Burning Down the House (12 page)

“I’d wear it down. It looks
sexy that way. Maybe just add a little curl…”

“Shoestring tackle sent him to the turf hard…
he does appear to be injured…”

“Listen,” I interrupted. “I think someone’s hurt.”

“Not from our team, I hope,” Jordan commented.

“Come on - let’s go see. We can get a Coke later.” Linking her arm in mine,
Dana fluttered her other hand at Jordan. “Take it easy.”

We wandered back to the stands
, craning our necks to try and catch a glimpse of the player who was lying flat on his back on the field. He was surrounded by a huddle of blue and gold uniforms. Which meant it was one of ours.

“
Number fifty-nine senior Jonathan Ellis made the tackle…let’s hope the running back is okay.”

My heart stopped beating for a minute. I swear it did.
Not waiting to see if Dana was following, I sprinted down the steps to the chain link fence that separated us from the field. Curling my clammy fingers around the steel wire, I watched in dread as the players began to disperse, giving me a clear view of…yes, damn it to hell, number forty-two. But the coach and another player were already helping Rob to his feet. After a few brief words spoken between them, Coach Simpson began to assist him off the field.

“
And forty-two being helped off the field by Hillcrest coach Mark Simpson…he does appear to be okay.”

The sound of applause rang in my ears as
I stood frozen, clutching the fence while they drew closer to the sideline. The coach said something to him and after Rob nodded, he was released and Simpson jogged back onto the field to speak to the referee. Limping toward the bench, Rob pulled off his helmet and shook his head so that fine droplets rained from his sweaty hair. Beside me, I heard Dana say, “He’s all right.”

But I still couldn’t move.
And just before he reached the bench, something made him look in our direction. His eyes met mine.

He winked.

By the time Rob made it back home, I’d already been dropped off by Dana and was impatiently awaiting his return. It wasn’t just because of what happened at the game - I knew by now he wasn’t seriously hurt. The house just felt empty without him. It’s hard to explain, but I’d sort of grown used to his presence. Even though we rarely spoke, I’d become accustomed to knowing he was always nearby. Which is weird, since it never used to bother me to be alone. I usually preferred it.

My head snapped up
from the TV at the sound of a car door slamming outside, and a moment later he sauntered into the house, disheveled and grimy, duffel bag holding his football gear slung over one shoulder.

“Hey,” he said.

“You okay?” I tried to sound casual, not too concerned.

“Yeah.
Just took a hard fall.” He tossed the bag in the laundry room and added, “I’ll be sore as hell tomorrow though. I’m gonna go take a shower.”

“Okay.” I stayed up, mindlessly watching some comedian on Comedy Central while waiting to see if he’d come back out. Before long,
I heard him messing around in the refrigerator.

“How long’s this chicken been in here?” he
called from the kitchen.

“I don’t know…a while, I think.
I
personally wouldn’t eat it.” Wandering in from the living room, I smiled at the sight of him leaning over into the fridge. A position which provided an impressive view of his backside. All he had on was a pair of shorts, too.
Ooh la la.
Maybe he should’ve played tight end instead.

“I’m friggin’ starving,” he mumbled.

“Want me to fix you something?”

“No…that’s okay.”

“You sure? I don’t mind.”

Straightening, he closed the refrigerator door and transferred his attention to the freezer. “Wanna split a box of cheese sticks?”

“Sure.” Actually I wasn’t hungry at all, but it did provide an excuse to hang out with him for a while. Setting the oven to preheat, I pulled out a baking sheet and dropped it with a loud
clang
on top of the stove. When he turned to hand me the DiGiorno box, my eyes were instantly drawn to the raw gashes and scrapes on one of his knees. The bleeding appeared to have stopped, but it still looked painful enough to make me cringe.

“Holy barracuda
, Batman - that is
gross!
”

Plunking down on a chair, he shrugged apathetically.
“Comes with the territory.”

“Does it hurt?”

“Nah, not really.”

“
You want me to get something to put on it? There’s some hydrogen peroxide in my bathroom.”

“No.” He looked at me as if I’d just
offered to rub Drano all over it.

“It won’t hurt,” I assured him
, pulling out a chair on the opposite side of the table.

“It’s fine.”

“Okay - if your leg gets infected and falls off, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“If my leg ever falls off,
I give you my word I won’t hold you responsible.” He indulged me with a benign smile.

“That was a great pass you made tonight.”

“It was a no-brainer. He was wide open.”

“Still…”
He sure wasn’t much for compliments. I always thought men liked having their egos stroked. “It was a good play.”

No response to that.

“Um…did you ever decide whether you were going to the dance or not?”

“No.”

“No, you didn’t decide or no, you’re not going?”

“No,” he repeated.

Da fuq?
Before I could figure that one out, the oven beeped and I hopped up to shove the cheese sticks inside before sitting back down. “Then you’re not going?” I rephrased my inquiry.

He shook his head.

I drummed my fingers on the table, wracking my brain for something interesting to say. I sure as hell couldn’t rely on him to inspire stimulating conversation. He was making no effort whatsoever. “So…”

“So.” His eyes, still fixed on me,
gleamed with wicked amusement. That rotten jerk - he was doing this deliberately! Trying to see just how uncomfortable he could make me, simply for the fun of it. Well, two could play that game.

“Tell me something.”
I propped my chin in one hand and locked on his gaze with the most penetrating stare I could muster.

“What would you like me to tell you?”

“Why did you say that you weren’t sorry your parents had died?”

If I’d expected to
coax a reaction out of him with that invasive question, then I was sadly mistaken. Other than a firm resolution, there was no change in his expression at all. “Because I don’t lie.”

“Then you actually meant what you said. You’re
glad they’re dead.”

“That’s right.”

“You don’t really mean that.”

“If you say so.”

“Then you did mean it?”

“I get the feeling we’re going in circles here.”

“Why would you say something like that, Rob? Whether you meant it or not? What, were your parents horrible people or something?”

Oddly enough,
that was the clincher. The sparkle in his eyes no longer held restrained laughter. It hardened instantly into a cold glint. “Not at all. They were ideal parents, the kind every child dreams of having. Ward and June Cleaver right off the screen. My father in particular - just ask anyone. They’ll tell you what a stand-up fucking guy he was. How devoted he was to his precious son.”

I studied those eyes for a minute before gently reminding him, “I thought you said you never lied.”

“Maybe you should Google the word
sarcasm
. There’s a difference.”

“So
you’re saying you didn’t get along with them?” I wasn’t a hundred percent sure what to make of his outburst.

“Oh, no…we got along great. Every day was
rainbows and puppy dogs.”

“Sarcasm again?”

“You catch on fast, grasshopper.”

Then did
you set that fire? Were you responsible for their deaths?
Those were the nagging questions I didn’t have the nerve to voice. Mainly because I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear what he might reveal. Deep down, I couldn’t make myself believe he’d do something so vicious…but I didn’t want to give him the opportunity to prove me wrong.

“Why didn’t you get along?”

“Oh, you know…the usual. I wanted to stay out all night raping and pillaging and they disapproved.”

“I think you have the monopoly on this sarcasm thing,” I informed him.

“You have a pretty good handle on it yourself.” The steeliness in his eyes softened a bit.

“Would you prefer we change the subject?”

“Yes. I think that would be a good idea.”

“Okay.
” What to ask, what to ask… “Are you trying for a football scholarship?”

“No. Academic.”

Well, he was just full of surprises, wasn’t he? “Where are you looking to go?”

“FSU.”

“Frostburg? Really - me, too!” It wasn’t as much of a coincidence as it sounds. Frostburg State University was a choice based on convenience - it’s a ten minute drive from here so I’d be able to attend college while continuing to reside with my dad. Did that mean Rob had the same intention? “What are you planning to major in?”

“Computer science.”

Another shocker. “Wow. I never would have pictured you in that field.”

“What about you?”

“Elementary education.”

“Sounds about right.”

“What do you mean?”

“I dunno…you just seem good with kids
is all. Peyton really likes you.”

I
smiled at his mention of the scrappy little girl. She seemed to like him too, from what I could tell. “Peyton likes cold ravioli. What does she know?”

“Kids are perceptive. It’s a trait people seem to lose as they get older. The ability to scratch the surface enough to
uncover a person’s true character. Or maybe it’s just that they see only what they want to see.” He sighed, and there was a distant kind of sadness in his voice as he added, “You never really
know
anyone, Sara. Remember that.”

“You talk as if you know this from experience.”

“A person can learn a lot in a very short time.” He held my gaze for a moment before abruptly jumping to his feet. “So! Do we have any marinara for those cheese sticks?”

We sat in the kitchen together
talking that night for over an hour. Neither of us touched on any more deep topics, opting instead to keep things light. Mostly talk about school and football and the upcoming homecoming festivities. But in that brief time we shared more words than had ever passed between us. Maybe he hadn’t let me in yet, but he’d opened the door. And I could sense a shift. It was gradual, and it was subtle.

But it was there.

8

Riley called me Saturday afternoon while I was stripped down to my boyshorts and bra in the dressing room of a local boutique. He wanted to find out what color dress I was wearing, saying he’d like to make sure the colors in his tie matched. I couldn’t be sure if he was actually that thoughtful or his mother had put him up to it. Probably the latter.

The dress I
ended up buying was one Dana picked out, and as soon as I tried it on I knew it was The One. It was a short and flouncy cocktail dress in a deep, dark purple. The straps were beaded with sparkling rhinestones, along with a strip of beading around the cinched waist. And the sweetheart neckline was cut to show just the right amount of cleavage. Dana proclaimed it to be jaw-droppingly sexy. I swore to her I’d never doubt her fashion sense again. The shoes we chose were silver platform sandals to match the beading, and deciding to opt for simplicity, the only jewelry I bought was a pair of dangly rhinestone teardrop earrings that went perfectly with the ensemble. I already had a white gold tennis bracelet I could wear.

I helped
Dana select another dress as well, charging it to my credit card with the unspoken understanding that she’d pay me back as soon as she could. We’d done this before - she was always good for it. Her choice was similar to mine in style, but strapless and apricot in color.

The week leading up to homecoming was
crazy. Other than Wednesday when I had ballet practice, I worked every afternoon alongside Dana and the rest of the volunteers helping to finish up the float. Since we were both also heading up Friday’s senior skit, we spent theatre class most of that week trying to direct a bunch of rowdy students who were basically only there to get out of their regular classes. It was total chaos. On top of that was the neverending supply of homework, although some teachers were slightly more lenient during spirit week.

Ever since
Dana had discovered Trent’s interest in her, we’d taken to eating lunch at the same table with him and his cronies. It started off a little awkward for me for two reasons. First, because I didn’t want Riley getting the idea that I liked him as more than a friend. I mean, he was nice-looking and fun to be around and all that, but there was just nothing there. Nada. A great big void. I found out pretty quick that it wasn’t going to be a problem though - he was much more of a gentleman than his horndog buddies.

The second reason was
that Rob was also a part of this group, and I just knew that sooner or later my attraction to him was going to become obvious. I tried to hide it, or ignore it altogether. But my heightened awareness of him kept me from ever being able to fully relax, and every time he moved I found my eyes following him like a magnet. It may have been paranoia on my part, but I felt like my emotions were tattooed on my skin, just waiting to be exposed.

Dana
checked out right after Friday’s pep rally to go get her hair done, so I was the lone sheep among wolves at lunch that day. The guys were already pumped about the game and for those forty minutes their misdirected energy was centered on me. Part of that stellar conversation went something like this:

Doug
: Anyone else’s chicken sandwich smell funny? Seriously, this don’t smell right. I think something might be wrong with it. Here, smell this…

Trent
: Get that shit outta my face, man! What’s wrong with you?

Doug
: Just smell it!

Trent
: I’m not smellin’ your goddamn chicken sandwich!

Doug
: Fuck you - if I wind up with food poisoning then I’m gonna kick your scrawny ass!

Trent
: Bitch, please. (looking at me) You believe this guy can kick my ass?

Me
: Uh…yeah.

Colin
: You guys, check this. Staci told me she’s not gonna be wearing panties under her dress tomorrow night.

Trent
: Does she wear ’em any other time?

(
Rob nearly chokes on his Mountain Dew and starts coughing.)

Colin
: Man, you don’t know what you’re missing. When we’re dancing and she starts grinding that ass up on me…

Me
: (with a mouth full of salad) Dude. I’m trying to eat here.

Doug
: Daaaamn...wonder if I could talk Melanie into that?

Riley
: Why don’t you ask her and let us know how that turns out.

Trent
: You planning on going commando, ballerina?

Me
: Hadn’t planned on it.

Trent
: I think the entire female student body needs to show their support for the players by coming to the game tonight without their panties. We should make it mandatory. Who’s with me?

Colin
: Hell yeah…especially the cheerleaders!

Trent
: Now that’s what I’m talkin’ about!

Me
: What part of ‘I’m trying to eat here’ is incomprehensible to you?

Riley
: Myers, stop being a dick.

Trent
: Be kinda hard to concentrate on the plays though. We’d probably get our asses handed to us.

Rob
: Not happening. Tonight’s gonna be a blowout. They haven’t won a game all season.

Riley
: (looking at his phone) I gotta run talk to somebody for a minute. Sara, will you watch my food so these jackoffs don’t do anything to it?

Me
: Sure.

Doug
: I still don’t think this sandwich tastes right.

Trent
: Well, stop eating the damn thing!

Colin
: So we’re agreed then. Sara, it’s up to you to make sure everybody knows not to wear underwear tonight or tomorrow night.

Me
: Okay. I’ll get right on that.

Doug
: Trent doesn’t ever wear it anyway.

Rob
: I would really like to know how you know that.

Me
: You don’t wear underwear?

Trent
: Nope.

Me
: Seriously?

Trent
: (making a big production of unsnapping his jeans) You want proof?

Me
: No - I’ll take your word for it!

Rob
: Dude! Nobody here wants to see that shit.

Trent
: Dana might. Whatcha think, Seraphina?

Me
: I think if you’re just planning on using her for sex, you better keep that thing in your pants. If you expect to keep it at all.

Colin
: Guess you heard that, man.

Trent
: I’m not using her. Who says I’m using her?

Me
: Good. I’d hate to have to force feed you your own testicles.

Trent
: Such a violent little thing! Rob, you better sleep with one eye open and one hand over your dick.

Doug
: He generally sleeps that way anyway.

Rob
: Again - I would really like to know how you know that!

Trent
: If I knew my bedroom was right down the hall from Sara’s, I’d probably be sleeping with one hand on my pecker too.

Me
: Thanks for the visual. I think I’m done eating now.

Colin
: Shit, I’d be whacking twenty-four-seven.

Doug
: Don’t you already do that?

Me
: You sure seem to know an awful lot about what’s going on under everyone else’s pants. What’s with that?

Rob
: That’s what
I’m
sayin’!

Trent
: Why don’t you settle it for us, Baryshnikov? Does Kensington spend all his time whacking off in his room?

Me
: FYI - Baryshnikov is a
man
.

Trent
: FYI - nobody cares!

Doug
: I think I’m gonna go get another sandwich. This one just tastes weird.

Colin
: You’re asking the wrong question, man. What we
should
be asking is how often Sara does it!

Trent
: You have a point. Alright sweet pea, let’s have it. Give us the breakdown.

Me
: Excuse me?

Trent
: How many times a week?

Me
: Are you - what are you picking on
me
for? Why don’t you tell everyone how often
you
do it!

Trent
: At least once a day, usually twice.

Rob
: I coulda gone the rest of my life without knowing that.

Trent
: Your turn, sweet pea.

Me
: Ha! I don’t think so.

Colin
: Come on. All we want is a number.

Me
: How did we ever get off on this subject?

Trent
: I think the subject
is
getting off. Tell you what - if it makes you feel better we’ll all share with you first. Colin?

Colin
: What - me?

Trent
: No, the other Colin sitting here with us. Dumbass.

Colin
: Oh. Um…I’d say maybe two or three times a week.

Trent
: Lightweight. Rob?

Rob
: Eight or nine times a day, unless I’m having an off week.

Me
: (laughing) You do not!

Rob
: You’re right - I lied. It’s really closer to twenty. Hell, I’m doing it right now.

Colin
: DUDE! That ain’t right.

Me
: I’d sure like to know how you’re accomplishing that when both your hands are right there on the table.

Trent
: Where are
your
hands, Sara?

Me
: In my pockets.

Trent
: Right…

Colin
: I think we just found out how Rob’s getting by without his hands.

Rob
: Busted…

Me
: You’re all sick puppies. Every one of you.

Trent
: So you still haven’t told us. What’s the tally, ballerina?

Me
: I never agreed to any of this!

Colin
: We shared with you. It’s only fair.

Rob
: You know, I’m kinda interested in hearing your answer to this too.

Doug
: (returning) Her answer to what?

Trent
: We’re waiting to hear how often she feels the urge to audition the finger puppets.

Doug
: What finger puppets?

Colin
: (bursting into laughter) Oh my God…

Trent
: She hasn’t come into her own yet. I think she’s still beating around the bush.

Doug
: Huh? Come into what now?

Colin
: (laughter bordering on hysterical) Don’t…don’t…I can’t take it…oh, shit…

Rob
: I could stand to see a puppet show.

Trent
: Have to hitchhike south to see it. She might be too busy playing poker though.

Colin
: (almost crying by now) BAAAAAHAHAHAHAHA!

Me
: I hate you all.

Doug
: Did I miss something?

Colin
: (gasping for air) Ow…I think I hurt myself.

Me
: Serves you right.

Doug
: What’s so funny?

Trent
: I don’t have nearly enough time to explain it to you. Did you get another sandwich, you big baby?