“Number four.” There is no number four. There’s never a number four. “Candidate must have a clear criminal record. This includes arsonist-type activity that resulted in the death of any other individual.” My face burned as she looked up from her list. “Our leaders should be able to protect us, not endanger us, after all.”
All heads pivoted in my direction. My ears grew hotter and my throat constricted. Melody proceeded to pull out the tiny slips of paper and read the names. Once every name had been read, she placed a perfectly manicured hand on the pile of papers and said, “Well, that’s thirteen votes for Laura, and one vote for Cassidy.” Then she brought the hand up to her mouth. “Oh, Cass, you didn’t vote for yourself, did you? That’s so tacky. Plus, you didn’t even qualify.” A shrill kookaburra cackle echoed off the gymnasium walls.
Most of the girls stared at their feet. Tina looked at Laura in horror. Lillian mouthed, “Sorry, Cass,” like someone had put a gun to her head.
I ran from the gym. I had no plan. I just had to get outside before I cried or tore someone in half. Portable classrooms lined the back of the campus, their doors facing the dirt road behind the school. I headed toward them, prepared to duck and hide until the tears passed.
But someone shouted my name. Melody. What the hell did she want now? I picked up speed, skirting the wall and stealing to the front of the portable wing. I tried one door after another until I found an open one and slipped inside. It was the chemistry room.
I shut the door behind me, ready to face a confused Mr. Ladd, the teacher. But the room was empty. Mr. Ladd must’ve been making copies or getting coffee.
I lowered onto the paper-thin carpet, the laughter from the gym still ringing in my ears. Then the tears came.
My attempts to calm down only made my nose drip harder. I was mid-sniffle when the door clicked open. I jumped to my feet, ready for Mr. Ladd to yell at me for being in his room without permission.
But in walked Melody. She paused in the doorway, hair windblown. Pink lipstick still intact. Brown leather bag slung over her shoulder like she’d stepped into a department store. “Cassidy, what are you doing in here?”
I stood beside a filing cabinet, wiping at my nose.
“Is this still Mr. Ladd’s room? He doesn’t know you’re in here, does he?”
I sniffed. “Why are you following me?”
She batted her blue eyes innocently. “Coach sent me to check on you.”
“I was just leaving.”
“Cassidy, are you”—one more blink as her body shifted to block the doorway—“crying?” Cue long, dramatic sigh. “Here.” She dug into her bag like I was a two-year-old and she was trying to find a piece of candy to shut me up. Instead, she pulled out a cigarette and a lighter. “Take it,” she said impatiently.
“I don’t smoke.”
Melody rolled her eyes and slid the cigarette between her glossy lips. She lit it, took a long drag, and her mouth curled around the sizzling paper. “That’s right,” she said, removing it with two slender fingers. She blew a puff of smoke in my direction. “You pyro people have other ways of coping with stress.” Her eyes skipped over the room. “I think I can accommodate.”
“I appreciate your effort.” I moved toward the door, trying to brush past her. “But I’m good.”
She lifted the lighter then, clicking on the flame and pointing it at me until I backed up. “Just wait a minute. You’ll feel better if you light something on fire.” She still smiled, but her gaze sharpened. Enough to cut glass. “You know, like you lit my little cousin on fire.”
A tingle ran from my scalp to my lower spine. I had to play it cool. Everything I did—every tear I shed, every nervous twitch—would be the talk of Maribel High by the next morning. “You’re going to set off the smoke detector.” I played with the ends of my ponytail, which started sticking to my sweaty palms.
Melody flicked her chin at the ceiling. “These portables don’t have smoke detectors. No alarms. No air-conditioning either, for that matter.” Then she grabbed a rag off the whiteboard sill and lowered the lighter. She examined the ink-smudged fabric quizzically as it ignited. Its once-crisp edges twisted and blackened, and wispy fumes spiraled into the air.
“Knock it off, Melody.” Louder this time.
“Come on, Cass. Don’t act like you’re not enjoying this.” She lifted the burning rag like a flag. Up and down. The smoke fanned, filling the room, and my mind darkened.
I shut my eyes, but the flames still flashed in my head. Only this time, I wasn’t standing in a portable classroom. I was seated in a small playhouse. The faintest scent of apple pumpkin spice still lingered under the scent of burnt wood. Beneath the crumbling table, my doll peeked out, its big blue eyes staring up at me.
Sara was sprawled unconscious on the floor.
I blinked to find Melody staring at me with enormous doll eyes. My heart jolted. I was back in the portable, but I was still seeing things. “Wow.” Her voice came out small. Squeaky. The voice of a child. “This is really working, isn’t it? Like some twisted therapy for psychos.”
It was working. I was remembering. I only wished I could go further back. To just before the playhouse ignited. “I said knock it off.” Again I tried to push past her, but she blocked me with the burning cloth.
“I’m only—ouch!” Melody dropped the shriveling remains of the rag onto the shabby carpet and her finger flew into her mouth. By her feet, the smoking edge of the fabric brushed a cardboard box of papers—probably homework Mr. Ladd had set by the door to grade—and the whole thing caught fire.
“What is wrong with you?” I screamed, frantically searching for something to put it out. The box erupted, smoke gushing. Flames crackled and leapt in every direction. I finally spotted the fire extinguisher clear across the room. Melody stood in a daze, like she couldn’t fathom how this had happened. Beside her, fiery tentacles crawled from the box to the bookshelf lining the back wall. They climbed up the spines of the books like a red, hot phantom, igniting the wooden frame and reaching the ceiling.
But I didn’t want to let the fire go. Not yet. First, I wanted to remember. I shut my eyes again.
This time, I didn’t find myself in the playhouse. There was no hint of apple pumpkin spice. Instead, I saw Melody inside the portable classroom. I saw myself charge past her.
Slamming the door with her still inside.
Holding it shut as her screams rang through the melting walls and the flames ate her alive.
My eyelids flung open.
A cloud of smoke shifted over the ceiling, followed closely by flames. Like a bright orange tsunami, they covered the ceiling. Flashover. I’d heard the term after my playhouse burnt down. Molten droplets poured overhead and smoke cascaded around us. Melody was still standing there, useless. So I dashed toward her, shoving her out of the classroom before the fire consumed her.