Playing with Fire

by Sherry D. Ficklin

  Taking a step back, he visibly composes himself. “I thought we were having fun getting to know each other. Why the cold shoulder all of a sudden?” he asks, confused.

  “We were, but maybe you should have mentioned in all that getting to know each other that you had a girlfriend,” I snap, clutching my book to my chest.

  For a minute, he looks even more confused, and then he laughs. “I don’t have a girlfriend. Who told you that? Reid?”

  My stomach churns. Have I really been a jerk all day for no reason? God, that is so like me.

  “Um, I saw you with a girl this morning, at your truck,” I fumble weakly.

  “A pretty blonde?” he asks, shaking his head.

  I nod, too mortified to speak.

  “My sister, Georgia.”

  “Oh.”

  Blood rushes to my face, making the tips of my ears burn. It’s official. I’m the jerk.

  “So, now that we’ve established I am not involved in any form of committed relationship, why don’t you come to the game?” He smiles, a single dimple blooming, and just like that, I’m forgiven.

  I shift back and forth on my feet. “Like I said, I have plans.”

  “Break them,” he says seriously.

  I raise one eyebrow. “Why should I?”

  He takes a deep breath, raking one hand through his hair before finally answering. “Reid… isn’t the guy he seems to be. Seriously. I’ve known him a long time and—”

  I stop him right there. “Just so you know, I’ve heard the same about you, from several people. Whatever this old drama is between you guys, I’m out of it. So I’ll judge for myself who to spend time with.”

  He looks at me for a minute, a dozen different emotions swirling in his expression. Finally, he nods. “Fine. But why don’t you come hang out with me Saturday? Some friends and I are having a thing.”

  “A thing? Like a party thing?”

  He shrugs, “Sort of.”

  I bite my lip. It sounds like fun, but not only am I pretty busy all day Saturday, but the idea of going to a party... I mentally flip through my excuse list.

  “You do owe me one now. For jumping to conclusions and blowing me off this morning after first period,” he persuades, smiling. “In the spirit of judging for yourself and all.”

  “It’s just, I just have lots of stuff to do on Saturday,” I say apologetically. “And I’m not great with things. Gatherings. Parties. I kind of suck actually.”

  “I doubt that. But what do you have to do Saturday?” he asks, gently touching my elbow.

  The feel of it makes my stomach flip again, but this time for a different reason. “Boring stuff. Laundry, new tags for my car, stuff like that.”

  “Ok, so I’ll come over in the morning, help you run your errands, and then we’ll hang out.” It isn’t a question, just a statement of fact.

  “Do I get a choice?” I ask.

  He shakes his head. “Not really. I mean, you can say no, but I think if you weren’t at least as curious about me as I am about you, you wouldn’t have been so upset when you thought I had a girlfriend.”

  His words make me blush so hard I think my hair might actually burst into flames. I say nothing. What can I say to that? He’s totally right. And it irritates the shit out of me.

  He leads me into class and deposits me next to Reid with a smirk. Reid ignores him, pulling open his laptop. Once again, five minutes with Oliver has left me completely shaken and half incoherent.

  “You okay?” Reid mutters.

  I nod, rubbing my eyes. “He’s persistent, I’ll give him that.”

  “That’s one word for it.”

  ***

  The afternoon drags the way only Friday afternoons can, before the last bell finally sounds our freedom. Derek, Kayla, Bianca, and Reid are waiting for me beside my car by the time I make it outside.

  “Cassy can’t make it. She has Student Council tonight,” Kala explains, loading everyone into the car.

  As it turned out, Derek lives pretty close to me, just a few blocks over. If we were six-year-olds, we would have been comfortably in walkie-talkie range. I drop him off first, then Bianca, who is three doors down from Kayla. Reid lives in officer housing, which is just a mile or so from the school. His is a big, white house with an immaculate green lawn and blue-and-black patio furniture on the front deck.

  “You wanna come in?” he asks when we arrive. “See what you can look forward to?”

  “Sure,” I say, pulling into the wide, oval driveway.

  It is just as nice inside as I expected, and I feel a twinge of jealousy. The entryway is long with vaulted ceilings and hardwood floors—a stark contrast from my cold linoleum and faux tile. The only thing they have in common is the plain white paint scheme—well, that and the lack of pictures on the walls. There are a few framed paintings here and there, a motivational poster in the hall that reads “Discipline is the bridge between goals and accomplishments,” but no family photos, no little plaster handprints, and no mementos of any kind. We walk down the hall, past a small table that holds one framed picture of his parents on their wedding day. They look young and happy, walking under a canopy of crossed swords in traditional Marine Corps style. He, strikingly similar in coloring to Reid, in his dress blues, a deceptive name for the black formal jacket, and she in a slender, simple white gown. My father has a similar photo on his nightstand, he and my mother on their wedding day. It’s flanked by a photo of my first day of kindergarten when I was all pigtails and flower dresses. It makes me sad that there isn’t a similar photo of him anywhere to be found.

  No one is home as he gives me the tour. They have a media room that looks like a miniature movie theater, complete with two plush red armchairs and a square, tabletop popcorn maker. Reid’s room is down the hall, and is more or less what I expected. The walls are covered in posters, a periodic table, original trilogy theater re-prints, one of a dinosaur with two grabby sticks that says unstoppable, and a poster of Albert Einstein sticking out his tongue. His desk is cluttered with notebooks and wadded-up papers, a sleek new laptop surrounded by empty Mountain Dew Code Red cans, and a glass filled with pens. Another table holds a Bunsen burner and some test tubes filled with colorful fluids. The shelf next to his bed is stuffed with trophies and medals. I pick one up and read the inscription.

  “State karate finalist? I’m impressed. And a little afraid.”

  He grins, blushing fiercely, and rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s not a big deal.”

  I sit down on the corner of his bed. It’s big, probably queen sized, with thin, green camouflage blankets and pillows. He needs a new bed set as much as I do. “Nice place,” I say as I bounce a bit.

  He shrugs. “Its home.”

  For all its comforts, it doesn’t feel very homey to me. It feels awkward. Uncomfortable. “I’d better get going. I need to clean up before we go out tonight.”

  Reid walks me to the door, gives me a short goodbye, and shuts the door as I walk to my car. The afternoon sun is strong and hot, and it’s made my interior uncomfortably warm. Leaning across the seat, I roll down the passenger window before driving away. Tucked into the seat is one of Derek’s collar studs. Must have fallen off at some point, I realize, rolling it between my fingers. Stuffing it in my pocket, I make mental note to take it over tonight.

  I drop by Dad’s new office on the way home, as requested. The shiny new hangar with the static jet fighter on display out front makes it difficult to miss. This base holds three types of aircraft and ten squadrons. The A-6 is the ugliest of the three. It’s big, it’s loud, and it looks like there’s a weird horn protruding from the front of its grey hull. But its job is electronic countermeasures—a fancy term for radar jamming. The second aircraft on base is the Harrier, best known for being in an Arnold Schwarzenegger movie once. They are sleek and cool looking, and have the ability to hover in midair. They also fall out of the sky so often the locals call them Carolina lawn darts. Then there’s the JSF. It is the best
of both worlds. It’s sleek, maneuverable, smart, and more than capable of making any foreign leader wet himself. It is also still relatively new and the only squadron on base that has any is now under my father’s command.

  After clearing security, I pass the on-call office, a tiny, closet-like office near the door that right now is empty. I frown. I’d hoped to get directions from the on-call duty officer, but apparently I’m on my own. The hallways aren’t complicated but they all look the same, so finding one particular door could be a challenge.

  Half an hour later, I finally locate the steel door marked CO for Commanding Officer. I open the heavy, grey door and find myself face to face with a man I have to assume is Reid’s father. It’s strange seeing him, after just being in his house, looking at his wedding photo, feels a bit stalker-ish. He’s still incredibly handsome, with a square chin and broad shoulders. He has Reid’s friendly green eyes. Or is that the other way around?

  Maybe it’s just the flight suit, but I have to clear my throat because my mouth’s gone dry looking at him. It’s kind of cliché to swoon over a man in uniform, but these things become cliché for a reason.

  I must be staring at him like an idiot because he smiles and grabs me gently by my shoulders, moving me to the side so he can pass.

  “Hey, kid, come on in,” my dad yells from the other side of a frosted glass door emblazoned with his name and rank.

  His office is nice, in a generic Marine Corps kind of way. A few flags, some uncomfortable-looking aluminum chairs, and a wide, cherry desk complete with computer, phone, and decorative, pen-sized flag set. He sits in his high-backed chair and motions for me to come in as I poke my head in the doorway.

  He’s on the phone, and I can hear tension in his voice. “Yes, sir. No, sir. No, I don’t believe this is anything of importance. Yes, sir, they’ve been notified,” he says, using his official tone.

  I try to ignore the one-sided conversation, but my natural curiosity gets the better of me and I catch myself trying to make out the barely audible buzzing of the voice on the other end of the phone. It’s too low to pick out more than a few words. I catch investigation, report, and email, but nothing to connect them. I take a step forward to get closer to the sound, but Dad stops me with an upheld hand. He knows me so well.

  He points at the maroon couch on the far wall, so I take a seat, pulling the strap of my messenger bag over my head, and wait till he hangs up.

  “So, you want the official tour?” he ask, standing and offering me his hand.

  “Actually, I already got it. I got a little lost on my way up here, and either I saw the whole squadron once, or I saw one hallway twelve times,” I admit.

  He sits back down. “Probably for the best. I’m swamped here. We were supposed to get a shipment of pre-seal today and ended up with three crates of pudding instead.”

  I feel my eyes widen. “Pudding? Was it an accident or are you guys planning some Animal House-style shenanigans up in the base pool?”

  He rubs his face in his hands. “It’s been like this since before I got here. They brought me in to fix this shit but now…” He cocks his head to the side, cracking his neck before rolling his head and repeating it on the other side. There’s clearly more, but he’s not sharing.

  I decide to prod just a little. “And that’s it? It’s just ordering issues?”

  He shakes his head. “I wish. The duty roster keeps glitching out and don’t even get me started on the flight schedule. As of right now, I have ten planes in the hangar with nobody on them, and no flights going because the computer is showing them all as needing inspections.”

  I frown. “That sounds like a computer problem. You got someone looking at it?”

  He nods again. “Yeah, we got a team coming in this weekend to do a system overhaul. Hopefully, they can take care of it.”

  I glance at his desktop. It’s not surprising they are having issues; the thing is probably ten years old. It’s thick, wide, loud, and the once-white shell has yellowed with age. “Maybe you just need to let these dinosaurs die and move into the twenty-first century,” I say.

  He frowns. “It’s the twenty-second century.”

  I raise an eyebrow. “Exactly.”

  He grunts dismissively, and I know exactly what the sound means. It means there is no way he can find it in the budget to requisition new computers.

  “You all right on your own tonight?” he asks. “I’m going to be pretty late.”

  I stand, slinging my bag across my torso. “No problem. I’ll grab something to eat on the way to the Circle.”

  “What exactly is this Circle? It’s not some trendy nightclub, is it?” he asks, unable to fully keep the worry from his voice.

  I bite my lip, remembering that night not so long ago. Pauline was a six-foot-two Amazon with long, dirty-blonde hair and serious daddy issues that had her chasing after any guy who looked twice at her. She was also my best friend. When she wanted to go to a party at Dayan Montgomery’s house, I was all in. Just being invited as a freshman was a big deal, and he was a gorgeous lacrosse god besides. Somewhere along the way, she decided it’d be fun to roll some molly. I’d been drinking and when I found her a few hours later, she was passed out cold under the pool table, blood trickling out of her nose and mouth. Dayan and some of the others wanted to toss her in the car and let her sleep it off, but I knew something was wrong. I called an ambulance and the EMTs called the cops. Nineteen of us were busted for underage drinking that night, and Dayan was also caught holding some weed and molly. Turned out, Pauline had just hit the side of the table when she passed out, making her nose bleed. She was fine, pissed and stoned, but fine. They didn’t put me in jail, I wasn’t even officially charged, but they called Dad to come get me. While we were busy cleaning up my mess at the police station, Mom died in her sleep.

  I’m not sure even now if Dad has ever really forgiven me for that, but I sure as hell haven’t forgiven myself.

  “It’s an amusement park at the beach from what I gather,” I say, trying to keep my tone light. “But if you’d rather I find some trendy nightclub to patronize…”

  He waves me off as his phone rings again. “Sure, whatever. Have fun.”

  Spinning on my heel, I stride out of the office, making it all the way back to my car before I feel the first tear fall.

  After the world’s quickest shower, I change into my favorite patchwork blue jeans and a white tank top with an I, a heart, and a picture of Darth Vader on the front. What can I say? I’m a sucker for the redeemably evil.

  Dad still hasn’t made it home by the time I leave to pick everyone up. “Sweet Jane” is playing on the radio when I pull up to Derek’s house, an oldie but a goodie. I crank the volume.

  Waiting for me, Derek is wearing black pants and a blood-red shirt with frilly sleeves and red lace down the front. It strikes me as strange that he’s was sitting outside in the dim glow of the porch light alone, but when he opens the car door to get in, I understand. Even over the stereo, I can hear the shouting coming from inside his house. A man’s voice, then a woman’s, then a man’s again. At that volume, it will only be a matter of time before the Military Police show up. Derek’s face is hard and stiff, shut down. He stares straight ahead, not speaking. He doesn’t even take a breath until we’re out of sight of his house.

  “You okay?” I ask gently.

  He nods. I hold out his tiny silver stud, and he takes it with long, slender fingers.

  “It’s my dad. He’s kind of an asshole when he drinks.” He smiles humorlessly. “And when he doesn’t drink.”

  I say nothing, but crank the radio a little louder, as if I can somehow drown the voices I know he’s hearing inside his own head.

  It’s a short drive from there to Kayla’s. She’s chattering away as soon as she gets into the car. Listening to her ramble about a new movie that just came out, I see why Derek likes her so much. She’s human white noise, a constant voice to cut through the uncomfortable silence. I wonder if she
realizes that she is exactly what he needs, the missing piece to his life puzzle. I also wonder if I’ll ever find someone who could be that for me. Someone who knows what I need without being told.

  Even with her loud, pink hot-pants and oversized, zebra-print top, she is pretty. Her now-wavy hair is pulled back into a ponytail, showing off her long, silver earrings. Upon closer inspection, they turn out to be miniature razor blades dangling from her lobes.

  “Bianca can’t come. Her family is making her go to some party for her grandmother or something. So it’s just us,” Kayla says cheerfully, zooming right back into describing the movie in detail for Derek.

  Reid is also waiting outside for us when we pull up. He has on a pair of chinos and a white collared shirt with the top buttons open. A pair of black Chuck Taylor sneakers completes the look. He looks hot, standing there with his hands in his pockets. Clark Kent hot, I think with a smirk. When I pull up, he runs a hand through his dark brown hair and waves, making my heart stutter just a little.

  Derek and Kayla happily squeeze into the backseat, leaving Reid and I inches apart, our arms barely touching across the middle console. Where his flesh grazes mine, goose bumps break out across my skin.

  “Hey, you clean up nice,” I say.

  “You’re not too shabby yourself,” Reid jokes before leaning his head back to talk to the others. “You guys eat yet?”

  “Nope,” Derek answers.

  “Me neither,” Kayla chimes in.

  “I had a snack, but I could eat,” I say when he turns to me.

  “Let’s hit Bayside before we head for the beach,” he suggests.

  Kayla groans, rolling her eyes.

  “What’s Bayside?” I ask curiously.

  “It’s an institution,” Reid answers, his expression serious.

  “Yeah, if you’re talking about the quality of the food.” Kayla snorts.

  Reid waves her off. “Pay no attention to her. The food’s good, the atmosphere’s great, and they have the best coffee in town.”

  Kayla groans again as we pull through the main gate, Reid directing me as we go.