Burn Before Reading(4)

As much as I wanted to stay and watch the sun set over the grounds, I stood up, threw my books in my bag, and checked them out with the librarian.

"Ah," she pushed her glasses up on her nose. "You're the McCaroll scholarship student, aren't you?"

"Yeah," I shifted uncomfortably. "Do I really stand out that much?"

"You're one of three students in this school without a designer bag."

We laughed, and she spoke again.

"I've just seen you in here so much I thought you must be studying hard for something. You've got to maintain great grades to keep that scholarship up, huh?"

"Yeah. And an essay, every month."

Her eyes widened. "Wow. That's a lot of work."

"It's worth it," I smiled at her. She kept checking out my books, reading the titles softly out loud.

"The Modern Brain, A Study of Chemistry and Moods, Mental Awareness for the Unaware -" She looked up at me. "Do you have a psych class soon?"

"Something like that." I grabbed the books and zipped my bag up. "Have a good night."



I made my way across the lawn and to the parking lot, now mostly empty of Jaguars and chrome-fitted convertibles. My little gray Volvo waited for me, and I threw my stuff in back and took off towards home. Mom's hideously smelly air freshener swayed on the rearview mirror, an empty coffee cup of hers with lipstick stains on it still in the cup holder. I usually dropped her off at work and picked her up after it, but any other time the car was hers. On days when she was home, I took the bus. I liked driving. Dad couldn't do it, not since he got sick, so I pushed to get my license early so we wouldn't be totally house-bound with Mom at work.

The fir trees flashed by on the highway, piercing the setting sun with dark spearheads. Sunset is the one time the sun doesn't hurt to look at, I thought to myself.

Wolf's eyes, on the other hand, never dimmed.

"Urgh! Get out of my head!" I grit my teeth. Wolf's gaze ignored my demand, and lingered in my memories like a bad stain.

I get how he knew about my scholarship - every teacher knew, and apparently the librarian did, too. When I first joined Lakecrest rumors went around about me - who my parents might be, why I was driving such a cheap-looking car, why my hair was so tragically covered in split-ends. It wouldn't be hard to put two-and-two together; that I was the scholarship student. But the other stuff - where Mom worked, Dad being sick, me wanting to go to NYU - how did Wolf know about any of that? That's private, personal stuff. He even knew I wanted to be a psychologist. How -

I think back to everything I'd written about NYU. It was really just the one essay, the thing I wrote to get the McCaroll scholarship in the first place. He must've read that. I didn't exactly go around announcing I wanted to be a psychologist, and the only one I'd told about NYU was the scholarship committee.

So Wolf somehow sneaked a read of my essay. Why? Why bother with something as insignificant as that? Maybe he was nosy. Truth made its clear little voice known; he wasn't nosy. He sent out red-cards to people who did stuff he didn't like. He read my essay so he can know what I'm all about, so he knows exactly what kind of trouble the scholarship student will be, and whether or not I'll play by his little rules.

"Ass," I muttered, pulling up the driveway of home. The sight of our duplex unknotted some deep anger I didn't know I was holding inside. At least home was free of the Blackthorns.

I climbed the stairs and was greeted in the doorway by the smell of burning. A cold wave of terror ran through me - was it a fire? I had to get Dad out, before the smoke hurt him, unless it already had -

I dropped my bags and dashed inside, covering my nose with my sleeve.

"Dad?" I shouted. I found the source of the smoke in the kitchen - a pot of tomato sauce was burning. I took it off and turned the heat down, throwing open the kitchen window to let the smoke out.

"Dad!" Flinging open the doors to their room, my room, the bathroom, I finally found him sitting on the edge of the bathtub, staring at the floor.

"There you are," I collapsed at his side. My eyes darted to his wrists, but Dad scoffed and muttered.

"I didn't hurt myself, if that's what you're worried about."

"I didn't -" I tore my eyes from his wrists and looked to his haggard face. He hadn't shaved in a few days, but he rarely did, these days. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean anything by it, Dad. I was just worried. You left the sauce on the stove, and I -"

"I know what I did, Bee," He snapped, head moving up. Mom always said I looked most like him, with brown-gray hair, like a silver summer fox. His was grayer than mine, with white streaks just barely showing at his temples. Dad's eyes are my blue ones, pale and a little too large for our square faces, but his were bloodshot and irritated more often than not.

"I was making dinner. I came in here to take my pills," He breathed. "And then I realized - why do I take them at all, if no one is home to take them for?"

I felt sick to my stomach. "Dad -"

"They make me normal," He said evenly. "They make me act like a normal person, right? So why should I take them if I'm alone for most of the day? If I'm by myself, I can be as abnormal as I want. I can -"

He faltered, his eyes going dim as he looked at me. "I'm sorry, Bee. I didn't mean to scare you."