Page 27 of Burn

Then it morphs to anger. If he’s not dead and not here, then he mustn’t care.

He doesn’t give a fuck about me.

When the old wall phone beside my bed rings, it startles me so much that I let out a scratchy squeal. For a moment, I’m convinced it’s the fire alarms again. After the fourth ring, I realize it’s the phone and drag myself to the edge of the bed to reach it. I lift the receiver to my ear.

“Hello?” There’s a long silence. So long that I open my mouth to repeat it, maybe they couldn’t hear me because my voice is so fucked.

When she finally speaks, her soft voice sounds like home: “Morgan?”

No one calls me Morgan anymore. Even people who used to call me Morgan have gotten used to calling me Lex. Not her. She was adamant back then that I would always be Morgan, and she’s the only person I allow it from — mostly because she’s too stubborn, and I could never fight her on anything. It’s been too long since I last heard her voice, yet the recognition feels instant. I know it almost as well as I know my own.

I forget about the fire, about the burn in my chest, and my destroyed throat. I forget about Adrian, Lane, and everything that’s happened, then lean back and smile.

Ghost

Lex

15 Years Old

I’ve moved through the last two weeks in a state of disassociation. Physically, I’m present. Emotionally, I’m numb and detached. Aaron was suspended for fighting at the end of last week, and I’ve thanked whatever god might be out there for it every day since. I returned to eating my lunch alone on the field after Story told me what Navaeh had been saying. It’s quiet and peaceful.

Today, the hockey team occupies the soccer field, playing a chaotic game of rugby for their practice. At first, I keep my eyes on my book. I love the twisted and disturbing story ofAmerican Psycho.When a round of hoots erupts from the field, I allow myself to look up. I see the red-headed guy I met in the cafeteria first. His hair is so bright under the afternoon sun that he’s a beacon. Then I see Tristan. He runs up to the redhead and jumps on his back, celebrating. His muscles ripple and flex with every move, and heat flushes my body.

When a shadow falls over me, I force my eyes away from the field, disappointed to miss even a minute of the action. The face that glares down at me douses me in an icy chill. Navaeh looks positively lethal; her arms folded across her chest. She’s alone today. Her usual entourage is nowhere to be seen. She looms over me, her blonde hair whipping in the breeze and a cold glint in her green eyes.

Her lip curls, and her tone is scathing when she snarls, “Lusting after something that’s not yours, Morgan?” I open mymouth to reply, but she leans toward me and speaks first. “I don’t want to hear anything out of your nasty-ass mouth.”

Fuck this.

I shift forward and push myself up to my feet. My legs feel like lead, but I force them to move. I’m a full head taller than her and probably have a solid amount of weight on her.

I will not let her intimidate me.

Navaeh doesn’t back down, but I see the momentary flash of fear in her eyes. She wasn’t expecting me to take a stance. I cross my arms, mirroring her, and narrow my gaze. My heart pounds, and I take a deep breath before I speak, hoping to steady my voice.

“Yours, Navaeh?” I hiss out. “He doesn’t belong to anyone, especially you.”

I watch the range of emotions play out across her face, from shock to hurt to rage. She steps toward me, and I do the same, putting us inches apart. She needs to tilt her head to hold eye contact. I curl my hands into fists at my side and brace myself for a fight. Navaeh’s face gradually gets redder and redder. She looks like she’s about to explode. She shifts — about to swing — when a new presence cuts through the tension.

“Whoa, girls.” I smell him before I even turn to see Tristan standing beside us. His hands come between us, pushing us back from each other a step. “You’re killing our vibe with the tension. What’s going on?” He laughs awkwardly. “Vaeh, babe, what’s wrong?”

I turn away from them and stoop to pick up my book and bag, intending to quietly retreat into the school. Tristan’s strong hand gently wraps around my arm. He feels so warm, and his palm is damp with sweat.

“Morgan, don’t leave. You two are friends, no?” he says.

We hung out twice. I thought we could be friends, but I wouldn’t call her one. I know this, but I can’t bring myself to say it. Navaeh doesn’t have that problem. She scoffs.

“Friends?” she spits at him. “I would never be friends with a slut who wants to fuck my boyfriend.”

I close my eyes, wishing I could melt into the ground. When I open them, I nearly gasp when I meet Tristan’s warm brown eyes. I can’t decipher his expression. It’s almost intrigue. Navaeh grows angrier by the second, her eyes locked on Tristan.

His tone is soft when he asks, “That true, Morgan?”

What the fuck is happening right now?

I’m speechless.

“Tristan,” Navaeh barks, “Why the fuck are you staring at her like that?” Her tone grows louder with each word, and by the time she says, ‘like that,’ she’s screaming. He flicks his gaze from me to her, and instantly, the look on his face sends a chill down my spine.

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