

  She reaches over and squeezes my knee. “You’re the best, Lil.”

  * * *

  My knee socks keep falling down. I wanted to wear sweats or leggings, but Rennie kept saying how knee socks are part of the powder-puff tradition. I was like, can’t we just dress up for the actual game? This is just practice. But no.

  Like always, powder-puff is the day before the homecoming game. That’s when the senior girls play flag football, and the senior boys dress up like cheerleaders.

  As soon as it came out that Reeve was coaching one team and Alex was coaching the other, Rennie volunteered to be captain on Reeve’s team. Ashlin’s the other captain and she won the coin toss, and I was praying that she would pick me, which she did. Obviously, I hate Alex, but Reeve is disgusting. I used to think his ego, his cockiness was a put on. No one could be that into himself. But now I know that it’s all true. I wonder if he’s thought about Mary once since that day. If he even realizes the hell he put her through. I doubt it. I doubt he’d even remember her name. Honestly, I think death would be going too easy on that monster.

  Across the field Reeve blows his whistle. I watch him throw his head back and scream, “Suicides! I want suicides, men!” He’s loving this. Obviously, their team is going to win, since Reeve is Mr. Football, and both he and Rennie are super-competitive.

  Alex doesn’t even have a whistle. Our team is basically just throwing footballs at each other, dropping them more often than we catch them. Ashlin yelps every time the ball comes near her face, and I can’t even get my whole hand around the thing. I don’t get why we can’t use a Nerf. People could get hurt.

  “Girls!” Alex says, clapping his hands. “Run a few laps to get warmed up, okay? Then we’ll practice some plays.”

  Some of the girls obey, but I ignore him and toss the ball to Ashlin again. It lands nowhere near her, and she goes running for it. “Sorry!” I call out.

  I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around. It’s Alex. “Cho. I need to talk to you for a second.”

  I can barely stand to look at him. Yesterday I saw him and Nadia talking in the courtyard. And I felt pretty stupid about the fact that I almost bailed on the Limp jersey plan. If anything, I wish we’d done more to Alex. But it’s not my turn anymore. “Um, I’m trying to practice,” I say.

  “Now!” he barks, and stalks over to the bleachers.

  I make a face at Ashlin, and she shrugs and jogs after the other girls on the track.

  I follow Alex over to the bleachers and cross my arms. “Yes, Coach?” I say it as bitchy as I possibly can.

  In a low, urgent voice he asks, “What is your problem with me?”

  I stare at him. I just thought he was going to yell at me for not doing laps. “I don’t have a problem with you, Coach,” I say, but I’m glad he knows I’m angry. “Can I go now?”

  “Stop calling me Coach! I thought we were friends, but lately you’re acting like you hate me. I don’t get it.”

  Is Alex honestly this dumb? I probably shouldn’t say anything, but I can’t help myself. I look around to make sure no one’s in earshot, and then I say, “You want to be my friend? I’ll tell you how. Don’t call my sister. In fact, don’t talk to her ever again.” Alex opens his mouth like he’s going to defend himself, but I keep going. “Don’t come to our house in the middle of the night and get her to sneak out, don’t give her alcohol at parties, don’t—”

  “You’ve got it all wrong! I didn’t give her any alcohol.”

  “Hello! I found her shirt. And I know that she slept over your house that night. She’s fourteen, you pervert!”

  Alex’s jaw goes slack in disbelief. Then he rears up and says, “Pervert? You need to get your facts straight. First of all, I never gave her any drinks. She was sneaking rum with her friends, and by the time I caught them, she was already drunk off her ass. While you were at some other party, I was cleaning up her throw-up and making sure she didn’t leave and get caught by your parents!” His Adam’s apple is bobbing up and down, and his fists are clenched. “Her friends left her, so she had to spend the night. I stayed up the whole time to make sure she didn’t drown in her own vomit. So, you’re welcome.”

  I cross my arms. “If that’s true, why were you sneaking off with her in the middle of the night on the first day of school? Don’t bother trying to deny it. I saw you drop her off.”

  “Because she called me crying! She wanted to make sure you never found out she was drunk that night. She made me promise not to tell you. That’s how much she cares what you think of her.” He lets out an impatient breath of air, shaking his head. “I told her that you had every right to be upset. And that I was going to be watching her too. And that if she ever had a drink in front of me, I was going to make sure you knew about it.”

  I don’t say anything. I just look back over at the field where all the girls are running laps. I’m shivering now.

  “I can’t believe you would ever think that of me, Lillia. You and I have been friends since the ninth grade! Our families are friends! Nadia’s practically my kid sister. I would never think of her like that!” He pushes his hair out of his eyes. Now that the sun isn’t as strong as it was in summer, his hair is looking less blond and more coppery. And longer. “That’s, like, sick.”

  “I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say.

  “Don’t worry about it.” I feel this sudden urge to confess everything to him. To really apologize, the way he deserves. But I can’t. Because it’s not just me. It’s Kat and Mary. I had them put themselves on the line for nothing. />
  I’m shaking, because I’m cold and because I’m sick over what I’ve done.

  Alex takes a step toward me. He unzips his windbreaker, shrugs out of it, and drapes it over my shoulders. It has a clean laundry smell.

  “Okay?” he asks, standing close to me. So close we’re almost touching. “I can’t handle it, you and me not being friends.” Quietly he adds, “You mean a lot to me. Always have. Always will.”

  I open my mouth to speak, but before I can say anything, he starts to back away, back toward the field. Jogging, he calls, “Don’t think I’m letting you out of running those laps, Cho!”

  I run them. Every last lap. Because if I stop, I’ll have to start thinking about what he said, and how I felt when he said it.

  * * *

  On Thursday, game day, PJ surprises me with a Tupperware full of snickerdoodles. I’m pretty sure his mom made them, because they are wrapped up in wax paper, and they are so perfectly chewy and soft, but I’m fine with that. All Ashlin gets from Derek is a sleeve of Chips Ahoy!, not even the whole box. Still, she is excited because she likes him and she’ll take anything he gives her. Reeve made Rennie some kind of protein cookie. They are as hard as bricks and they look like manure, but Rennie makes a big show of eating them at lunch.

  A ton of people show up to watch us play. Not as many as an actual football game, but still. The boys from the team dress up in cheerleading uniforms and wigs and cheer along the side. It’s pretty funny. PJ wears a long black wig, and he keeps trying to do toe-touches, my signature move.

  Just like I predicted, Rennie and Reeve’s team wins. Rennie scores the only touchdown, and she just about clotheslines Teresa to make it to the end zone. After the game is over, Reeve throws her over his shoulder and carries her off the field, screaming himself hoarse. As if they won the gold medal at the Olympics or something.

  They better enjoy it while they can. Because they’re about to lose, big-time.