Page 47 of Emma on Fire

It’s empty.

His shoulders slump, his stomach drops.

Thomas comes in behind him, still looking down at his phone. “Spencer Jenkins says he saw Emma leaving campus, Mr. Hastings.”

“When?” The word can barely get out between his clenched teeth.

“Before first period.”

That was over three hours ago.

An ambulance can’t take away a girl it can’t find.

And he can’t protect a girl who doesn’t want to be found.

CHAPTER 35

WEARING COMFORTABLE SNEAKERS and carrying a light backpack, Emma makes good time. It’s a four-mile walk to the Circle K, the gas station where Ridgemont kids with cars come for frozen pizzas and Monster Energy drinks and NoDoz during finals week. Where the ones with fake IDs can sometimes walk out with a case of Bud tallboys, depending on who’s working the register.

Emma grabs a bottle of Starbucks cold brew and goes up to the counter. “Do you sell gas cans?”

The guy looks up from his phone. He’s probably nineteen, with jet-black dyed hair and sunken cheeks. He looks like someone who never goes outside. “Yeah,” he says. “How many you need?”

“Is it something people usually buy a lot of?”

He shrugs. “Not really. But the boss says I ought to encourage everyone to buy more of everything.” He rubs two fingers together, like he’s feeling invisible money. “Why get a six-pack when you can get a case? Why one cold brew when you can have two?”

“I just need one gas can.”

“They’re in the back. Hang on.”

When he comes back, he’s got a small red plastic can. “We’re out of the big ones. This’ll hold two gallons. That work?”

Emma figures it will. “How much does a gallon of gas weigh, do you think?”

“No idea.”

Emma thinks back to chemistry class. “Water’s eight point three pounds per gallon. Gas is lighter, I know that.” Emma taps a finger on the counter. “I wonder if I should get lighter fluid too…”

He peers at her. “Do I know you?” he asks.

Emma starts. Then quickly she shakes her head. “No,” she says. “I’m not from around here. I ran out of gas back on Route 12. Stupid fuel gauge is broken—”

“You look really familiar,” he says.

She puts a fifty-dollar bill on the counter. “I’m going to pump my gas now. I think this should cover everything.” She straightens her shoulders and walks calmly but quickly out of the store. She can feel his eyes on the back of her neck.

Of course he’s seen you before. He probably lives online.

Just … hurry.

She fumbles with the gas nozzle and dribbles gas on her shoes, but she manages to fill the can with a gallon of gas. She wants it to be easy to carry, and it’s not like she needs that much. She puts the canister in her backpack, nestling it next to her phone and her toiletries bag. That’s when she hears him calling after her.

“Emma!” he shouts. “You’re Emma On Fire!” He’s coming out of the store, waving at her. “Your videos aresick!”

Is that a compliment? Does it even matter?

Emma doesn’t wave back, doesn’t ask him what he means. She starts running.

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