Aftermath(23)

He’s ready with an excuse, but Vaughn just steeples his fingers and says, “Yes, Skye was here. That’s actually where the fire started. In the newspaper office.”

“What?” Jesse jerks forward.

He should have stayed. Should have made sure there wasn’t a real fire. Made sure she was okay.

“Is Skye all right?” he asks.

Vaughn just sits there, his fingers still steepled. It’s a stupid gesture, and Jesse wants to smack his hands down.

Instead, he repeats, “Is Skye all right?”

“She claims someone locked her in that office and pushed papers and lit matches under the door.”

“What?”

“Someone also claims to have seen you take off after Skye escaped.”

“She got out, then. So she’s okay?”

“Did you hear what I said, Mr. Mandal?”

Sure, but it’s true. He was there.

Then it clicks. He was seen hanging around Skye. After school. Following her.

“I was out running laps. Then I came back to change.”

“Did anyone see you doing that, Mr. Mandal?”

There’s a moment of panic as he scrambles for an alibi.

“You understand this is a very serious charge, don’t you, Mr. Mandal?”

Stop calling me that, you pretentious ass.

“Okay,” he says. “So someone saw me after Skye was…”

After Skye was trapped in a fire.

Vaughn isn’t accusing him of being a little too interested in a fellow student.

“You think… You think I locked her in there? Set the fire? No. I’d never hurt —”

Never hurt anyone? That’s what he used to say, wasn’t it? What everyone said about him. He remembers in fourth grade, some kid shoved him on the steps. When Jesse fell and twisted his ankle, the kid tried to say Jesse kicked him.

Jesse? Seriously? You’re accusing Jesse of hurting you? Try again, loser.

He might forget the name of the kid who pushed him, but he remembers the one who came to his defense, who helped him up and put his arm over her shoulders and got him to the office. The one who, years later, wouldn’t even remember she did it because that was just second nature for her.

Skye.

And how did he help when she needed it? Led the charge by rejecting her in math class, and then told himself that following her around was “protecting” her. Like that earned him a gold medal for bravery.

“Mr. Mandal?”

“I would never hurt Skye. Ever.”

Vaughn purses his lips, as if he’s assessing Jesse’s reaction. No, he’s pretending to assess it. He’s already made up his mind.

“I know you can’t be happy about having Miss Gilchrist here,” Vaughn says finally.

“Sure, it caught me off guard that first day, but I’m fine with it. I was a jerk. I keep meaning to apologize.”

“So you haven’t done or said anything to her since that first day?”

He shakes his head. “I’ve been sitting in front of her in math, to show I’m okay with her being there.”

“Is it possible you’ve done something to make Miss Gilchrist feel you don’t want her here?”

Besides being a jerk on Wednesday when she tried to talk to me?

“I don’t think so.” He pauses. “Is she the one who saw me taking off when the alarm went?”

“What do you think of her story, Mr. Mandal?”

“Story?”

“About the fire. Being locked in. Someone shoving paper and lit matches under the door. Seems a bit farfetched, don’t you think? Her records suggest she does have a penchant for fiction… and for causing trouble.”

“Sure. Skye…” Jesse sees where this is going. “You think she made it up?”

“It’s a very odd story. Very creative.”

“Skye pulled pranks as a kid. That’s all they were. Pranks and sometimes mouthing off. She’s not going to lock herself in a room and start a fire. That’s nuts. And I’m pretty sure you shouldn’t be discussing this with me anyway. Isn’t that a violation of her privacy?”

Vaughn’s lips compress. “That will be all, Mr. Mandal. Thank you for your assistance.”

Skye

That morning, I arrive to hear Jesse being paged. Good. Vaughn will tell him that I reported seeing him at the time of the fire, and Jesse will confront me over it. That’s what I want – to see his face when he denies it.

But the morning passes with no sign of Jesse.

After English, Chris asks me to lunch.

“Don’t worry,” he says when I’m startled. “I’m not pulling that shit.”

I arch my brows.

He continues, “Cute new girl, having a rough time of it. Guy takes advantage and acts all friendly when really, he’s just hoping to score.”

“Score? No one told me there’s a game.”

He chuckles. “There’s always a game, unfortunately. But I’m not playing it.”

“Are you sure? I hear you are something of a player.”

A sharp laugh, as if he’s surprised I’d come right out and say that.

“Depends on your definition,” he says. “Do I like girls? Guilty. Lots of girls? Also guilty. Do I lie to get them? Treat them like crap? No. If you’re worried, ask around. I’m cool with that. I know my rep. Earned it, too. But I’m not angling for a date. I get the feeling you aren’t looking for that right now.”