The Society

by Jodie Andrefski

  I wasn’t sure how Beth Shayne got in my section. The saddest part about it was, she’d been dead serious, even though Cooper had clearly specified we were to select a topic that had occurred in the past month.

  Beth raised her hand. Again. “But, doesn’t like the fact that he’s still, you know, president make it current?”

  Cooper was spared having to explain the concept of a month and how many days that meant by a horrendous mechanical shrieking noise. I winced, and several kids around me covered their ears. Mr. Cooper even dropped the long wooden pointer he loved to use and had to bend to retrieve it in a hurry.

  The fire alarm sounded again.

  Students all looked at each other, trying to figure out if this was practice. Usually we knew if there was going to be a fire drill. Someone in the office always leaked it.

  “Class! Class!” Cooper rapped the pointer against the blackboard with three strong whacks. “Please line up in an orderly fashion against the wall. We will exit through the doors off the practice gymnasium, just like we went over the first day of classes.” Eyes wide, he kept looking back and forth between the hallway and the windows. Shouts came from down the hall that led to the west wing of the school, yelling about smoke.

  Kids finally got the message that it wasn’t a drill and began to move. Desks scraped against the wooden floor as students stood up in a hurry. Cell phones were whipped out left and right, and just about everyone typed frantically as they shoved to get out the door.

  So much for Cooper’s orderly fashion.

  I tried to see over the shoulder of the guy in front of me, but couldn’t. Of course I’d be behind Jacob, the center on the basketball team. I looked around for Jeremy. His assigned seat fell three rows over on the far side of the classroom, and I’d lost him once we got in the hallway.

  A deafening explosion sounded. I jumped and screamed.

  Students poured out of classrooms, all yelling and pushing while teachers tried to get us to calm down and walk single file. Acrid smoke filled my nostrils the farther we walked. A grayish cast took over the air around us, but I couldn’t see any flames. Some teachers tried to direct their class to turn around and go the opposite way, while teachers at the far end of the hall continued to send their students in our direction.

  “Turn around! Go the other way!” Mr. Cliffton, the gym teacher, waved what looked like a tube sock above his head as he buried his face in the crook of his other arm.

  Claustrophobia set in. Too many people closed in, pushing and shoving from either side of me. The smoke got thicker, and it became more difficult to breathe. No one seemed to know for sure where to go.

  One girl, about fourteen, slipped in the open classroom door of the Home Economics room. She crouched against the wall under the chalkboard, hands over her head, rocking back and forth, sobbing.

  “Out! You need to go out the exit by the junior hallway!” someone shouted.

  The alarm continued to wail.

  I looked around again, frantic. “Jeremy!” I yelled. Where was he?

  Everyone screamed for their friends as we hurried, trying to get back the way we’d just come from. Sirens sounded in the distance.

  Why weren’t sprinklers coming on? Shouldn’t there be sprinklers?

  One teacher dashed by with a red fire extinguisher.

  A hand grabbed my shoulder.

  I whipped around and almost burst into tears when I saw Jeremy. His glasses hung crooked on his nose as if someone ran into him. He didn’t seem to notice. He took my hand, and we fell in with the tide of students pushing toward the exit sign off the end of the junior hallway. We finally made it through the door and ran across the grass to the student parking lot. My eyes burned and my heart raced.

  Students huddled together. Some cried, others talked in loud voices to be heard above the sirens and the alarm that still shrieked. Teachers hurried around with clipboards attempting to take head counts.

  Flames shot from the far side of the building, coming from the practice gym doors—the ones we were originally trying to get to. A high buzzing sound mixed with cracking, like thousands of tiny bees fighting to escape the heat. Glass exploded out from the tall window next to the door, making everyone jump and scream louder.

  One guy stumbled across the lot, holding his hand to his forehead while blood dripped down his arm.

  I began to shake, violent tremors wracking my body. Jeremy put both of his arms around me and held me close.

  “It’s okay. We’re out. It’s okay,” he whispered in my hair, trying to calm and reassure me.

  But it wasn’t okay.

  It was as far from okay as you could get. Because I was petrified that the fire that had gotten so out of hand was all my fault.

  Nothing like this was supposed to happen.

  I’d been clear on my instructions. Becky was supposed to sneak into the girls’ locker room during gym class and swipe the cheerleaders’ uniforms. I knew they’d all worn them since it was picture day for all of the school clubs.

  I’d justified the theft with the rationalization that it wasn’t as if the cheerleaders would be naked; they had their gym clothes after all. They could simply wear those for their pictures.

  After she grabbed them, the directions told Becky to take the uniforms out back and throw them in the giant green Dumpster outside the practice gym doors. Students used the practice gym for PE, while the newer, larger gym was used for basketball games and other indoor sporting events.

  Patrick had been instructed to grab the uniforms out of the Dumpster, take them to the bonfire Friday night, and bury them in the tall logs used to make the fire. That part had actually been another one of Ransom’s suggestions. Patrick wasn’t supposed to burn them himself in the Dumpster during school hours. Even I wasn’t that dumb. But the location of the fire couldn’t be a coincidence.

  What the hell had he done? Why hadn’t Patrick followed the task’s instructions? How could he have been so stupid?

  Some students still huddled in groups of two or three, whispering or crying. Everyone looked dazed. We’d been dismissed and told to go home. Most kids had already been picked up. Fire trucks and police cars still filled the lot around the gym. A paramedic bandaged a girl’s arm a few yards away. When she glanced up and caught my eye, I gasped. It was the young girl I’d seen crying huddled by the desk in the empty classroom.

  Even though our eyes met, I knew she didn’t really see me. Hers were wide, blank. I stood, immobile, staring. She looked broken. I did that to her, and I didn’t even know her name.

  I hunched over, and dry heaves wracked my body. Jeremy rubbed my back in slow circles until I could stand upright again. “Sam, let’s go. Come on, I’ll give you a ride.” His voice cut through the haze of my shock and guilt.

  I turned to face him, not able to speak.

  “C’mon,” he repeated, tugging at my sleeve.

  I followed, mute.

  All of my posturing about blaming Patrick meant nothing. It all came down to me. What I’d done. It had all started with my stupid instructions, even if he hadn’t followed them correctly. A tear slipped down my cheek.

  I didn’t speak as Jeremy drove. Homes sped past my window, a blur of color and shapes. As I pressed the palm of my hand against the passenger side window, the glass cooled my hot skin. I welcomed the feeling. It was solid. Strong. Real.

  Not like me.

  I rested my forehead next to my hand and closed my eyes. Tears slipped down my cheeks. Even pressed smack against the window, no one really saw me. And it was better that way. Right now, if I’d caused what just happened, I didn’t even want to face myself.

  Twenty-Two

  Getting over a painful experience is much like crossing monkey bars. You have to let go at some point in order to move forward.

  —C.S. Lewis

  They’d shut down school Thursday to investigate the fire. Every time the house phone rang, my heart leapt into my mouth, sure it would be the police calling to tell me th
ey’d discovered what I’d done, but it was always just someone for Aunt Loretta.

  We’d just sat down to sandwiches for lunch when I saw it.

  Aunt Lor had the television on like usual, and a bright red banner flashed across, reading, Special News Report. An image of our school filled the screen. A reporter stood in a blue suit, her blond hair pinned tight in a bun, gesturing behind her. My stomach lurched, and I whirled around to face my aunt. She leaned closer to the small television set, watching intently.

  “Maybe we should turn it off,” I said, praying she’d do it.

  She waved her hand over her shoulder in my direction. “Shh, I want to hear this. Maybe they have some news about what happened.”

  That was exactly what worried me.

  Aunt Lor reached out to turn up the volume.

  “I’m standing in front of Trinity Academy, an area private school, where fire broke out yesterday while classes were in session.”

  The screen filled with images of smoke billowing out the tall school windows on the far west side of campus, of fire trucks racing into the lot, and firemen rushing toward the building while carrying thick white hoses.

  I stared. I hadn’t realized there’d been camera crews there. Then again, I hadn’t really been in the right frame of mind to notice. The announcer’s voice could still be heard over the pre-recorded videotape. “Officials have determined that the blaze originated here.” The announcer was back, pointing toward the charred brick wall next to the practice gymnasium doors.

  I wanted to puke.

  “It seems there was a buildup of gas from a faulty pipe that ran below this section of the two-hundred year old building. Officials speculate that a tossed cigarette ignited the fumes, causing the explosion that rocked this school, which resulted in an undisclosed amount of damage, mainly due to smoke in the sub-level and a broken fifteen-foot-high window on this side of the school. As you can see, the exterior of this section also sustained smoke and fire damage.

  Officials also report that today, the school brought in experts to replace the pipe as well as the window and to assess if the school is safe for students and faculty to return.”

  My mouth dropped open. A gas leak? So it had nothing to do with me, with Patrick?

  “Viewers may remember the deadly explosion that took place in East Harlem in early 2014, killing seven and wounding over sixty people in a similar situation.”

  The screen now switched to some old news clip, showing buildings with giant flames bursting from shattered windows, people screaming, rubble everywhere.

  I gasped.

  “School officials have not responded to our requests for an interview. We are told that there were no fatalities, although several students and faculty were injured in Wednesday’s blast; none are reported as life-threatening. We are also told that despite the damage, the situation could have been much worse than it was. Thanks to quick response times by several local fire crews, the fire was able to be contained and extinguished. Although the school will need to shut down this section of the campus for repairs and continued safety assessment, classes will resume tomorrow at Trinity Academy in Cloverfield.”

  When the report ended and a commercial took its place, Aunt Lor turned the volume back down and turned to me, eyes wide. “Oh my gracious. Samantha, did you hear that?”

  I nodded, still mute and in shock.

  She stood up and came over to hug me. “I’m so thankful it wasn’t any worse and that you’re safe. If anything had happened to you…” She sniffled.

  I reached around to hug her back. “But it wasn’t worse, and I’m fine.”

  She patted my shoulders and nodded. “That’s because the good Lord had His hand on you. I just know it.”

  I doubted that was true. I was pretty sure the good Lord had better people to watch over than me. Heck, he might have even been aiming for me with the explosion.

  I couldn’t wrap my head around the news report. So the fire really wasn’t my fault? Patrick hadn’t started it? I was dying to question him, but knew I couldn’t, not without giving away my identity. And I couldn’t risk doing that. I exhaled a long, slow breath and thanked my lucky stars.

  Aunt Loretta sat back down across from me and picked up her turkey sandwich. I reached out and picked up my own as well and took a large bite. It tasted like a reprieve.

  Twenty-Three

  But the fever’s gonna catch you when the bitch gets back.

  —Elton John

  “Samantha, wake up! Why aren’t you getting dressed?”

  My aunt’s voice crashed through a rather odd, yet enjoyable dream involving Jake Gyllenhaal, a motorcycle, and mint chocolate chip ice cream. The pleasurable visions dissipated with the light of a new day. Before that dream, I’d suffered through nightmares of Jessica taunting me and kept waking up every twenty minutes or so. I was still bone-tired.

  “Ugh. What?” I shoved my pillow over my head and tried my best to bring back Jake and the motorcycle. Instead, I kept seeing flashes of Jessica, cackling at me.

  All the bad feelings I had toward Jessica grew again, especially now that I knew the fire wasn’t my fault. After all, nothing I’d planned or assigned was the least bit dangerous. Well, not really. A part of me argued that I should shut the plan down, quit while I was still ahead and stop stressing myself out. But the renewed desire to get back at Jessica squashed any rational decision making.

  My aunt should’ve made me stick with the therapist I’d blown off after those four sessions. Maybe then I wouldn’t be such a train wreck.

  “Out of bed, young lady!”

  “It’s not time to get up. My alarm didn’t even go off yet.” I burrowed deeper under my comforter.

  “Samantha!” The blanket disappeared in one swift jerk. “Your bus will be here in less than ten minutes.”

  What? I sprang up and looked at my clock.

  “That can’t be right, it didn’t go off! I know I set it!” Or did I? I couldn’t remember. Damn it!

  I leapt from bed, frantic. “I need a uniform. Where’s my uniform?” God, my room was a mess.

  The fact that Aunt Lor still seemed her normal self struck me out of nowhere. She’d been good the last few days. The realization washed over me in a wave of relief, but only for a moment. How long until one of the episodes happened again?

  I stopped and stared at her like I hadn’t seen her for a year before crossing over and hugging her tight.

  Aunt Loretta looked confused by my affection but patted my back anyway.

  “I love you, you know,” I whispered into her gray hair.

  “I love you too, child, but you’re going to be late. Now get moving before you miss your bus.”

  She shook her head and left the room, leaving me to find my uniform myself. Familiar plaid peeked out from under a pile of wadded up shirts. I grabbed the skirt, along with one of my tops, which I frantically turned right side out. So what if I’d worn it before; now was not the time to be overly conscientious about a little thing like ketchup stains.

  I ripped my nightshirt over my head and threw on the uniform in record time. My book bag lay on the floor by my dresser. I snatched it up, along with a tie dangling off the edge of the bureau. I couldn’t be late, not today.

  I tore out of my room, headed to the bathroom to brush my teeth and throw my hair back in a quick pony. Good enough.

  Aunt Lor handed me a cereal bar as I rushed by, praying the bus hadn’t already hit my stop.

  “Have a good day, sweetie. I love you!” she called after me. I waved as I flew out the door.

  The large yellow bus rumbled up the drive as I hurried, out of breath, to my pick-up point.

  I stumbled, panting, into my regular seat in the back. I bit into my breakfast bar, choking a bit as I caught my breath. I closed my eyes and chewed.

  Things weren’t great, but they were looking up. Aunt Lor seemed to be doing better, and tomorrow was Pete’s party where I’d see Ransom again. Plus, today’s tasks were going to
be epic.

  Things with Jeremy and me hadn’t really improved like I thought they would after he gave me the ride home. We’d talked on the phone last night, and he had asked me once again if I was still going through with my “little revenge scheme.” His words, not mine. I’d changed the subject.

  Our call had ended abruptly after he’d brought up Ransom, asking me if I was seeing him. I hadn’t known exactly what to say, and Jeremy got upset and hung up on me. I planned to talk to him today, try to sort things out between us. I couldn’t stand him being mad at me.

  I stuffed my wrapper into my book bag. I wasn’t stopping the plan. Wednesday was an unfortunate accident that the news made clear I was in no way responsible for, and it didn’t change anything. It didn’t take away the years of torment at Jessica’s hands, or what she’d done to my family. Thursday’s task had been cancelled, obviously, but that was okay.

  For once, I was looking forward to the school’s obsession with all things football. We had a pep rally last period, and I couldn’t imagine that even with the fire, the school would cancel it. If anything, they’d either hold it in the main gym or down on the field. I was going to love it. A certain cheerleader and football player? Not so much.

  Twenty-Four

  Luck is a very fine wire between survival and disaster, and not many people can keep their balance on it.

  —Hunter S. Thompson

  The hands of the clock moved at a slug’s pace during calculus, my last class of the day before study hall in ninth period homeroom. I tapped a pen on my open textbook, not paying attention to whatever Ms. Mills was droning on about in the front of the room.

  As expected, this morning in homeroom, they’d made the announcement that due to the fire damage in the practice gymnasium, the pep rally would be held in the main gym this afternoon. Students were also advised that the west wing of the school would be closed off for renovations until further notice. Not a huge deal, since it was the oldest part of the school, it was really only the practice gym, the shop, and the home ec room down there anyway.