Playing with Fire

by Sherry D. Ficklin

  Maybe it’s one of us.

  “You wanna go with us?” Georgia asks in my direction, jarring me from my thoughts.

  I shake my head. “Sorry, I must have zoned out for a minute. What was the question?”

  Smiling slyly, Georgia repeats herself, her blond hair cascading over one shoulder like a silk curtain as she tilts her head my direction. “Do you want to go dress shopping with us tonight? For the dance?”

  Oh. My brain stutters. “Um, actually I’m going with Kayla tomorrow night. But thanks for the invite,” I say, smiling.

  That isn’t entirely true, but I’m betting she’ll go with me.

  “Kayla?” Patty asks.

  “Yeah. My friend,” I say, waving in Kayla’s direction. She waves back, smiling through her eggplant-purple lipstick.

  “Oh.”

  The girls mostly ignore me after that, even Georgia giving me an apologetic smile. They chew their tiny salads while I enjoy my chili dog. It’s messy and delicious, and the girls are giving me strange looks. Finally, I turn to Oliver and whisper, “Do I have something on my face?”

  He grabs a napkin and wipes a drip of chili off my chin. “There, you’re perfect,” he says.

  I grin like an idiot. Can’t help it. That stupid dimple appears again and I’m down another ten IQ points.

  Cole, however, is chatting with me like I’m one of the guys, never once trying to explain something he thinks I might not get, on account of being a girl and all. My gratitude toward him swells. We talk cars, and he and David listen intently as I talk about rebuilding the Mustang.

  I glance at the other table from time to time, catching sight of my other friends laughing and talking. I wish I could merge the two groups, but I know that with the boys at odds, that will never happen. Soon, the conversation turns back to the dance and Trey starts complaining about the hassle of renting a tux.

  “We can’t all pull off double-oh-seven,” David cracks.

  “Speak for yourself,” Cole cuts in.

  “Not to burst any bubbles, but,” Oliver smirks slyly, “I may be going to homecoming in jeans.”

  The guys laugh. The girls gasp in abject horror. They swing a glance from Oliver to me in disbelief. I hold up a French fry, smothered in ketchup.

  “It’s hard to get zombie goo out of silk,” I say, stuffing it in my mouth before washing it down with my soda.

  ***

  Reid gets to chemistry late, sliding into the seat next to me. He’s flushed and breathing hard.

  “Where’d you run off to?” I ask under my breath as the overhead projector flicks on, revealing the day’s notes.

  “I wanted to get you something,” he answers quietly, leaning in to me. He slides a brown folder across the table. It has Oliver’s name on it.

  Frowning, I open my mouth to chastise him when the teacher starts talking, not too subtly looking my direction. My mouth closes with a snap, and I tuck the folder into my bag.

  Reid slides his notebook in front of me.

  Figured you should know the whole story.

  I scribble a response.

  Not cool. Would you want him passing out your personal file?

  He sits back, looking petulant for a few minutes before writing something else.

  Sorry. Didn’t think of it that way. Just worried for you.

  I shake my head again. Then something dawns on me.

  How did you get this?

  He writes back quickly.

  Office aid third period. Sorry for overstepping. We still on for that movie?

  Glancing up, I see him looking at me with his bottom lip jutting out, his chin down and eyes wide. He clasps his hands together in a begging gesture. Smirking, I scribble back again.

  Sure. I have to go to my dad’s office first. You wanna come with?

  I slide the notebook back across the table. The teacher claps once, telling us to begin. He lights the burner we share, the small, blue flame jumping to life between us. He glances at the page, and then folds it over.

  “I should probably go home first, chores to do and stuff,” he whispers, pouring a clear liquid into the warming test tube.

  Behind us, I can hear Oliver tapping his pencil impatiently on his table. I peek over my shoulder and he winks at me. Shaking my head, I turn my attention back to the experiment and don’t look back again until the bell rings.

  As Reid gathers up his books, I scoop up the empty beakers and head for the sink at the back of the classroom. “You go ahead. I’ll catch up,” I say.

  Reid frowns, but he nods and walks out. Oliver leans against the sink when I arrive to drop off the vials.

  “Hey, Oliver, I need to talk to you for a second,” I say as everyone else clears out. “I told Reid this, and now I’m telling you. I get that you guys aren’t friends. But he’s my friend, and I don’t want to be put in the middle of your drama. Can you handle that?”

  He takes a deep breath. “I really like you, Farris. You aren’t like the other girls I know,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. “But Reid is a problem for me. It makes me uncomfortable, the thought of you hanging out with him.”

  “You’re going to finish that sentence with, but I will respect your decision, right?”

  He licks his lips.

  “Because it is my decision,” I say before he can speak again. “I can’t be with someone who tries to tell me who I can and can’t be friends with. I won’t be controlled like that. I need to know that you respect me enough to respect my choices.”

  And it’s as simple as that. If his chivalry passes into the borders of being controlling, I’ll drop him in a New York minute. Dimple or no dimple.

  “He knows you’re going to homecoming with me, right?”

  “Of course.”

  “I don’t feel good about it, but…” He rakes his hand through his hair. “God, why can’t you be as boring as the others girls?”

  That takes me back, and I make a sour face. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “It means, if I didn’t like you so much, it probably wouldn’t bug me so badly. But I do. I like you a lot. And I don’t want to lose you over this. So yeah, I respect your decision. I don’t like it, but I respect it.”

  Reaching out, he puts his hand on the back of my neck, drawing me to him gently, before pressing his lips to mine. When he pulls back, his expression is pained. “Just watch out for him.” His voice is shaky, like he’s barely able to control it.

  I roll my eyes. “Funny, he said the same thing about you.”

  He grunts. “See you tomorrow, Farris.” Leaning forward he places another quick kiss on my mouth, making my lips burn and my chest tighten.

  “Bye,” I say, turning on my heel and walking away. I spare a glance over my shoulder before I step out of the doorway. “And Oliver? Thanks.”

  He nods, licking his bottom lip, looking pensive.

  To say that Kayla is surprised by my invitation to go dress shopping would be an understatement. Her eyes go wide, her pale cheeks flush, and I realize that I may not be the only one attending a dance for the first time.

  Despite the ever-present zombie threat, I have to admit I’m a little excited to do a formal dress-up thing. Though I’ll never admit it out loud, the idea of doing the slow-motion walk down the stairs to greet my date, who would be dumbstruck by my beauty, hits all the girlie places deep inside me. For that, I blame John Hughes and his string of wildly cheesy 1980’s movies playing in an endless cycle on cable TV.

  Kayla agrees eagerly, touting her own need to find a gown. Apparently, black taffeta is hard to find. She suggests a trip to Charlotte the following afternoon and I’m immediately on board. Not only will the getaway be nice, but it’ll give me a chance to ask her about Bianca, who is the only person besides myself I know to be capable of the hack that took down the squadron.

  “We can leave after school and make an evening of it,” she suggests.

  “Sounds great. I just have to clear it with my dad,” I say,
dropping her and Derek off at her place.

  “See if you can find me a black ascot while you’re out, okay?” Derek says before they are out of earshot.

  At first, I think he’s joking, but then, maybe not. I wonder what his idea of Goth formal would look like and I snicker to myself, betting he’ll show up looking like Gary Oldman in Dracula.

  Grabbing my cell from my pocket before I pull away, I dial Oliver.

  “Hello?” he answers, winded.

  I wonder what he was doing. Surely practice hasn’t started yet? “Hey, it’s Farris.”

  He sounds surprised. “Oh. Hey. Didn’t recognize your number. What’s up?”

  “Are you running?” I ask, checking over my shoulder as I pull out onto the street.

  “Forgot my notebook in the classroom. Had to run back for it before practice. And now I’m heading to the gym.”

  “Oh. I was actually looking for Georgia. Can I get her number?”

  “Uh, yeah. Actually, wait. She’s right here; I’ll just give her to you.”

  “Hello?” Her sweet voice cracks through the speaker.

  “Hey, it’s Farris. So, Kayla and I are going dress shopping in Raleigh tomorrow after school and I was wondering if you wanted to go? I know you’re going with your other friends already, but…”

  I bite my lip. Truthfully, I have no experience with the whole dress-shopping thing and I need someone there who will know what to choose. If I just go with Kayla, I’ll have fun, but I’ll probably end up looking like a burlesque pinup girl. Plus, this might be a good opportunity to begin merging my friend groups, breaking through those social barriers.

  “Yeah, that sounds like fun. I’ll probably get my dress tonight, but I could help you pick something out,” she offers.

  “Great, we’ll leave right from the school, okay?”

  “Sounds good.”

  “Um, okay, thanks. Bye,” I say.

  “Bye.”

  I hold the phone to my ear a moment longer, just to see if she’s going to hand it back to Oliver.

  Click.

  Apparently not.

  A few minutes later, I pull into the parking lot at Dad’s office. After parking, I make my way to his building, scanning my ID to get me through the tall, cylindrical turnstile. I find my way to his office without getting lost this time—point for me. The halls buzz like a beehive with activity. Dad’s admin clerk is at her desk, shuffling papers with one hand and balancing a coffee cup in the other. My dad always jokes that’s a required skill for promotion if you are an admin clerk. She’s plump, but not fat, with dark red curls escaping from her tight bun. The plate on her desk reads: S1 Belford. So not Bianca’s mom, but another of the pool of admin clerks attached to the squadron.

  I walk past her, her eyes narrowing as they follow my every move, and tap on my father’s door.

  “Just a second,” he calls out.

  From behind the frosted glass, I see he’s on the phone. Leaning against the door frame, trying to look nonchalant under the redhead’s watchful eyes, I strain to listen at the crack.

  “There was no evidence of a physical breach. Yes, all major workstations have been cleared, and we’ve upped gate personnel. Yes. They say the email originated from here on base. Just a prank, we think, but we’re looking into it. Yes, sir.”

  I hear him put the phone down and push himself away from the desk, the wheels of his chair rolling across the wood floor.

  “Come on in, kid,” he calls, opening the door, and then closing it behind us.

  “Hey, Daddy. How’s it going?” I ask, taking a seat on the edge of his desk.

  He flinches. “Uh-oh. The last time you called me Daddy, we almost ended up with a pony. What do you want?” He leans back in his chair, hands behind his head, eyes narrowed.

  “See, there’s this dance, and well…I got asked to homecoming and I need to get a dress,” I blurt out. Truthfully, it’s only part of the reason for my visit. But I’ll get to the rest after.

  His face turns a delicate shade of purple as he lurches forward, nearly losing control of his rolling chair before recovering himself. “Who’s the lucky boy?” he manages.

  “Oliver,” I say. “You’ve been introduced, remember?”

  I still haven’t forgotten his earlier comment about Oliver, but I’m determined to try.

  Dad rolls his eyes. “Of course.”

  Then he flushes, dropping his eyes to the paperwork in front of him. “Do you need me to go shopping with you, or…?”

  I practically jump off the edge of the desk. “No, no. No. I just need permission to use the credit card again. Some girlfriends and I are going to Raleigh after school tomorrow to find something.”

  The relief in his face is immediate. I imagine it’s similar to the look someone has when getting out of prison.

  He makes a shooing motion with his hands, “Sure, sure. Whatever you need, kid. Just uh, you know, don’t uh, I mean, get something…appropriate.”

  I laugh out loud. What does he expect? For me to show up to homecoming in a string bikini?

  I blink. “But, I was going to look for a dress down at the used stripper emporium. You know, save a little cash.” He sighs deeply at my sarcasm. I hold up one hand. “Fine, I promise. Now what’s all this?” I wave my hand over the stacks of papers strewn about his desk.

  “Oh, the usual, orders to sign, leave requests to review, nothing interesting.”

  But I do see something interesting. Hanging off the corner of his desk is an email printout written in big, red letters. I have a pretty good idea what it is. And I need to get my hands on it.

  Hmmm.

  I walk around the desk to look at the pictures on the wall behind Dad’s chair.

  “What’s this one?” I point to the highest one, a photo of three Marines standing next to an F-14.

  Dad stands to get closer to the picture. As he steps forward, I step back, slipping the paper from the stack, behind my back, and stuffing it up the back of my shirt with a speed and silence born of years of practice. It is how I used to smuggle candy bars into Mom’s hospital room.

  “Oh, that’s me and Rick and Lenny in Guam, back before you were born. Good times,” he says, lost in some memory.

  I bite my lip, rethinking telling him about my suspicions. I’d rather take a look at the email first, see if I can confirm my theory. “Cool, well, I should get home. Homework and all that. Oh, and I might hit a movie later.”

  Dad is still staring at the picture, lost in thought. “Oh, okay. Just be home by eleven, kid.”

  “No problem. See you later, Dad.” I stretch up on my tiptoes, giving him a quick peck on the cheek and slipping out the door before he turns around.

  The clerk isn’t at her desk when the door closes behind me, so I pull out the email, fold it quickly, and tuck it into my messenger bag before heading to my car.

  Finally, I have something to go on.

  ***

  I’m looking over the email at the kitchen table when my cell phone rings. It isn’t a number I recognize, but it could have been anyone here; I still don’t have many of my new friends programmed into the memory. The only reason Oliver is in my contacts is because he’d done it himself on the second day of school.

  “Hello,” I answer.

  “Hey, Farris. It’s Reid.”

  “Oh, hey Reid. What’s up?”

  “I was just wondering if you have any idea of what you want to see tonight?”

  I hadn’t even thought about it. I feel a pang of guilt. Putting down the printout I’d been staring at for the last hour, I rub my eyes. “Well, that new Bullet Games movie looks good. How about that?”

  “Great. Pick you up in fifteen minutes?”

  “Um, on the scooter?”

  “There’s room for two. Why? Not sexy enough for you?” He chuckles.

  “Oh, I’m just being anal. I don’t like to be off base without my car, in case anything happens.”

  He doesn’t complain. It is quickly be
coming one of my favorite things about Reid. “No problem. I’ll just meet you at the theater.”

  “Thanks. See you soon.”

  I hang up, my attention drifting back to the email. If it was sent from the school computer lab, the time stamp will at least give me an idea of my suspects. I’ll just pop in on the class and see who is there that hour. It isn’t much, but it is a place to start.

  ***

  The movie theater feels cramped, despite there only being a handful of patrons inside, and smells of stale popcorn. The seats are small and nestled close together, threadbare and probably at least three decades old. Reid shows up in a Birdhouse skater T-shirt and Vans shoes, a black knit cap slouched half off the back of his head. As soon as I see him, I smile. If he’s going for skater-boy chic, he pulls it off. He looks like he should be playing in a garage band or something. He flops into the seat next to me.

  “Hey, what’s a nice girl like you doing in a place like this?” he asks.

  “Eating my weight in popcorn and thin mints.”

  He chuckles, grabbing a handful of snacks.

  When the lights go down, I become hyperaware of him in the seat next to me. Where Oliver makes me feel off-balance, Reid makes me feel solid, like the ground is firm beneath my feet. I stuff my mouth with popcorn, focusing on the movie that’s just begun playing.

  “How’s your dad?” he asks, whispering the words into my hair as he leans over for another handful of popcorn.

  My chest tightens, I’m not sure if it’s the email, still tucked in the bag at my feet, or the smell of him, the heat of his breath on my ear, but my heart picks up speed and I can feel it under my ribs. “He’s fine. Just trying to get things taken care of.”

  “Shhh!” someone a few rows back hisses. I sink further down into my seat.

  “Yeah, my parents are freaked out. They’re saying they might have to pull the deployment.”

  I lick my lips, the salt drying out my mouth so much I have to grab my soda and take a long slurp through the straw before answering. “No, Dad thinks they will have things fixed before then.”

  He nods. “That’s good at least.”

  “Shhh!” the voice hisses again. I turn and toss a handful of popcorn at my shusher.