SLOW BURN

by Christie, Nicole

  I feel like I should apologize. She looks so discouraged—even her tailored gray suit is drooping. Looking at her, I realize Aunt Jo has an amazing figure, and she’s pretty underneath her stern expressions and thick eyebrows. I wonder if anyone’s ever noticed this? Why am I noticing this? I wonder if guys, whom we all know are more visual than girls, have checked her out? Would they think she’s hot? Why am I wondering about this right now? I wish someone would get me a sandwich. I probably couldn’t eat it, but I could stare the hell out of it.

  Mom is talking to Aunt Jo, interrupting my mental babbling. “—do about it?”

  “Well, I think CCTV is our best bet, but the students are vehemently opposed.” Aunt Jo sighs. “And the parents aren’t exactly thrilled about the idea, either.”

  “Why not?” Mom asks, perplexed. She glances over at me briefly. “Shouldn’t we be comforted by the added security?”

  “You have to understand how these people think, Erica. Leclare is very exclusive, the cream of the crop. Our parents pay a lot of money to ensure that. Now, exterior cameras are fine—they keep the riffraff out. But interior cameras imply that their pedigreed angels need to be watched like common criminals. And god forbid we capture proof of any wrongdoings!”

  The venom in Aunt Jo’s voice shocks me. I thought she was one of them, but that bitter look on her face right now tells me she only wishes she was. I make that bitchy jealous face all the time when I think no one’s looking.

  Instead of clearing her throat, and subtly reminding Aunt Jo of my presence, Mom is nodding in agreement. “I know what you mean. I would love to sneak a camera in here, and catch some of these doctors in the act,” she says dreamily. “Half of them would have their licenses stripped so fast, their heads would spin.”

  Oh, she’s about drop some juicy gossip! I don’t want to call attention to myself, because she’s focusing on Aunt Jo—but I really need to cough again. Wow, Mom, I haven’t seen that spark in your eyes in a long time. It makes me wonder if she uses up all her liveliness and personality at work—and comes home with dead batteries. I should visit here more often. Maybe next time I could fall down some stairs, or something.

  My loud cough reminds them I’m in the room and listening to everything they’re saying. Aunt Jo forces a smile to her face, and comes close to pat me on the hand.

  “I think it would be best if you let me handle the press, Juliet. We’ve got to speak carefully, or it will get blown way out proportion.”

  “I have no plans whatsoever to talk to the media about this,” I say firmly. God, no.

  “Good.” She looks relieved. “I have to get going, I have several phone calls to make. Dear, I’m going to make an appointment for you to talk to Calvin, our school psychologist.” She looks at Mom for approval. “He’s very good at listening, and after the traumatic experience you’ve just been through, I think it would help a lot if you saw him.”

  “I don’t need to…” I begin.

  “That’s a good idea,” Mom interrupts. But she’s got this look on her face, like, she thinks it’s really unnecessary, and my brush with death was no big deal.

  Why am I being so whiny about this? It’s not like I’m a little kid, and she can sit next to my bed and sing me camp songs all day like she used to when I was sick.

  Aunt Jo says her goodbyes, but stops to huddle with Mom for a moment. She puts her hand on Mom’s arm, and leans in to talk so I can’t make out anything. She gives her shoulder a pat after the brief conversation, then turns to go.

  “Oh, Juliet.” Aunt Jo stops, and turns around. “You have quite a few concerned friends waiting to see you—many of whom are football players. You might want to remind them about the big game tonight!”

  I feel my eyes grow big as I look over at Mom. “They’re still out there? Tell them I’m okay, and they can go. No, wait! Can Johnny visit me—just for a little while?”

  Mom raises a dark eyebrow at me. “Didn’t you break up with him?”

  “Yeah, but…we’re still friends.” I quickly try to smooth my wild hair while simultaneously searching for a shiny surface to check out my reflection.

  She looks amused at my quick primping session. “Alright, but just for a few minutes. You’ll be getting discharged soon, anyway.”

  “I know. Thanks.”

  She leaves, and not long after, Johnny walks in. He immediately gathers me in his arms, holding me like I’m breakable china. Tears suddenly fill my eyes as I allow myself to sink into his familiar warmth. He looks so worried and harassed, I feel I should take back almost every mean thing I’ve ever said about him.

  “You okay?” Johnny pulls back and searches my face intently, his hands on my shoulders. His jaw clenches as he looks me over. “What the hell happened, Teeny?”

  I take a deep breath, trying to push my sobs back. “I’m fine,” I say in a wobbly voice. “I’ll tell you what happened, but first—did you text me right before the pep rally?”

  “No,” he says, confusion making his brow furrow. “I didn’t have my phone on me all day. I left it in my locker ‘cause I didn’t want to get busted by Driskell for having it on in class again.”

  I nod, looking down at my hands. I didn’t really think the text was from him. I look up at him, and quickly explain what happened.

  Johnny’s cerulean eyes seem to darken with dangerous intent. “I’ll find out who did this,” he promises, his voice grim.

  I lean back against the pillows. “Okay, great,” I say in a casual tone. “But I think I already know who it was. Kara.”

  He stares at me, his face blank for a second. “Kara?” he repeats incredulously.

  “She hates my guts,” I blurt out. “Especially after…I can totally see her doing it.”

  Johnny starts to chuckle. “Babe, Kara can barely open a water bottle by herself, let alone mess with smoke bombs. It wasn’t her. She wouldn’t do something like that, anyway.”

  Wow, he seriously underestimates the devious little bitch. I guess she puts on a good act for him. I don’t want to argue the point again, so I just give a one-shouldered shrug. If I find out she set me up, I’ll take care of it myself.

  “Did you tell the cops about the text?” Johnny asks, running a hand through his tousled blonde hair. “No one’s asked to talk to me yet.”

  “I didn’t. I didn’t want anyone to accuse you of anything when I know you didn’t do it,” I say. “Plus, I don’t want you to miss the game. Speaking of which—you’d better get out of here.”

  “Fuck the game,” Johnny says explosively. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Uh-oh, he’s got that stubborn immovable look on his face right now. I let out a sigh and rub my sore eyes. “I’m fine, Johnny. I’m going to be released soon, anyway.”

  “So I’ll wait around and take you home.”

  I shake my head. “No, just go. My mom will take me home, then I’m going to shower, and go straight to bed.”

  He starts to argue, but I can be stubborn, too. Besides, I know he’d hate to let his teammates down. They take their cues from him and Dean. If Johnny stayed, then so would they. I finally convince him to go, and promise to answer his call after the game.

  Right after he leaves, I remember I’ve lost my phone. I wonder if it’s still in that storage closet, or if someone stole it by now. Not because it’s such a cool phone, or anything. To the students of Leclare, the only thing of value on it would be all the hot guys’ numbers I have. And the pictures. I try to think if there’s something incriminating, or dirty on there—I don’t think so. I hope not!

  I call Heather using the hospital phone, and she shrieks so loudly, I have to move the receiver away from my ear. Her freak out gets me all worked up again, and we babble hysterically at each other for a few minutes. I’m impressed by how emotional she seems, but then I notice how she’s slurring some of her words. She’s drunk at almost five in the afternoon? I tell her to come see me when she’s sober, then hang up on her when she belches loudly in my ear.


  Depressed, I call Dad, because I’m sure Mom hasn’t bothered to tell him. He immediately says he’s driving down to see me, and I have to tell him not to since I’ll be at home and asleep by the time he’d get here. I promise to call him when I wake up, and he assures me he’ll tell Michelle what happened. It’s not like I want everyone to know, but they’d be pissed and hurt if they found out from someone else. I know I would be.

  Gah. I just wanna ball up under a hot spray of water in my shower—that’s how I do my best thinking. There’s no question that this was a deliberate attack on me—more than just an embarrassing prank. Who has access to Johnny’s locker and hates my guts?

  Kara.

  Johnny didn’t see the look on her face the night I caught the preppy rapist guy on her. I know it’s her. I just have to prove it.

  Yeah, how?

  ******

  Chapter 22

  It’s Saturday, and I feel much better. My chest and throat hurt a little, but not bad enough that I can’t eat the homemade brownies Heather brought over last night. Mrs. Jones is an excellent baker, by the way—Heather should so be fat. Johnny calls from his phone, which was still in his locker—though our texts have been mysteriously erased. He and Dean come over after the game—even though I told Johnny I have no plans to leave my bed. So it’s really awkward with them standing in my room while I hide under the covers the whole time. Johnny got me a gorgeous plush carousel unicorn, buttercup yellow with a sparkly horn. He seems unfazed by my room, which I haven’t had time to un-crazy for his visit. Dean brings me cherry Jell-O, which is weird, but surprisingly thoughtful, considering my sore throat. It’s hard to eat it under the confines of my blanket, but I manage.

  Oh, Leclare won over Easton High, thirty-two to fourteen. That has Johnny in a great mood, and he tries to convince me to go to the dance with him before I head over to my dad’s. I stubbornly refuse, reminding him of Michelle’s party tonight. Of course, he immediately decides he should go with me. Though I’m really tempted to say yes so he doesn’t go to homecoming, I resist. He got crowned king last night, and it wouldn’t be right if he didn’t show up. I don’t ask who won queen, and he doesn’t volunteer the information.

  I do homework at Dad’s until Michelle comes to get me. I remain super mopey—even though she pampers me like a princess. She takes me to the mall to get a new phone, and now we’re eating huge ice cream sundaes in her newly renovated kitchen. The stainless steel counters are awesome.

  “You have to go to that dance, Juliet,” Michelle declares, licking whipped cream off her thumb. “Screw my party—homecoming is an important rite of passage. God, that was a great night for me. I got so drunk, I threw up all over the back of Mrs. Dempsey’s head.”

  I make a face at her. “That was a great night for you?”

  “Well, yeah. That bitch gave me a D in Spanish.” She laughs, her gaze faraway as she reminisces. “I told her I was pregnant, not drunk, and she felt so sorry for me—she got me all these brochures on teen pregnancy, and available resources for teen mothers. I had to pretend I had a growing baby bump for the rest of the school year. Man, I was so trashy.”

  She looks worriedly down at her stomach, smoothing a hand over it. I can’t detect a change yet—maybe she’s a little thicker in the waist, but that could be because she ate half a Mexican restaurant for lunch, followed by these sundaes. Hell, I look a little pregnant, too—I was right there with her, burrito for burrito.

  “There’s no way I’m blowing off your party,” I say firmly, pointing my spoon at her. “I know how long you’ve waited for this to happen…I wanna be there to celebrate with you.”

  Michelle’s face softens, blue eyes getting all sparkly. “I know you do, sweetie. But I don’t want you to miss out on celebrating with your friends, too. I know it’s been hard on you, going back and forth all these years—cut yourself some slack. Besides, you aren’t gonna miss anything special. Unless you’re into watching me and my friends sing eighties hits karaoke all night.”

  “Actually, that does sound like fun. Thanks to you, I’m all about the eighties.” I laugh, but it quickly turns into a sigh. “I don’t have a costume, anyway.”

  “Mmph. What’s the theme?” she asks through a mouthful of Rocky Road.

  “Zombie Apocalypse.”

  “Oh, my god, that’s so easy! I can have you looking like a hot dead chick in fifteen minutes, no problem! Remember those pictures of me in my Goth phase?”

  Oh, yeah. Uncle Derek keeps a couple in his wallet so he can take it out and laugh at her sometimes. “I don’t know,” I hedge, tapping my short nails on the counter. “Everyone’s gonna be talking about the smoke bomb incident, and I really don’t feel like answering questions about what happened.”

  I expect sympathy from my aunt, but she puts her spoon down with a bang, her expression exasperated and stern. “Juliet Somers! Put your big girl panties on, and quit being so wishy-washy! Do you want to be with Johnny—yes or no?”

  “It’s not that simple—” I begin heatedly.

  “Yes, or no?!”

  I blink. “Yes?”

  “Then quit angst-ing, and do something about it now! Go to the dance, make up with him—but don’t have sex with him. Don’t even show him boob.”

  “Michelle!” I shriek, grossed out.

  “Seriously.” She giggles like pre-teen. “Never show the boobies until you’re married. ‘Cause if you do, they’ll, like, fall off. Or something just as bad.”

  I roll my eyes at her. “I love you, but you’re a freak.”

  “Way to have respect for your elders.” She stares down at her half-eaten sundae, suddenly pale. “I need meat. Red meat. Maybe beef jerky,” she mumbles contemplatively.

  “Want me to get you some?” I offer, half-standing.

  “No, I want you to go to the dance, and talk to your boyfriend.” She sighs. “I think he’s a controlling asshole, but…obviously he has his good points.”

  “But what about Dad? He—”

  “He’ll be fine. I’ll cover for you.”

  Tiny flowers of excitement begin to bloom in my chest. “Are you sure? Because I really don’t have to—”

  Michelle holds her hand out like a traffic cop, halting my sentence. “No, you really do. But if you miss my baby shower—then we’ll have words.”

  Impulsively, I lean over to hug her. “You’re so awesome.”

  “I am awesome. I’m going to make the world’s best mother, right? I’m awesome, and cool—and I have an endless amount of patience…”

  Uncle Derek wanders into the kitchen, looking sweaty and harassed. “Hey, Chelle, I couldn’t find those color-changing candles anywhere. Do we really need them for tonight?”

  Poor Uncle Derek. It’s like watching that part of the horror movie where the demon takes over the girl’s body. Michelle’s face suddenly contorts into a snarl, teeth bared. I swear I see something evil pass through the blue depths of her eyes as she starts screeching at him in what can only be the language of tongues.

  Uncle Derek flinches. He does the smartest thing he can in that situation: he makes a run for it. I’m already halfway to the door myself.

  “Where are you going?”

  Michelle’s completely normal tone of voice stops me. I cautiously turn to face her, and find her face smooth, pretty, and slightly puzzled. “I was just going to see—uh, check on…I don’t know.”

  “Well, I know.” Michelle beams, and hops clumsily off her stool. “We’re going to the mall, baby!”

  Oh, great. She’s pregnant with a demon baby.

  We find the cutest black dress at Darkly Eden, a weird little store that also sells wiccan candles and flavored lube. I desperately look away when Michelle holds up two bottles and frowns back and forth between passionate strawberry and kinky coconut lime, trying to decide between them.

  Anyway, the dress is sexy and short, held up by a spider web of straps, with a torn chiffon skirt. It’s not very apocalyptic, but I do fe
el kind of mysterious and witchy in it. I snatch up these adorable clomping back shoes that also have nothing to do with zombies, but they make me look tall and edgy, so I’ll take ‘em. I also buy crazy long spidery lashes, which Michelle assures me will look fantastically spooky if we line my eyes with black kohl. I debate whether I should get this cool electric blue wig to go with my outfit, but then I try it on, and—ick, I look really stupid. Maybe I should get it for Heather…I bet it would look hot on her. She could totally rock it at Alfredo’s party tonight.

  Hm. Maybe it would help convince her to drop me off at the dance on her way to the party.

  “I think you’re making a huge mistake.”

  It’s hard to take Heather seriously when she’s wearing the blue wig I bought for her, and a strangely decorated spandex body suit. When I ask her what she’s supposed to be, she informs me that she’s a part of the female anatomy, and invites me to guess which part. I vigorously decline.

  “I thought you like Johnny,” I say after a short pause to fix my droopy spider eyelash. “His cheating ass, notwithstanding.”

  “I do like Johnny. And I like you. I just don’t like the two of you together,” she clarifies, tugging at her body suit while she’s stopped at a red light. “Why do you have to get back together with him? Dude, I think you’re just seriously horny for him.”

  I try to roll my eyes, but the fake lashes make it so weird. “I don’t know if I’m going to get back together with him. I want to talk about the possibility of trying again.”

  Heather grimaces at that, but then she mutters, “God, this suit is giving me a serious wedgie.” She clears her throat and glances over at me. “Well, Jule, since you asked for my opinion—”

  “I didn’t, actually.”