Kiss of Fire (4 page)

“Traitor,” I mumbled as I shuffled to the kitchen. Ryland bounded behind me, full of more energy than usual.

“Well, I had to get my information somewhere, seeing as someone wouldn’t return my calls.” He raised a brow at me as he settled into one of the two kitchen chairs, crossing his legs regally and looking out of place sitting at the tiny table at the end of our galley kitchen.

“Yeah, sorry about that. Sick or not, I did sleep all day yesterday.” I pulled down a box of Fruit Loops and a bowl, carrying them and the milk over to the table where he sat. I could feel his eyes on me the entire time.

“People only sleep like that when they’re sick. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lied. His eyes widened in disbelief.

“Do you want some?” I shook the box of cereal at him, trying to break his gaze.

He shook his head and continued to look at me. “You know, when I was ten, I snuck into the kitchen and had some Fruit Loops from the box your mom used to keep in there for you...”

“And?”

“They were disgusting!” He made a face like he still remembered the sugar-sweet taste and it revolted him. I couldn’t help but laugh; the idea of Fruit Loops being disgusting was funny to me. Of course, Ryland had been raised on a whole higher class of food, so it made sense.

I looked up to find him studying me.

“I’m worried about you. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I stuck a spoonful of cereal in my mouth, making it clear I didn’t want to elaborate.

Ryland leaned forward and exhaled. “That’s obviously a lie, Jos.”

I ignored him, and continued to scarf down my cereal at an inhuman rate.

“I was worried,” Ryland continued, his voice low, “that after I gave you the necklace, you thought I was looking at you differently, that you thought I wanted to be more than friends… that I scared you…” His voice trailed off and I dropped my spoon into the bowl. We stared at each other.

I had no idea how to respond. I felt hollow at his words. Somewhere, deep inside, I knew he was right; I did feel that way. It was obvious he was trying to make it clear that we were friends and nothing else. I sighed, realizing that I did, in fact, feel something more for him, but now I felt guilty, too. I should never have let myself feel that way. Ryland was my best friend, and somehow I had let my feelings change without even realizing it. It almost seemed like a betrayal of trust.

“No, Ryland, it wasn’t that at all!” I tried to force a smile. “I love the necklace, but I know we’re… I mean, I understand…” I looked up to him in a desperate attempt to find the right words and felt my heart sputter again.

He was looking at me, bright blue depths boring into mine with a look I had never seen before. His face screwed up in a heart-stopping half-smile that revealed a tiny dimple. I could feel my face fall again.

I grabbed the necklace from underneath my sweater and tried to screw my face back into a smile rather than the shocked disappointment I was sure I displayed. “I can give it back, Ryland. It’s okay.”

Ryland’s hands shot across the small table to land on mine, hindering my intent to remove it. “No, Jos,” he whispered, “I don’t ever want you to take it off. Can you promise me that? That you will never take it off?”

I nodded, and his smile widened. He kept his hand on mine, his gaze smoldering me before I broke away and went to staring at my bowl of ever mushier Fruit Loops.

“So, what
is
wrong?”

I chanced a glance at him before returning to stare at my Fruit Loops. I didn’t know what to tell him, or even how much. After my mother’s reaction, I worried he would blow me off, too. I sighed and poked at a mushy red ring of cereal in my bowl.

“Joclyn, you can tell me,” he said, his voice low and comforting.

I felt that familiar wave of relaxing warmth I always got from Ryland, my resolve returning.

“My father,” I said.

“Your father?” His confusion was understandable. We never talked about my father, just as we never talked about his mother. They were both kind of taboo topics.

“He sent me a letter for my birthday.” I decided that I could be more truthful with Ryland than with my mother. I still had to keep some key details from him; he had no idea about my ugly mark, and I didn’t want him to find out. “But don’t tell my mother,” I added. “I only told her he made contact with my grandparents.”

“What did the letter say?” Here, again, was something I couldn’t answer with the full truth. I focused on his dark curly hair, not wanting to look at him again, worried I would lose myself in his eyes for yet another time.

“He referred me to a cult.” I dropped my head into my hands as the desperation over everything that had happened since Thursday night came crashing down on me. I needed to pull it together.

“Oh, Jos, I am so sorry.” I heard his chair scrape against the linoleum as he rushed over to me and gathered me in his arms, moving into my chair and sitting me on his lap. His strong arms wrapped around me, pressing me into his chest.

I buried my face in his shirt, the smell of a million bonfires and a million rugby practices consuming me. I could hear the steady thrumming of his heart as it echoed through my head, the rhythm calm and soothing. It did more than mend my frayed emotions; it told me it was okay to feel them. His arms held me tightly, his rough hands moving over my back. He moved his head down to rest on mine, surrounding me with a blanket of warmth, love and comfort. Only, that blanket was Ryland.

My heart rate didn’t increase; instead it steadied as my emotions evened out. Ryland’s touch was some sort of perfect drug that took all my pains and worries away. We stayed like that until my Fruit Loops had become a rainbow mush. Even though my frayed emotions had calmed, I didn’t want to move; I felt so comfortable in his arms. I could tell he didn’t want to move either; his arms held me against him, his tense muscles making a comfortable pillow. I sighed into him and he rotated his head to kiss the top of mine.

His lips brushed against my hair, his hot breath sending a warm tickle of joy down my spine, and I shivered. His chest heaved as he laughed, the sound echoing through my ears. My stomach tensed into a tightly wound basket as his lips began trailing across my head toward my temple. He breathed against the skin there, and the basket inside of me snapped. I jumped up out of his arms, leaving him looking lost, sitting alone in the chair. Necklace or no, he had just made it clear that our relationship had to be purely platonic, and I didn’t like the summersault my stomach was now doing.

“I have to get dressed,” I sputtered as I fled from the room, my head spinning.

I moved the few steps to my room and shut the door behind me. I stood there, my back to the door as my heart rate steadied. I wasn’t sure what had just happened. Okay, that was a lie; I knew exactly what had happened. Had I not jumped up, Ry would have kissed me. My stomach did a joyful swoop at the thought. Did I want him—Ryland LaRue, my best friend—to kiss me? I pictured myself kissing him, his hands against my face, his soft lips pressed against mine. I slid to the floor as my legs forgot how to support me. Obviously, I did. I really, really did. This was bad.

“Are you okay in there?” I jumped to my feet at Ryland’s voice right outside my door.

“Yeah, I’ll be just a minute.”

“Can I watch Demo TV?” Ryland asked, his reference to my lack of cable making me smile.

“Yeah.”

“Cool.”

I grabbed one of my few pair of jeans, some ballet flats, and a different cami before rushing across the hall to the bathroom. After taming my bed-head, and brushing and scrubbing my teeth and face, I stood still, looking in the mirror. I needed to make sure I didn’t let this get out of control.

I stared at myself in the mirror, once again caught with that fantasy of us wrapped in an embrace, arms and legs tangled together from head to toe. I shook my head, wiping the image from my mind. He was leaving in a few months; best to keep him as my best friend.

I dressed and left the bathroom to find Ryland perched at the end of the couch, his legs bouncing up and down.

“You’re wired,” I pointed out.

“State Rugby finals tonight. My nerves are displaying themselves in some sort of super-charged state.” I couldn’t help but smile at him, his legs didn’t seem to stop moving, even though he was sitting.

“Save it for the field, ’kay?”

“That’s the plan, but it doesn’t seem to be working.”

I walked over and sat next to him on the small couch, intending to watch whatever he had engrossed himself in, but his leg spasms were vibrating the whole couch.

“Knock it off. I feel like I’m in a blender.” I pushed him sideways with all my strength, but he hardly moved. He only started shaking more, making odd buzzing noises in an attempt to mimic a blender.

I laughed before sliding off the couch to get away from him. His buzzing sounds grew as he followed me onto the floor, his large form toppling me over to smother me in his weird body-blender. I screeched through my hysterical laughter and slammed my elbow into his side in a desperate attempt to get him off me. He stopped shaking as he rolled away to lie beside me. We laid on the floor, side by side, our arms and legs pressed together as our laughter died out.

“Will you come with me tonight?” he asked, his voice sounding nervous for some reason.

“To your Rugby game?” I asked, my voice still chuckling as the last of the laughter escaped me.

“Yeah, you can be my lucky charm. Maybe I’ll score the winning goal. Besides, it’ll be good for you to stop moping around this place.” He turned his head and winked at me. I was hit with the same vision again: his hand against the small of my back, his face pressed against mine. I sighed, nodding my head yes in defeat. I was in big trouble.

Ryland drove us to the Rugby game a few hours later—after making me endure two hours of infomercials that he found hysterical. To the standard middle class, things like Oxy-Clean and exercise videos were practical; to Ryland, they were hysterical ideas that no one would ever utilize. I just rolled my eyes at him. Sometimes, his innocence of everyone’s normal existence was irritating, not endearing. Watching infomercials, he learned about rotisserie roasters and paint sprayers, and almost bought a leopard print snuggie, insisting that I needed one.

It wasn’t until we pulled into the parking lot at Whittier Academy that I began to second guess my decision to come with him.

Ryland pulled his Lotus into a spot close to the locker rooms where a variety of other expensive cars were clustered. His canary yellow car looked a bit out of place next to all the black—while equally-expensive cars—surrounding us. I got out and leaned against the back of the car while Ryland extracted his duffle bag from the small shelf behind the seats.

The campus of Whittier Academy was acre after acre of tall broadleaf trees with large flagstone buildings tucked among them. From the parking lot, I could see the large stadium, a few tennis courts and a neatly cut field next to a stable. Set away from the sporting arena was the first of what I could only assume were academic buildings or dorms, but nothing was labeled, so I couldn’t be sure.

The whole campus had been taken care of with absolute perfection. The trees were groomed, each hedge squared. The ivy growing up the side of the building trailed through the stone with eerie precision. Even the long stretch of cobblestone road we traveled seemed to be cared for with extreme diligence. The whole facility screamed wealth and privilege. I felt like a blob of dirt on its sparkling floors.

I shoved all of my hair into my hoodie, making sure my right ear and the mark were covered, and then smoothed out my dirty jeans as I tried to cover up my flaws. Somehow, growing up with Ryland, being with him every day, I never felt out of place; but, being here at his school, I could feel the gap between us widen.

He walked toward me with his rugged strut, and I sank against the car, trying for the first time since I was five to disappear from Ryland.

“What’s up, Jos?” he asked, wrapping his fingers around my elbow. “Are you okay?”

“Yes... I mean, no... I mean...” He smiled at me and I felt my insides melt. “I don’t belong here, Ry. This isn’t my world.”

“What do you mean, this isn’t your world? You are part of
my
world, so you do belong here.” His grin widened as he led me away from his car. My giddy, high-school-crush butterflies came out of nowhere because he had referred to me as belonging.

“You going to sit on the front row and cheer me on?” he asked, although I could tell by his tone he already knew the answer.

“Ha ha. No. I will, however, give you the loudest feminine yell from somewhere near the middle.”

“That’s my girl.” He reached over and rumpled my hair like a dog’s, ruining my perfectly placed hood. I gave him a spiteful look as I fixed his handiwork, but he only grinned at me before running off to join his team.

I watched him before turning around as some of the other boys began asking about me. Although I couldn’t stop their ogling, at least from a distance I could pretend to ignore it.

I had moved about halfway up the stadium seats when a large, inclined roof caught my attention. Without even thinking about it, I changed directions toward the enclosed announcer’s booth. It was covered in the same smooth flagstone as the other buildings, but it was the roof that called to me. The deeply angled slope extended high above the field.

I jumped up about three feet and hoisted myself onto the red asphalt tiles. I loved being so high for the same reason I loved that our apartment was on the third floor with a big open window where I could sit for hours. From up here, I could watch over everyone; I could see what was going on and feel a part of it without the worry of someone else thinking something was wrong with me. What I loved the most, though, was the way the wind moved across my face, tickling my sun-starved skin. The powerful energy of the wind pushed against me and moved into me. It was lucky I was sane, because part of my soul wanted to take off into the air and soar away.

I sat perched on top of the booth; legs dangling on either side of the A-shaped roof, watching both teams run drills on opposite sides of the field. Ryland’s team wore deep blue shorts and matching shirts, each shirt emblazoned with a giant dragon spewing a perfect line of fire. The dragon wasn’t the school mascot, however; it was the logo of Ryland’s father’s company, Imdalind Forging. Being around Ryland so much, I often forgot how large his family’s company was and how much it had a hand in everything Ryland did.

After about an hour of drills and prep, the crowd began to file in. When the slow trickle became a more steady flow, I decided it was time to leave my roost, so I wouldn’t get in trouble. I moved my way down the steep slant of red asphalt shingles, freezing in place when a hot trickle moved up my spine. I looked up, afraid some bird had decided to humiliate me, but stopped halfway at the sight of Edmund strolling into the stands.

He wore all black, his good looks accentuated by a heavy leather jacket and diminished by his usual scowl. I glued my body to the roof; I knew I shouldn’t be there.

Edmund was accompanied by a shorter boy who appeared to be about Ryland’s age, but given his height, it was hard to tell. His features were rough and rounded, giving him an odd boy-like quality that didn’t fit him at all. He had unkempt, deep-red hair and eyes so dark that, from my distance, looked almost black.

I sought out Ryland, fully prepared to glare daggers at him, only to find his face panicked as he looked back and forth between his father and me. I guess Edmund’s appearance was a surprise for him, too.

Ryland looked at me one last time before he turned away and began signaling his father down. I took Ry’s distraction at full value and dropped the remaining six feet before rushing to find a seat that was, hopefully, far enough away.

I dodged through the growing throng of people, my femininity becoming apparent. I was one of a sprinkling of girls surrounded by the over-rambunctious boys of Whittier Academy, most in their bright blue blazers, even though it was a Saturday. I dodged through them, trying to avoid the catcalls that had started the second I had been noticed in the stands.

Oh, the joys of being among boys stuck in an all-boy school. Any time they even got around a girl, the hormones came out like crazed tiger cubs surrounded by fresh meat. Luckily, Tyler Brand, one of Ryland’s friends I had met a few times, found me as I darted around, inviting me to sit next to him and his friends. I was still noticed far more than I was comfortable with and part of me wished I could sit alone; but with Edmund so close, it just wasn’t safe.

I slid closer to Tyler and his group, attempting to make polite conversation; all the while, I kept looking around to find out where Edmund and the mysterious boy were going to sit. I had forgotten how hard it was to keep up a conversation with anyone other than Ryland. I tried to interject as much as I could, but I kept tripping over my words and making awkward comments. Before long, the group began to look at me with the expression I knew all too well: the look that said they knew something was just a bit off about me. Eventually, I gave up and sat back, making sure my hair covered my mark so it wouldn’t give them another thing to dislike about me.

Edmund had chosen a seat in the front row about two sections over, the red-headed boy still right beside him. The boy looked almost protective, like he was supposed to be Edmunds’s bodyguard. I had never seen him before, so I guess he could be. What bothered me the most about him was that he kept standing and looking at the crowd. It wasn’t the casual glance for trouble; it was the deep stare of someone who was searching for something or someone. Several times his look lingered in my direction, and I felt my spine stiffen uncomfortably.

Even with the mysterious boy’s continued stares, the game went by quickly, and I found myself enjoying it more than I had thought I would. I couldn’t help but join in with the crowd’s excited screams and cheers; their excitement was infectious, and before long, I was smiling from ear to ear. Ryland was right; a good Rugby game was the pick-me-up I needed. The Whittier Academy team made a scramble toward their line and I got swept up in the screams and hollers of hundreds of boys, anticipation of another goal resonating through everyone.

Ryland’s team had the ball, passing it from teammate to teammate as they ran down the pitch. The ball got to Ryland, only for him to be tackled roughly by the opposing team when two players lunged at him, sending him backward into three more. All five members of the opposing team and Ryland went down in a spectacular heap of bodies. The ball continued on; however, it took a moment before Ryland stood again, a bit of blood dripping from a cut on his lip.

I stood in worry. I must have looked ridiculous because I heard Tyler laugh beside me.

“He’s fine,” he yelled over the roar or the crowd. “It’s normal.”

I nodded as I looked back to the field to see that Ryland had already run to rejoin the play. I had seen a few of these tackles during this game alone, but it still seemed rough, given that the players wore no padding. I sat down; aware that Edmund’s bodyguard was staring in my direction.

Ryland jostled back into place among the running bodies. The ball quickly passed to him, but this time, he avoided all of the other players as he weaved around each of them. Once he passed them, the wide expanse of field lay before him. He took off in a dead run toward the goal line, his strong legs pumping him forward until he reached the other end of the field for a glorious goal. Our side of the stadium erupted as Ryland turned around in a sort of victory salute.

“26 – 19, with one minute left. We are State Champs!” Tyler yelled, drowning out the voice of the announcer who tried in vain to say that Ryland had scored the winning points.

Ryland continued to dance and move about as the members from his team surrounded him. He sought me out before blowing a kiss in my direction. I looked around for who his gesture was aimed at before turning back to him in shock. What a dangerous thing to do with his father right there. I wasn’t sure if I should be overjoyed or scared. My eyes locked with his, as my heart stuttered to a stop before he turned and ran back onto the field. I couldn’t bring myself to move.

“I didn’t know you and Ryland were like that,” Tyler yelled suggestively in my ear.

My mind clicked back into action and I turned to face him. “What?”

“You know. I didn’t know he loved you.” He stretched out his vowels in a taunt. I stared at him, unsure of what to say. I looked away from Tyler, not wanting to give him the glory of an answer, confused about what I would say anyway. 

The finality of the game explained the excitement level of the crowd. Everyone was yelling at the top of their lungs, jumping up and down. Banners of blue and silver waved all around me as the boys began the deep booming war-cry that was the signature of their team. I couldn’t help but join in, knowing my petite voice would not even be heard among them.

The ending whistle sounded and the stands emptied as the occupants rushed the field. The banners multiplied, and the screaming and yelling increased in amplitude—if that was possible. I was swept up with them in the excitement, forgetting that Ryland’s father was still in such close proximity. I didn’t care, though; I wanted to find Ryland somewhere in the crowd and throw myself in his arms and congratulate him.

I made it about halfway to the field before a sharp pain shot into my chest, causing me to stop short. It felt like I had been burned. My hand moved to the pain, shocked to feel Ryland’s necklace red hot under my sweater. As soon as my hand made contact with it, the heat left it, taking the pain away. I looked at my hand and sweater, expecting to see welts or scorch marks, but nothing was there. I continued to stand in place as the crowd jostled me around in their attempts to pass my stationary form.

One perfectly placed shoulder was all it took to take me down. The force of the jolt sent me down hard. I threw my hands out in front of me, but not in time. My knee hit first, meeting the hard asphalt of the track that surrounded the field, a jolt of pain surging through my leg. My hands hit next, sliding against the asphalt in a deep grind that rattled my wrists. I winced with the pain that moved through my joints, waiting for my brain to catch up with me. A warm, stinging sensation spread across my knee, a telltale sign I was bleeding.

The bodies flowed past me in a steady stream I could barely see through. Knees, feet and legs jostled me around, digging my injured joints further into the ground. I looked around for some form of safety from them.

I had just caught sight of the home team’s benches when a giant tug grew out of my chest; it felt like someone had grabbed the necklace in an attempt to pull me toward safety. I followed the inward pull, my hand fluttering around my sweater to shoo away whatever was pulling at me.

I pulled myself onto the bleachers, the changing angle sending a sharp sting through my knee. My jeans had ripped, revealing a couple of bleeding cuts. My mom was going to kill me; I only had a few pair of jeans and we couldn’t afford to buy a new pair right now.

I winced as I removed the loose bits of asphalt from my knee and the palms of my hands; my hands had small scrapes, but no blood was drawn. With the asphalt gone, the cuts on my knee didn’t look so bad, but they still stung. I screwed up my face in irritation, resigning myself to sit there until the crowd thinned out and Ryland found me.