Burn Before Reading

by Sara Wolf

  "There's leftovers in the fridge for lunch," I reminded him. "And you can have the last waffle in the freezer, if you want. I won't be here for breakfast."

  Dad averted his eyes from Kristin's brilliant smile and looked at me. "You don't seriously expect me to believe you're going to a sleepover?"

  My stomach sank. "Dad, I -"

  "She's not," Kristin agreed. "It's a party, Mr. Cruz. But it's a lot smaller than you think, and it's all people I know. I'll look after her, I promise."

  Dad looked between us again, then put a hand on my shoulder. Something about his gaze was soft, tired.

  "You don't have to lie to me, Bee. I know it's been...tough for you. You've earned a party. Just be safe, alright? Don’t drive anywhere, don’t drink anything anyone gives you. Call me when you're coming home."

  My heart swelled, and I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him.

  "Thanks, Dad! I promise I'll call."

  Kristin and I walked off, and I was so giddy I almost missed her getting into her car - a shiny Prius with that new-car smell. I jumped in the passenger seat, and Kristin amped up the volume on her electronic music and pulled away from the curb.

  "Your Dad's pretty cool, huh?" She shouted.

  "He really is, sometimes."

  "My Dad hates everything I do," She continued. "You're super lucky."

  I watched our duplex disappear into the night. If only she knew how sick Dad really was.

  "Yeah. I am."

  I was super lucky he was still around. I was super lucky I got into Lakecrest at all. But if my luck ran out, if Dad’s pills reacted with his brain chemistry wrong, if his own mind’s illness convinced him life wasn’t worth living anymore -

  I dreaded the dark future that sprawled out in my head, so I focused on the music instead. It was happy, upbeat. Kristin smelled even more like vanilla perfume. I didn't put anything except deodorant on. Crap - did I smell bad? I tried to sniff my armpits, but Kristin jammed on her brakes and I nearly smashed my nose into my elbow.

  "You idiot!" She shouted at a car running a red light. She inched out into the intersection, huffing. "Some people are so stupid!" She looked at me and smiled. "Not you, though. I bet you drive like a grandma."

  "What gave you that impression - was it the jeans? The glasses?"

  "The hairdo," Kristin laughed and turned down the music. "Girls with sensible ponytails don't drive like maniacs."

  "There's a little saying I'd like to introduce you to called 'don't judge a book by its cover'. I happen to drive like Vin Diesel. On cocaine."

  She laughed. "Sure."

  We were quiet until she got on the highway.

  "So. Mr. Blackthorn managed to rope you in too, huh?" Kristin asked.

  "Yeah, I guess."

  "He tried to get me to spy on the boys, like, a year ago, but it never worked. Fitz knew what I was up to right away, and Burn never said a single word to me."

  "And Wolf?"

  She buzzed her lips. "It wasn't gonna happen. Not after what happened with Mark."

  Curiosity gnawed at me. "Do you know about what happened between them?"

  "Mark and Wolf? Oh, I mean, everybody knows, Bee. Or, at least everybody thinks they know."

  I was quiet, waiting for her to spill, but she glanced at me and sighed.

  "Look, it doesn't feel right to tell you. I might not like the Blackthorn boys, but I don't want to drag them through the mud, either. We all stopped talking about it a long time ago, and I feel like that's where it should stay. In the past."

  "Fine," I put my hands up. "I get it. I'll just have to pry it from some extremely drunk senior at the party."

  "And here I thought you were just a quiet geek!" Kristin slapped the steering wheel. "You're so tenacious."

  "When I have to be," I winked.

  "Oh yeah? What's Mr. Blackthorn dangling in front of you? It can't be a college recommendation like it is for me – you’re two years too early for that."

  "My scholarship," I said. "I want to keep it, so -"

  "Aha, I getcha." She nodded. In a few minutes, we were parking in a fancy suburb, and she and I got out. She pointed to a massive McMansion in the distance, then fist-bumped me. "Let's go get what we want."

  We walked down the sidewalk, the muffled music growing louder, other dark shapes sauntering towards the lit-up house. Kristin laced her arm in mine.

  "Fitz gets super drunk," She said. "He stays downstairs and parties it up. Burn doesn't drink, but he always heads to the yard, somewhere quiet and with the least amount of people. And Wolf -" She made a face. "It's hard to describe what he does. I know he likes high places in the house. Balconies. Rooms."

  "Alright, thanks. That makes my job a little easier."

  Kristin smiled. "Anything I can do, I'm here for you. Just come find me - or you can text me."

  "Will you be, er - drunk?"

  "Oh, I don't like drinking. I'm just here to dance. And maybe make out with a few people." She winked, and I felt my face flush.

  "Right. I forgot that happens at parties."

  We made it to the front porch, and Kristin rang the doorbell. The thumping music came in crystal clear as soon as the door opened, a senior I'd seen around flashing a smile at Kristin. They hugged, and she led me inside. The house was a hundred times hotter than outside, the decor all tasteful tapestries and family photos that were slightly askew thanks to the fact people were jammed in here wall-to-wall. 'Smaller than you think' my ass, Kristin. I followed her like a sheep follows a shepherd - my eyes darting everywhere as I struggled to take in what was going on all at once; the living room was crowded with dancing people, the kitchen was a little quieter, half-empty liters of soda and vodka bottles lining the counter like weary soldiers. The hall wound around the house, and most of the guest rooms were – you guessed it - occupied by people furiously making out. Kristin pointed to the kitchen.

  "I saw Fitz in there just now. Go say hi! I'll be dancing!"

  And just like that, she disappeared into the crowd, and my lifeline was gone. My palms started sweating as I struggled through waves of people to get to the kitchen. I recognized only half of these people - the other half didn't go to our school. Everyone was dressed to impress - with metallic eyeshadow and black leather jeans and curled hair. I could hear the mutters that followed me, just barely audible below the thumping music; ‘Isn’t that her?’. ‘She tried to make-out with Wolf, right?’

  Great. That awful rumor was spreading even more. I wanted to snap the truth at them, but something stopped me – would they even believe me if I did? Probably not. People just believe what they want to – and what they want to believe is always that one lie that’s more interesting than the truth.

  God, this was such a bad idea. My first party, and I was already adrift in the sea of faces.

  But then I spotted one I knew. Fitz was at the stove, a frying pan in one hand and his arm slung around a giggling girl's shoulders. He wore a brightly-colored, open-collared shirt that would've looked stupid on anyone else, but went perfectly with his curly blond hair and scarecrow physique. He flipped the pan, a pancake doing a perfect arc, and the girl clapped excitedly. His eyes found mine, and he smiled.

  "Bee! About time you showed up. You want a pancake? They're chocolate chip."

  "N-No, I'm good," I said.

  "You look awful," He looked me up and down. "Are you gonna be sick? Did you drink too much already?"

  "I'm fine!" I snapped. "Thanks for the concern."

  "You should eat something!" The girl next to him chimed. "It helps with the booze."

  Fitz plated the pancake on a huge stack of them, and picked the plate up, jerking his head to me. "Come on back - we've got a secret hideaway."

  The girl laughed and trotted after him, and I didn't know what else to do, so I followed. They led me to a game room of some sort, with a pool table. Five or six people played, a few others sprawled on beanbag chairs and the sofa.
It was a little quieter in here, the walls sheltering us from the music. Fitz hefted himself onto the pool table and plopped the plate of pancakes in the smack-dab middle of the pool game. People complained.

  "Aw, shut the hell up!" Fitz shouted. "I made you food and this is how you repay me? Ungrateful children!"

  He waggled his finger at them as people laughed and lined up. Some used forks the girl had brought, others just straight grabbed them with their hands and chowed down like they were tacos. Fitz downed a half-glass of some amber liquid and rubbed his hands together.

  "So, Bee. Shirt and jeans, huh? Can't say I'm not surprised."

  "Oh, I'm sorry," I put on my best sardonic voice. "Was I supposed to wear something else, your highness?"

  "At least a skirt," He groaned. "Liven my life up, a little."

  "You're a pervert." I accused.

  "Unfortunately," He agreed, stuffing a piece of pancake in his face.

  "Also unfortunately," I pointed at his bright shirt. "You have no taste."

  He laughed. "Oh, you definitely grew up poor, didn't you? The tastelessness is exactly what makes it haute couture."

  "Oh, I get it now. Make it as ugly as possible, and people will buy it thinking it's subversive and edgy."

  He pointed at me. "Bingo was his name-o. You sure you don't want a pancake?"

  "Did you put something in it?" I narrowed my eyes at the plate. He gasped.

  "I'm offended! What kind of sicko would put weed butter in innocent baby pancakes?"

  “I never said weed butter.”

  “Oh, you didn’t?” He waved me off. “Then forget I ever said anything.”

  A chuckle went around the room again. Mr. Blackthorn was right - one of his sons likes drugs.

  "But why am I even speaking with you right now?" Fitz lamented dramatically. "You're here for Wolf."

  The sound of his name set my lungs on fire. "I am not!"

  He laughed, spinning a pool stick around him like a martial arts bo staff. "So smart, so driven, and yet so awfully transparent. You're a weird little paradox, Bee. Now go on. Get. He's upstairs."

  "You talk like an old man," I accused. Fitz made a little bow.

  "That's what happens when you grow up reading too many books. They never tell you about the dangers of that in school." He shooed me away. "Hurry up. Get out of here. He's waiting."

  "Wolf?" I wrinkled my nose. "Why would he be -"

  "Go!" Fitz took my arm and gingerly threw me out of the room, slamming the door behind me. I heaved a sigh. If I ever understood how a Blackthorn’s brain worked, it would be too soon.

  I lost my way in the house pretty quickly, the crowd's eyes and the pulsing music giving me a headache. I wrinkled my nose as I watched someone vomit right into one of the very expensive vases lying around. Fantastic. I’m sure someone’s mom slash housekeeper slash whoever it is that does the cleaning for rich people is going to be thrilled with that.

  I opened the sliding glass door to the backyard, desperate for some relief. People gathered on lawn chairs out here, in a semi-circle around a fire pit. I recognized one person in the circle, and felt my breath catch in my throat. Eric. What was he doing here? Who let him in - especially after everyone knew what he'd done at the last party?

  "Bee," The low voice behind me made me jump. I turned to see Burn standing there, in a flannel shirt and ripped jeans.

  "For once!" I thumped my chest to make sure my heart was still working. "Just once, would you please tap my shoulder before you greet me directly in my ear? I'd like to live past the age of seventeen, thanks."

  "Heart attacks don't kill teenagers," Burn insisted. I squinted at him.

  "Have you ever even seen a horror movie? We die all the time from a lot of things in those. Sometimes heart attacks! But especially from like, having sex. And doing drugs. And chainsaws. The chainsaws come after the sex and drugs, usually, kind of like Hollywood's warning us to be pure and chaste kids, or something? I dunno. It’s weird."

  Burn stared at me silently. I'd seen that look on his face enough to know it meant he was utterly lost at my babbling. I waved him off and we stood there, by the bushes, watching the lawn chair party commence with beers and laughter.

  Burn must've seen me staring at Eric, because he sighed.

  "He came in after it started, and he refuses to go inside the house. Smart."

  "Why is that smart?"

  "Because if Wolf sees him, that'll be the end of him," Burn said.

  "Who invited him?"

  "His friends - some guys in the debate club."

  "He came here anyway, despite the red-card." I mulled. "Like a big middle finger to Wolf. He's not going to try anything, is he?"

  "I'm watching him," Burn said simply. Those three words carried so much hidden threat I almost felt sorry for Eric. Almost. Until I saw him lean over and start whispering in a girl's ear. She recoiled, standing up and moving away, but Eric followed, cornering her between a bush and the barbeque grill. That was it, the last straw - I was sick of him. I was sick of remembering the fact I ever stood up for him. I was sick of standing around and doing nothing while something awful happened. I had a lot of practice at it, with Dad, and I hated that most of all.

  "I don't know about you," I rolled up my sleeves. "But I'm done watching."

  In retrospect, pen-and-paper, it was stupid. Hell, everything I did that night was stupid. Maybe it was the air - soaked in alcohol and weed and cigarettes. Maybe it was the infectious devil-may-care attitude that everyone seemed to carry. I don't know. But I suddenly didn't give a damn, anymore. I didn't care about the eyes watching me or the rumor surrounding me as I strode through the lawn-chair circle and grabbed Eric's shoulder, whirling him around.

  "What the hell are you doing?" I demanded. The girl behind him looked at me gratefully, taking the chance to disappear back into the house. Eric watched her go with something like anger in his eyes, his mousy hair barely disguising his irritation.

  "I'm having fun, Bee. You should try it, sometime."

  The lawn-chair circle went quiet, 'oohing' at the perceived insult.

  "I can't believe you," I snapped. "You let me stand up for you when they gave you that red card! And when I asked you why they did it, you straight-up lied to me! You knew exactly why they gave it to you. And now you have the guts to show up to another party?"

  "He didn't do anything wrong," One of the lawn-chair observers called. "Lay off."

  Eric smirked at me. "You heard him; back off, Bee. If you keep hounding me like this, I might start to think you like me. Maybe I'll go get you a drink."

  His word were heavy with implication - he'd drug me like he tried to drug some other girl. I suppressed a shudder.

  "Fuck you, creep," I spat. Eric's face turned dark, and he closed the space between us. He wasn't tall, but he was tall enough, and I was suddenly razor-sharply aware of how much thicker his biceps were than mine. I could smell the beer on his breath.

  "What did you just call me?"

  "A creep," Burn's deep voice said behind me. I felt the heat of his chest on my back, and it somehow comforted me. Burn's shadow fell over Eric and I, easily engulfing us. "She called you a creep."

  Eric backed way the hell up from me, suddenly going pale. He narrowed his eyes at me.

  "So you're shacking up with the Blackthorn assholes now, huh? How many of them are you sleeping with? One? Two? Or all three, you whore?"

  Before I could open my mouth to rip him a new one, a cascade of some pinkish, chunky liquid came crashing down on Eric's head. It smelled sour and awful - vomit. I wouldn't have escaped the splash damage if it weren't for Burn pulling me back at the last second. Eric sputtered, wildly wiping at himself to get it off. I looked up to see Wolf standing on a little balcony two stories above us, an antique vase in his hands and a wildfire in his green eyes.

  "Whoops," He called down to us. "Sorry, I was just taking out the trash."

  Eric flail
ed towards his friends, who shouted and tried to keep away from him. Burn and Wolf and I watched him crash into a lawn chair as he tried to rip off his clothes in an effort to get away from the disgusting smell. Finally, another of his friends pulled him, half-naked, up by the arm, and guided him out of the yard and into a car. I almost laughed, it was so pathetic.

  I looked up at Wolf, who made a 'tsk' sound and narrowed one eye at the retreating Eric, as if he was sorry Eric wasn't sticking around longer so he could torment him more. He caught me looking at him, the steady flame of his gaze a little less furious, and disappeared back into the house.

  Burn turned me by the shoulder. "Did any of it get on you?"

  "No, I'm fine."

  Burn's face rarely changed, so when he glared in the direction of where Eric disappeared, I was surprised.

  "If he bothers you again, let me know."

  Something about his simple offer made my stomach warm up. I smiled. "Okay. Thanks, Burn."

  "Wolf helped, too." He reminded me. I scoffed softly.

  "Yeah. I guess."

  I could feel Burn watching my face. He walked into the house for a moment, then came back out with a bottle of fancy, old wine. He handed it to me.

  "Take this to Wolf."

  I hefted the heavy bottle. "Not even a 'please'?"

  Burn was silent. I sighed.

  "Okay, okay. I'm going."

  I trudged into the house, looking back one last time. Burn had settled himself on a clean lawn chair, making it flat so he could gaze up at the stars. He was pretty much the only one out there, looking serene and unfazed and sleepy as always.

  I finally found the stairs and ascended them slowly, jumping out of the way of screeching girls going up and down, and avoiding the couples pressed into the banister and each other. I vaguely heard Fitz in the living room shout something about 'heretics', and 'blasphemers', in a very slurred voice. I smirked a little - we'd gone over those in tutoring, and we decided they were both very good insults. But this wasn't tutoring - this was a party in which I was currently tasked with delivering wine to the boy everyone thought I'd tried to kiss.

  Upstairs was just as big as downstairs, so I centered myself in relation to the yard and tried to locate the room Wolf must've been in. Sure enough, there he was; in the room at the end of the hall, sitting on a queen-sized bed and drinking from a bottle of wine on the bedside table. He wore a black sweater and jeans, both of them hugging his shoulders and hips too well to be anything but designer. His hair was an infuriatingly stylish mess as always, and the way he sat - relaxed yet somehow regal - made the inside of the guest room seem like a throne room.