Fire Girl Part 1 Read online

  Grandma turned and took my hand. “I don’t know a lot of details.”

  Uncle Bill stepped forward. “They’re still not sure. He’s had a mild heart attack. We’re waiting to hear what caused it.”

  Chance laid accusing eyes on me. “Stress can cause it.”

  All my emotion turned to lead weights. He’d read the letter.

  “I’m fine.” Grandpa’s voice came out soft. “The good Lord has his own time table. He still wants me around for a while.”

  Chance gave me the same look he’d given Jimmy Henry the summer before sixth grade, when Jimmy had tripped me while we were at the canal swimming. The look that told me he wanted to put me to the ground. “Maybe somebody shouldn’t be burning stuff down.”

  Uncle Bill looked between us and frowned. “None of that.”

  I looked away. More guilt.

  “Good Heavens all this billaboo over nothing.” Grandpa still didn’t open his eyes. “We don’t control anything, if I was meant to go I’d be gone by now. I’m fine.”

  Grandma wiped under her eyes and sucked in a breath. “It’s not billaboo. We’ll all pitch in to get you better.”

  Guilt seeped into the part of my soul that didn’t want to face the fact that I’d wanted to leave these people only minutes before.

  A buzz went through my jean pocket.

  Grandma looked down. “What is that?”

  I waved my hand through the air. “It’s my phone, don’t worry about it.”

  A doctor in a white jacket with a thick beard stepped in. He hummed in a deep baritone. I recognized the tune—The Battle Hymn of the Republic.

  I released Grandma’s hand. I hated doctors. I hated anything at any hospital. And I especially hated it when it came with a bushy beard. A flashing memory of the coroner from Garden City went through my mind. His beard hadn’t been shaggy. No, it had been clipped perfectly.

  A deep frown held against the doctor’s face. He tapped his clipboard on the metal bar at the bottom of Grandpa’s bed. “You’re lucky, Frank.” His voice reprimanded.

  Grandpa cleared his throat and started into a coughing fit.

  Grandma located a white cup of water on the bedside table. She leaned over and helped Grandpa take a sip.

  “You know we’ve talked about your diet a time or two in the past couple of years.”

  Grandma fluttered. “Doctor Hunt, I tell him not to eat those jelly donuts, but I’ll quit buying them. It’s my fault.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Grandpa barked out.

  Doctor Hunt looked between them and hesitated.

  “Is he going to be okay?” Uncle Bill moved next to him.

  The doctor grunted at me. “I presume you’re the one that I’ve heard about.”

  Grandma wrapped her arm around me protectively. “Yes, this is our granddaughter, Maddie, we’ve told you about.”

  Doctor Hunt lifted an eyebrow. An eyebrow that clearly accused me of being the extra stress that caused this heart attack.

  Grandpa cleared his throat. “When can I get back to my house, Doc?”

  The doctor pushed back on the chair and the metal wheels screeched out a whiny noise. “You’re lucky. Very lucky. You had a mild heart attack, but your vitals look normal.”

  Grandma lay her hand over his blanketed legs. “What do we need to do for him?”

  “He stays on his medication. He—” the doctor paused, “he takes it easy for about six weeks.” He shook his finger at Grandpa. “I mean it, Frank, you can’t be haulin’ hay and running the tractor and lifting things. I don’t even want you weeding or burning or mucking out stalls. You have to take it easy. Give the ticker a rest. Short walks, healthy diet, plenty of those breathing exercises we’ve talked about to manage stress.” The doctor shoved his glasses back onto his face and nodded. “Manage stress.” He gave me a reproving look. His statement came out in a purposeful, patronizing tone.

  Grandpa’s voice came out rough. “You’re tellin’ me you don’t want me to get my crops in? That’s too bad.”

  Uncle Bill leaned back into his heels. “It’s not a problem, Dad. I’ll do it.”

  Grandpa stared at the ceiling. “Ya can’t do everything, Bill. You have your own fields and animals to worry about.”

  My phone buzzed again.

  “Would you deal with that?” Grandpa commanded.

  Embarrassed, I turned away from them and tapped the screen on the phone. A text from Carrie.

  Uncle Bill’s voice turned firm. “Dad, we can handle this. We’ll hire help if we have to.”

  “The bank note is due at the end of the season, Bill. There’s no money for help.” Grandpa shook his head.

  A cold chill washed over me. Got the money—for real. When can we meet?

  “I can loan you some money, but you’ll need to hire some help.” Uncle Bill’s voice went even softer.

  I pushed the phone back into my pocket and turned back.

  “No one’s giving me money!” Grandpa snapped.

  “Dad.” Uncle Bill protested.

  “I’ll take over.” Chance’s face looked steady, determined.

  With a start of realization I understood what he meant. He would quit the football team.

  A sinking feeling shot into my heart, like in a dream where you do something really, really bad, and you try to wake yourself up, but you can’t. Chance couldn’t quit.

  All at once Grandpa, Grandma, and Uncle Bill protested.

  The look on Chance’s face told me this was how it would be. “It’s not like I’m going pro or anything. You need me. And I can do it.”

  Uncle Bill shook his head vehemently. “That’s not gonna happen, Chance.”

  Grandma pinched her lips into a straight line. “If you don’t think your Grandma knows how to operate a tractor, you’re wrong. I’ve been doing farm work since before you were a twinkle in your Daddy’s eye. We’ll be fine.” The bottom of her lip trembled, but her voice sounded resolute.

  I hated the way my eyes burned with emotion. Grandma would do it, too. She would run herself ragged doing it all to take the pressure off Grandpa.

  Grandpa grumbled from the hospital bed. “I’m fine! Nobody ain’t quittin’ nothing!”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Chapter 8 Decision

  They all turned to me.

  I abruptly wanted to take it back. I couldn’t do that. I didn’t even know how to do it.

  Doctor Hunt’s face cracked into a wide smile. He stood. “Well, guess that little problem worked itself out.”

  Chance’s eyes connected with mine. Then, in one super-fast motion, he rushed forward and lifted me into the air.

  Grandma smiled. “Maddie.”

  The spot in my chest that I’d guarded with a perfectly mortared wall begged for reinforcement.

  Chance crushed me even harder for a second, and then lowered me down in one swift drop. He blinked back the glistening emotion in his eyes. “I knew we could always count on ya, Madds.”

  Dr. Hunt moved for the door. “I’ll check on ya in the morning, Frank. If all is well, you can go on home.”

  Grandma’s arms surrounded me and the smell of her hair spray smothered any protests. “Thank you.”

  Grandpa’s rickety voice sounded into the air. “Hold up.”

  I stared at his pale, sagging cheeks.

  His lips puckered like he’d tasted something sour. “I don’t know if she can do it.”

  Chance put an arm around my shoulders resolutely. “Have you forgotten what they say?”

  Grandpa lifted an un-amused eyebrow.

  Chance didn’t give him time to reply. “When a lemonade stand stares you in the face, don’t shut it down.”

  Uncle Bill laughed.

  Grandpa frowned.

  “He’s got a point, Dad.”

  Grandpa took a deep breath. “You’re in for the long haul, Madds.”

  I stared into his wrinkled, tired eyes, and wondered if I’d made the biggest mistake of my life.r />
  ***

  “The rows aren’t that long, but you do have to pay attention to what you’re doing. And, believe me, Grandpa is a stickler about making sure things are done the right way.” Chance paused and glanced over at me. He’d been prattling on and on about the ins and outs of farm work the entire way to school.

  I nodded absently. I hadn’t responded to Carrie’s initial text last night, and she’d sent five more demanding that I call her.

  “Madds, are you listening to me?” Chance turned into the front parking lot of the high school.

  I turned my full attention to him. “Yes.”

  He turned off the truck and gave me the same goofy, happy look he’d been giving me since I said I’d do the farm work. “Thanks, Madds. I—” Moisture filled his eyes and he took a breath. “I don’t know what possessed you to do it. After reading that ridiculous letter of yours, I figured you’d be as good as gone.”

  I shrugged. “You didn’t tell anyone about that, did you?”

  “No.” His face turned sad. “Were you really going to leave? Not even say goodbye to me?”

  My chest tightened. I didn’t want to have this discussion. “I—” I couldn’t lie to Chance.

  Chance pondered for a few moments. “I know things have been different since your parents died.”

  Died. The word sounded blunt, plain, final.

  “I know you don’t want to talk about it. You’ve made that pretty clear this past year. But—leaving?”

  “Just don’t.”

  The touch of his hand on my shoulder made me jerk back.

  “Madds, let me be here for you. I know I’m not the most sensitive guy and I don’t know how to say anything right, but . . .”

  I shrugged out of his touch. “Stop, okay. Just—I’m here. I’m making a difference.”

  Chance sighed. “I’m glad you are here, but are you staying? Like for good?”

  I didn’t answer his question. I knew he wouldn’t like the answer.

  Chance let out a rattled breath. “Madds?”

  I stopped him with a slug to the shoulder. “I’ll make sure the farm stuff gets done, okay?”

  Chance pulled the door lever and kicked it open with his foot. “Well, you know what they say.”

  I didn’t move. “What do they say?”

  “You can take the girl away from the farm, but you can’t take the farm out of the girl.”

  “I’m not a farm girl.”

  He tilted his head to the side and a pitiful smile touched his lips. “Sure ya are, it’s in your blood.” He looked over his shoulder. “Here comes your escort.” He jumped down.

  I quickly punched in a reply to Carrie. 911—give me six weeks.

  Carrie straight away texted back. What? Jimmy won’t like this.

  A knock at the window made me jump.

  Officer Justice stood there.

  My phone buzzed, again.

  “I don’t have all day, Ms. Haven.” Officer Justice opened the truck door and held it.

  I glanced down. They’ve been asking more questions.

  ***

  I moved through the lunch line without incident, careful to watch for Meaty.

  “You’re such a drama queen, aren’t you?” Trina popped up beside me. She chomped into an apple as if she were on an episode of Man vs. food.

  I took my change from Howie and tried to hurry away from the lunch line. I hadn’t seen Meaty yet and didn’t want to.

  I surveyed the tables. My eyes fell on Chance. He pointed to an empty seat across from him.

  Bonnie sat propped up next to him on the table. She dropped a grape into Chance’s mouth and turned on a half-way fakety fake smile. He’d obviously told her that I’d volunteered to help Grandpa.

  His football friends sat around him roaring in laughter at something and started punching each other.

  Trina saddled up next to me. “Yeah, it’s us or them.”

  “There’s no we—we’re not friends.”

  Her purple lips frowned. “I really was worried about your Grandpa.”

  It took me by surprise that she might truly care. “Fine. Find us a place to sit.”

  Trina turned into a super speed robot.

  I pushed to keep up with her.

  She stopped in front of Grace’s table.

  Grace shook her head no.

  Trina shrugged and pointed to another table. “Come on.”

  I followed Trina and plunked my tray down. “What’s wrong with her?”

  “Lockhart, go deep!”

  I wrenched back.

  My heart went on crack speed.

  Zac stood next to our table. He cocked back the football and launched it perfectly into the air.

  Chance’s table erupted into shouts as Chance held the football into the air and pointed back at Zac in a boy victory sort of way. “Saturday! Ravens are going down!”

  Zac let out a redneck, high pitched yell and pointed back at Chance.

  The whole cafeteria erupted into applause and whoops and howls.

  I rocked back, confused.

  “And they think we’re the weird ones.” Trina chomped another bite of apple.

  Zac abruptly looked down. The edge of his lip curled up. He winked. “What? Can’t find any matches today?”

  Immense distaste burned in the pit of my gut. I wanted to clock him.

  He dashed away.

  Trina scowled and her eyes followed Zac. “Is that his pet name for you?”

  I tried to contain myself. “Shut it.”

  “Touchy.” She picked up my fork and stabbed out a huge chunk of my chocolate cake. “You really shouldn’t be so easy to read.”

  “You really should wipe your face.”

  Trina took one of my napkins. “You my mother now?”

  I ripped my napkin out of her hand. “You need one.”

  She smiled back at me and exposed her chocolate teeth. “Too bad she’s dead.”

  I paused. “What?”

  Trina smacked her lips back together, all the humor gone from her face. “You want to hear my issues, right?”

  I didn’t answer.

  Trina took a drink of my water. She scoffed. “What’s there to tell? Mom got sick, then went to a wheelchair, then . . .” She pulled her head to the side and cracked her neck. “Then I started dressing like this and made some friends my dad didn’t like. Last year my dad came home with a moving truck and told me to pack up cause he was taking me someplace where I wouldn’t hang out with freaks.” She stared at the table. “And it worked.” She shrugged and turned back to me. “He leaves all week for work and I sit in the house all by myself.”

  I didn’t know if she could be playing me.

  Grace wheeled past us, her tray perfectly balanced on her lap. One of her hands looked crimped into an unnatural position.

  I cleared my throat and glanced back at Trina. “What’s wrong with her?”

  Trina stared at me, an uncomfortable stare. “What do you care, City?”

  I shrugged. “I guess I don’t.”

  Trina continued to stare.

  “I-it’s just everyone treats her like . . . like . . .”

  Trina shifted her focus to Grace. “She has the same thing my mom had.”

  I cleared my throat.

  Trina flung her gaze back. “It’s called HD or Huntington’s disease. It’s a neurodegenerative disorder that affects your muscles…and your brain.”

  I thought of a documentary I’d stayed up watching with my father one night. I hadn’t even really been watching it—I just remembered wanting to hang out with him and eat popcorn.

  Trina let out a half snort. “I will tell you she used be part of them.” She gestured to the football table. “And her brother’s like this Trojan Warrior golden child that everyone—”

  “Worships.” I filled in for her as I watched Zac shove a ginormous sandwich into his mouth.

  “Well, someone does.”

  I didn’t look at her. “Shut it.” />
  Trina tapped the edge of the table. “It’s typical of that type—the way they all ignore it, the way they try to pretend she doesn’t have what she has. It makes me sick.”

  I looked over at her.

  “And—her name—it just makes it even worse.”

  ***

  I walked into the office after school. “I’m here for my work program.”

  Minnie whipped a plastic baggy under her desk as though I’d caught her doing something wrong. “Oh, you.” She stood and spit something into the plastic bag.

  Confused, I tried to get a closer look.

  She dropped the bag into the trash. Her eyes took on a vicious gleam. “What’s your problem? You’ve never seen anyone on a diet before?” She tugged on the bottom edge of her shirt and moved to the closet corner door. “Right, you’re the kind that’s never needed a diet. Probably never weighed more than two slices of wheat bread minus the butter. Who cares about you anyway? First you start a fire and then you offer to help out on the farm. What's your angle?"

  I winced. She acted like offering to help had been a bad thing. "I don't have an angle."

  Minnie huffed and opened the tiny closet. She pulled out an orange jump suit and a trash bag. “Yeah, we’re onto you. Don’t think we can’t see all the smoke and mirrors. You’re just trying to act the part so people will feel bad for you. Well we don’t, Fire Girl.”

  The way she said it, with that same tone, fury lit through me and threatened to scald anyone in its path. He told them. Mr. Student Body President, laughing it up with the secretaries at my expense. Mr. Quarterback, who let his dying sister sit all by herself. Mr. Jerkface, that apparently had nothing better to do than sit around and make up stupid nicknames.

  Minnie gulped back a laugh and her face turned conspiratorial. “That’s right. Zac told us what he calls you.” She slapped her leg and shoved the jumpsuit and trash bag over the counter. “Shirley and I thought it was hilarious. If truth be told, I should thank you. I haven’t gotten along with Shirley my whole life and we’ve been laughing about that little nickname all day.”

  I seethed. I boiled. I yearned to strike out. I took a slow breath. “Glad I could be the thing that unites both of you.”

  A sly smile formed on her lips. “And if you don’t want that name whispered in every ear in this entire school, you won’t be telling anyone what you saw just a few seconds ago.”