Page 28 of Burn

He suddenly feels menacing and predatory. His mouth twists into a snarl, and I’m invisible to them. I take a slow step backward, then another. I step to the side, my eyes wide with fear as I watch the fight between them explode. When she bursts into tears, I take the opportunity to run toward the school doors. The last thing I hear him say is something about her being young, immature, and entirely unworthy of his time and attention.

I fling the doors open, glancing again at Navaeh and Tristan. He’s storming back to the field, and she’s tugging desperately on his arm. This is going to come back to haunt me, without question. As I turn back around, I come to an abrupt stop when I see that I’m about to hammer full speed into someone, but I’m moving too fast, and I realize too late. I slam into the backof Mr. Peters as he speaks with the lunch monitor. He stumbles forward, and his arms fly out to catch me before I hit the floor.

“Ms. Donnelly!” he exclaims.

Flustered, I rush out, “Oh my god. Mr. Peters. I’m so sorry. I was… I didn’t see you.”

He laughs, a low rumble that sounds like it comes from his belly. “It’s okay. Eyes forward. Nothing good comes from looking back.”You have no idea.His eyes shift behind me, taking in the scene playing out on the field. “Ah, I see. Well, I’d probably run away from that, too.”

I laugh and feel the lunch monitor staring at me. I excuse myself and make a beeline for the restroom. I spend the remainder of lunch locked in a stall, hoping my breathing will return to normal. When the buzzer sounds, I allow myself to emerge and come face to face with a blotchy and tear-stained Navaeh, hunched over the sink. Our eyes meet in the mirror, and I want to apologize. I didn’t mean to start shit with them. I was just looking. I wasn’t going to do anything. I step forward, and she turns to face me. Before I can say a single word, her lips part, and the most hostile whisper skates out of her.

“He broke up with me. Because of you.”

What?

“Navaeh, I…” She doesn’t allow me to speak.

“Shut the fuck up.” Her words are pointed. “You’re so fucking dead. I’ll be waiting for you after school. You better show up, or I’ll make this so much fucking worse for you, cunt.”

The doors swing open, and three girls enter the restroom, laughing. When they see us, they fall silent and share an awkward glance. Navaeh storms out, leaving me in stunned silence.

After school?

Waiting for me?

For what?

To fight?

I’ve never been in a fight.

At the end of the day, when the final bell chimes, I’m numb. I mechanically move to my locker, grab my things, and walk to the front of the school. There are people everywhere. I scan the crowd, searching for Navaeh’s blonde hair. When I don’t immediately spot her, I wait, roving my eyes back and forth. Slowly, the crowd dissipates, and when I’m the last person standing on the stairs, I allow myself to sit down. The strangest feeling of rejection floods me. I can’t make friends, and apparently, I can’t make enemies.

I rest my chin on my knees, staring at the empty lawn and losing myself in my thoughts. The temperature drops as time passes, and when Mr. Peters drops down beside me, I don’t budge.

“Late in the morning, late in the evening,” he sighs, bumping my shoulder with his. I take a deep breath. Goosebumps flush my bare arms with the evening chill, and Mr. Peters lifts his left arm, regarding his watch. “It’s after five, Morgan. I’ll drive you home,” he offers. My mind is hazy, and my self-worth is so low that I can’t form a single word in response, so instead, I nod and rise. He stands and walks past me, gesturing for me to follow. As we approach his rusty old BMW, I notice some movement across the lot. A petite brunette, engrossed in a book, strolls across the grass.

Overcome by curiosity, I turn to Mr. Peters and rush out, saying, “Thanks, Mr. Peters. I’m actually going to walk.” I don’t wait for his response; instead, I turn and hurry after her.

She walks the same path that I usually take home, but I’ve never seen her during my walks. She rarely looks up from the book in her hands, relying on muscle memory to move forward.When she turns into a row of townhouses and I follow, I start to question my sanity.

I’m being such a fucking creep.

The little voice in my head fails to encourage me to turn around and go home. I watch her walk up the steps to the fourth unit and pull the storm door open, never once disconnecting from the story before her. Sadness twists through me when the door closes behind her, and I’m left alone in the parking lot, tucked between an old van and a shiny new truck. I want to watch her read. Not for any particular reason other than something about her is just so interesting and different from every other girl at school. Little butterflies in my stomach awaken as the first drop of rain touches my cheek. I lift my gaze to the sky and behold the thick, heavy storm clouds rolling in.

I think my feet move before my mind does, and I’m knocking on the storm door a moment later. I shift the strap of my backpack higher onto my shoulder and stand straight, taking a deep breath. When the door opens and I’m greeted by the uninterested expression on the pimply face of an older teenage boy, I’m shocked. I’ve never seen her with anyone at school. I’ve never seen this kid at school, but he can’t be more than sixteen or seventeen. I look up and down the row of town homes—is this the one she went into?I’m certain this is the door she walked through, so I clear my throat and ask, “I’m looking for…” I pause.I don’t know her fucking name.My confidence falters. The boy on the other side of the door doesn’t so much as blink. He turns over his shoulder and bellows, “Blake! Someone is here for you.”

With that, he slams the door in my face, locking me in the drizzle. I wait there, leaning toward the door to try and hear movement on the other side, but it’s silent. I decide to count toten; if I make it to ten, I’ll leave and never return. I reach six before I hear a muffled female voice ask, “Who is it?”

The boy’s tone is clipped, edged with annoyance, when he tells her he has no idea who it is. He must walk away before she can ask him any more questions because I hear her yell, “Thomas!” in frustration. I’m officially questioning my sanity when the door clicks open, slowly swinging inward and revealing the petite brunette. We stare at each other in silence for a few moments. It’s somehow not tense, awkward, or uncomfortable. It’s just silent. I try to think of something casual and cool to say, but ultimately settle on, “I saw you leave school and followed you home. Do you wanna hang out for a bit?”

The ick I feel as the words leave my mouth has me cringing completely as her eyebrows shoot upward. My cheeks flush with embarrassment.

Not creepy at all.

I reach for the storm door and pull it open. My heart hammers in my chest as I hold out my hand and rush to say, “Sorry, I’m Morgan. We go to school together.”

I notice her expression is more hesitant and somewhat nervous. I am freaking her out, so I release the door, letting it fall closed, and step backward down the step. My stomach twists with anxiety; I fumbled this whole chance to make a new friend. My foot hits the footpath in front of her house, and I awkwardly motion over my shoulder and stutter, “I’ll just… I’m sorry… This is so weird… I’ll go…”

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