I'd Give Anything(69)

“Oh my God, Jack Maupin. And Dylan Dyer!” said Kirsten, fanning her face with her napkin.

“It was a travesty that Dylan didn’t start,” said Gray. “That kid could drive inside like a pro.”

“You’re telling me,” said Kirsten, fanning harder.

Everyone laughed. Even CJ cracked a begrudging smile. But then he said, “That’s different. It wasn’t just rumors. Daniel York was questioned by the police. He was a suspect, for God’s sake.”

“He was questioned, and they didn’t arrest him,” said Gray. “Presumably because they didn’t have a case.”

CJ made a disgusted sound and waved off Gray’s comment.

“Look. Just as an experiment,” I said. “What if we all assume that Daniel didn’t set the fire. Can we try that?”

I figured that if anyone could be enticed by the idea of an experiment, it would be CJ.

“He did it!” said CJ. “He got lucky, too, because there was that hidden fire wall between the theater wing and the rest of the school, built back before World War Two. If it weren’t for that old wall, the entire school could’ve gone up.”

“And more people could’ve gotten killed,” said Gray. “Thank God for that wall.”

“Someone got lucky that wall was there, but it wasn’t Daniel,” I said. “How do you know there was a fire wall?”

Kirsten rolled her eyes. “His stupid project. On the architectural history of the school. Remember how he couldn’t stop yammering on about that project?”

“Oh, right,” I said.

“That ‘stupid project’ found a permanent place in the school archives,” said CJ, and then added, “Permanent. For posterity.”

“I know what permanent means,” said Kirsten.

Then, in an instant, CJ’s moon-pale face went scarlet. “Uh, actually, though,” he mumbled, “I didn’t learn about the fire wall when I was doing that project. I somehow must have missed it. I read about it in newspaper accounts of the fire.”

“Ha! Shoddy research!” said Kirsten, wagging a finger at CJ. “Frankly, I’m stunned.”

“Stunned and disappointed,” said Gray, shaking his head grimly.

“We expect better, CJ,” I said. It just slipped out.

CJ slowly turned his head to look at me. Underneath the table, out of sight, my hands gripped each other for dear life. I knew—probably everyone at the table, even Avery and Evan, knew—that this was a moment of truth.

Finally, CJ said, “Great. I thought I’d have more time before you started giving me crap, too. Ever heard of a grace period, Zinny?”

My hands released each other. It was all I could do not to leap out of my chair and merengue around the room. Instead, I lifted an eyebrow.

“I’ve been here for well over an hour,” I said.

And then my old friend CJ slapped his hands onto the top of his beloved, silver-blond head and laughed.

“So getting back to Zinny’s experiment?” said Kirsten. “Assuming someone other than Daniel set the fire?”

“Fine,” said CJ. “Whatever.”

“Daniel saw someone that night. It was after the second half of the game had started. A girl in white pants and a hooded sweatshirt, and she was running out the back entrance to the building,” I said.

“Really?” said Kirsten. “A girl? For some reason, I always assumed whoever set the fire was a guy.”

“Um, isn’t that kind of sexist, Aunt Kirsten?” said Avery.

“You know what? It absolutely is! My bad,” said Kirsten.

“What kind of person would try to burn down a school?” said Evan.

“Someone angry,” said Kirsten.

“Someone with a vendetta against the school,” said CJ. “Like a student who was failing or suspended a lot or something. Or maybe someone from the Cole School, although they probably wouldn’t disrupt the game since their team was kicking our butts.”

“Someone who just liked to set fires, maybe,” said Gray. “My dad had stories about people like that. Firebugs.”

“But if that were the case,” I said, “you’d think there would’ve been a cluster of unexplained fires. I don’t think any others happened around here at that time. Or before that time. Or since.”

“So someone who hated the school, like CJ said,” said Kirsten.

“How could anyone hate school?” said CJ.

“Nerd,” said Kirsten.

“Slut,” said CJ.

“And, oh Lord, white pants? In November?” Kirsten shuddered. “A person who wears white pants in November is capable of absolutely anything.”

“You sound like Adela,” I said.

“I do not sound like Adela,” said Kirsten.

“White after Labor Day is for people who go to all-you-can-eat buffets and watch afternoon soap operas,” said Avery in a devastatingly accurate imitation of my mother.

“Wow,” said Gray.

“Holy crap,” said CJ.

“Oh my God,” said Kirsten to Avery. “It was like you were possessed for a second.”

Avery blinked and looked around, confused.

“What do you mean? Wait, did I say something just now?”