Page 6 of Emma on Fire

That girl is gone forever. That girl died in December too.

“People already write about those things,” Emma says quietly, tapping her fingernail on his copy of theNew York Times.“No one is listening to scientists, to experts, to doctors and lawyers and people with a string of degrees after their names. No one is going to listen to a privileged white girl unless she does something drastic. I already rose to your challenges, and I accomplished nothing that actually mattered. I don’t want to be your poster child anymore.”

Mr. Hastings leans across his desk so his face is barely a foot away from hers. She can see the individual pores on his nose.

“But do you want to set yourself on fire?” he asks.

“Of course she doesn’t!” Mr. Montgomery exclaims. “She just wanted to shock all of us!”

Emma’s seen what Mr. Montgomery drives: a Honda Civic. His suit jackets are off-the-rack, not tailor-made. He probably eats the heels of his bread loaves, drinks Walmart coffee, and drives to school every day believing that none of his rich students have any real problems.But we’re living on the same planet, and the outlook is not good.

Mr. Hastings, however, is still holding her gaze, still waiting for an answer to whether or not she actually wants to set herself on fire … and he looks like he might actually care about her response.

Emma swivels away from Mr. Hastings and offers Mr. Montgomery a half smile. “It was a good presentation, admit it,” she tells him. “Everyonewas paying attention. You can’t say that about anyone else’s essay. You could barely keep your eyes open during Rhaina’s exploration of the joys of a French horn.”

Mr. Montgomery stiffens. He looks like he’s being strangled by his tie. “I won’t tell you it was good.”

Emma lifts an eyebrow, mildly surprised. Sure, she’s failing English now, and most of her other classes. But she used to get A’s in her sleep. “Okay, then,” she says. “What grade would you give it?”

She tries to make it sound like she doesn’t actually care all that much, but there’s still a little bit of pride deep down, a tiny place inside of her that wants to know she could climb out of this hole she’s dug for herself—if she really wanted to.

“Setting aside the issue of the topic and its utter inappropriateness for AP English,” Mr. Montgomery says, “I’d give you a C plus. Maybe a B minus.”

“That’s it?” Emma is truly surprised.

Old Emma would have spent ten minutes before classdrafting essays, spouting clichés and well-worn phrases that she knew adults liked and would reward with A’s. But she put real effort into today’s essay, revealed in those pages her heart, soul, and core beliefs.

“The sentences were elegant,” Mr. Montgomery goes on. “The details were awful but powerful. However, I asked for an essay that described your personal experience. Your essay came fromresearch.”

Dammit. The man is not wrong.

It’s ironic, though, isn’t it? In another few days, she actuallywouldbe able to write about burning from personal experience. Except for the whole problem of being dead.

“I understand your point,” she says calmly. “I’ll try to do better next time.”

But if Emma gets her way—and she usually does—there won’t be a next time.

CHAPTER 5

ALONE AGAIN FINALLY, Hastings wipes his brow with a spotless white handkerchief and then tosses it into the small brass bin beneath his desk. (He never uses a handkerchief more than once.)

He’s troubled by the fact that in a matter of months, Emma Blake has gone from being one of Ridgemont’s best students to one of its worst. She’s going through a rough patch, but he believes it to be temporary. She’ll turn herself around, because that’s what Ridgemont students do. Especially when they have support from friends and family.

Of course, he must admit, family is part of the problem. Emma barely has a family anymore. And her father—the only one left—is the kind of person Hastings might call “problematic.”

What’s also problematic is the fact that Emma never actually answered his question. Does she really want to set herself on fire?

Mr. Montgomery would like to write off her behavior as youthful theatrics designed to create a stir and guarantee attention, but Hastings has been around teenagers his entire professional life—and Emma Blake doesn’t need attention.

Emma is the kind of young person who makes adults feel like maybe the human race isn’t barreling headfirst into a brick wall that’s going to break its collective neck. Or at least she used to be.

Hastings long ago resigned himself to the fact that he would never be a father, but when Emma arrived at Ridgemont—smart, strong, deservedly proud, quick, and funny—he realized she was exactly the daughter he wishes he could have had. Instead, she’s stuck with the biological father she actually got. One who can’t be bothered.

“Fiona,” he calls, steeling himself, “get Byron Blake on the line for me.”

“Righto, righto,” she chirps.

Emma’s father is a prominent Boston attorney specializing in white-collar defense. His clients, almost exclusively CEOs and VIPs, are men like Hastings’s cousin Charlie, who had to hire Blake to defend him against embezzlement charges.

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