“Hey there,” he said over his shoulder. “Who was that you were talking to?”
“Just some guy from the aquarium. He’s here to mark the nest. What are you making?”
“A vegetarian breakfast burrito.”
“You’re kidding.”
“It has rice, beans, and tofu. It all goes in the tortilla. I hope that’s okay. I found the recipe online, so I can’t vouch for how it tastes.”
“I’m sure it’s fine,” she said. She crossed her arms, thinking she might as well get this over with. “Have you talked to Mom yet?”
He shook his head. “No, not yet. I did talk to Pete this morning, though. He said he still hadn’t been able to talk to the owner yet. She’s out of town.”
“She?”
“It seems the man who works there is the owner’s nephew. But Pete said he knows the owner pretty well.”
“Oh,” she said, wondering if that would make any difference.
Her dad tapped the spatula on the pan. “Anyway, I just figured that it might be a good idea if I held off calling your mom until I have all the details. I’d hate to have to worry her unnecessarily.”
“You mean you might not have to tell her?”
“Unless you want me to.”
“No, that’s okay,” she said quickly. “You’re right. It’s probably better if we wait.”
“Okay,” he agreed. After one last stir, he turned off the burner. “I think this is just about ready. Are you hungry?”
“Starved,” she confessed.
As she approached, he took down a plate from the cupboard and added a tortilla, then scooped some of the mixings onto it. He offered it to her. “Is that enough?”
“Plenty,” she said.
“Do you want coffee? I’ve got a pot going.” He reached for a coffee cup and handed it to her. “Jonah mentioned that sometimes you go to Starbucks, so that’s what I bought. It might not be as good as what they make in their stores, but it’s the best I can do.”
She took the cup, staring at him. “Why are you being so nice to me?”
“Why shouldn’t I be?”
Because I haven’t been very nice to you, she could have said. But she didn’t. “Thanks,” she mumbled instead, thinking the whole thing felt like some weird Twilight Zone episode, where her dad had somehow completely forgotten the last three years.
She poured herself some coffee and took a seat at the table. Steve joined her a moment later with his own plate and began to roll his burrito.
“How was it last night? Did you sleep okay?”
“Yeah, when I slept. Waking up wasn’t so easy.”
“I realized too late that I probably should have picked up an air mattress.”
“It’s okay. But after breakfast, I think I’m going to lie down for a while. I’m still kind of tired. It’s been a long couple of days.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have coffee.”
“It won’t matter. Believe me, I’ll be out.”
Behind them, Jonah walked into the kitchen wearing Transformers pajamas, his hair poking out all over. Ronnie couldn’t help smiling.
“Good morning, Jonah,” she said.
“Are the turtles okay?”
“They’re fine,” she said.
“Good job,” he said. He scratched his back as he walked to the stove. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Breakfast burritos,” her dad answered.
Warily, Jonah studied the mixings in the pan, then the items on the counter. “Don’t tell me you went over to the dark side, Dad!”
Steve tried to stifle his smile. “It’s good.”
“It’s tofu! It’s disgusting!”
Ronnie laughed as she pushed back from the table. “How about I get you a Pop-Tart instead?”
He seemed to be trying to decide if this was some kind of trick question. “With chocolate milk?”
Ronnie glanced at her dad.
“There’s plenty in the fridge,” he said.
She poured him a glass and set it on the table. Jonah didn’t move. “Okay, what’s going on?”
“What do you mean?”
“This isn’t normal,” he said. “Someone should be mad. Someone’s always mad in the mornings.”
“Are you talking about me?” Ronnie asked. She put two Pop-Tarts in the toaster. “I’m always cheerful.”
“Yeah, right,” he said. He squinted at her. “Are you sure the turtles are okay? ’Cause the two of you are acting like they died.”
“They’re fine. I promise,” Ronnie assured him.
“I’m going to check.”
“Go ahead.”
He studied her. “After breakfast,” he added.
Steve smiled and glanced over at her. “So what’s on your agenda today?” he asked. “After your nap?”
Jonah reached for his milk. “You never take naps.”
“I do when I’m tired.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head. “This isn’t right.” He put the milk back down. “Something weird is going on and I’m not leaving here until I find out what it is.”
After she’d finished eating—and once Jonah had been placated—Ronnie retired to her room. Steve followed with some towels that he draped over the curtain rod, not that Ronnie needed them. She fell asleep almost immediately and woke up sweating in midafternoon. After a long, cool shower, she stopped by the workshop to tell her dad and Jonah what she was going to do. Still no mention of punishment from her dad.
It was possible, of course, that he’d ground her later, after he talked to the officer or her mom. Or maybe he’d been telling the truth—maybe he’d believed her when she’d said she was innocent.
Wouldn’t that be something?
Either way, she had to talk to Blaze, and she spent the next couple of hours searching for her. She checked Blaze’s mom’s house and the diner, and though she didn’t go inside, she peeked through the windows of the music shop, heart thumping, making sure the manager had his back turned. Blaze wasn’t there, either.
Standing on the pier, she scanned up and down the beach, without luck. It was possible, of course, that Blaze had gone to Bower’s Point; it was a favorite hangout of Marcus’s gang. But she didn’t want to go there alone. The last thing she wanted was to see him, let alone try to talk some sense into Blaze while he was around.
She was just about ready to give up and go home when she spotted Blaze emerging from between the dunes a little ways down the beach. She raced back to the steps, making sure not to lose sight of her, then hurried down to the beach. If Blaze noticed that Ronnie was walking toward her, she gave no sign of caring. Instead, as Ronnie got close she took a seat on the dune and stared out over the water.
“You have to tell the police what you did,” Ronnie said without preamble.
“I didn’t do anything. And you’re the one who got caught.”
Ronnie felt like shaking her. “You put those forty-fives and CDs in my bag!”
“No, I didn’t.”
“The CDs were the ones you were listening to!”
“And the last time I saw them, they were still by the headphones.” Blaze refused to face her.
Ronnie felt the blood beginning to rush to her cheeks. “This is serious, Blaze. This is my life. I can get convicted of a felony! And I told you what happened before!”
“Oh, well.”
Ronnie pressed her lips together to keep from exploding. “Why are you doing this to me?”
Blaze got up from her spot, brushing the sand from her jeans. “I’m not doing anything to you,” she said. Her voice was cold and flat. “And that’s exactly what I told the police this morning.”
In disbelief, Ronnie watched Blaze walk off, acting almost as though she actually believed it.
Ronnie walked back to the pier.
She didn’t want to return home, knowing that as soon as her dad talked to Officer Pete, he’d learn what Blaze had said. Yeah, maybe he’d still be cool about the whole thing—but what if he didn’t believe her?
And why was Blaze doing this? Because of Marcus? Either Marcus talked her into it because he was mad about the way Ronnie had rejected him the other night, or Blaze believed that Ronnie was trying to steal her boyfriend. Right now, she was leaning toward the latter, but in the end, it didn’t really matter. Whatever her motivation, Blaze was lying and more than willing to ruin Ronnie’s life.
She hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but with her stomach in knots, she wasn’t hungry. Instead, she sat on the pier until the sun went down, watching the water turn from blue to gray and then finally charcoal. She wasn’t alone: Along the pier, people were fishing, though as far as she could tell, nothing much seemed to be biting. An hour ago, a young couple had shown up with sandwiches and a kite. She noticed the tender way they stared at each other. She figured they were in college—they were only a couple of years older than her—but there was an easy affection between them that she had yet to experience in any of her own relationships. Yeah, she’d had boyfriends, but she’d never been in love, and sometimes she doubted whether she ever would be. After her parents divorced, she’d been kind of cynical about the whole thing, as had most of her friends. Most of their parents were divorced as well, so maybe that had something to do with it.
When the last rays of the sun were fading from the sky, she started toward home. She wanted to be back at a decent hour tonight. It was the least she could do to show her dad that she appreciated how understanding he’d been. And despite her earlier nap, she was still tired.
When she reached the head of the pier, she opted to walk through the business district instead of along the beach. As soon as she rounded the corner near the diner, she knew she’d made the wrong decision. A shadowy figure leaned against the hood of a car, holding a fireball.
Marcus.
Only this time he was alone. She stopped, feeling her breath catch in her throat.
He pushed off the car and walked toward her, the play of streetlights casting his face half in shadow. He rolled the fireball over the back of his hand, watching her, before the ball ended up back in his fist. He squeezed his hand, extinguishing it, and started toward her.
“Hi, Ronnie,” he said. His smile made him seem even creepier.
She stayed in place, wanting him to see that she wasn’t afraid of him. Even though she sort of was.
“What do you want?” she demanded, hating the slight quiver in her voice.
“I saw you walking and thought I’d say hello.”
“You did,” she said. “Bye.”
She started to move past him, but he stepped in front of her.
“I hear you’re having troubles with Blaze,” he whispered.
She leaned back, her skin crawling. “What do you know about it?”
“I know enough not to trust her.”
“I’m not in the mood for this.”
Again she turned, making her way around him, and this time he let her pass before calling out to her.
“Don’t walk away. I came to find you because I wanted you to know that I might just be able to talk her out of what she’s doing to you.”
Despite herself, Ronnie hesitated. In the dim light, Marcus stared at her.
“I should have warned you she gets pretty jealous.”
“Which is why you tried to make it worse, huh?”
“I was just making a joke that night. I thought it was funny. Do you think I had any idea what she would do to you?”
Of course you did, Ronnie thought. And it was exactly what you wanted.
“So fix it,” she said. “Talk to Blaze, do whatever you have to do.”
He shook his head. “You didn’t hear me. I said I might be able to talk some sense into her. If…”
“If what?”
He closed the gap between them. The streets, she noticed, were quiet. No one else around, no cars in the intersection.
“I was thinking we could be… friends.”
She felt her cheeks flush again, and the word came out before she could stop it. “What?”
“You heard me. And I can clear all this up.”
She realized he was close enough to touch her, and she took a sudden step backward. “Just stay away from me!”
She turned and ran, knowing he would follow, conscious that he knew the area better than she did, terrified that he would catch her. She could feel her heart pounding, she could hear her own frantic breaths.
Her house wasn’t far, but she wasn’t in shape. Despite the fear and rush of adrenaline, she could feel her legs getting heavier. She knew she couldn’t keep it up, and as she made a turn, she chanced a look back over her shoulder.
And realized that she was alone on the street, no one behind her at all.
Back at her house, Ronnie didn’t go inside right away. The light was on in the living room, but she wanted to regain her composure before she faced her dad. For whatever reason, she didn’t want him to see how scared she’d been, so she took a seat on the steps of the front porch.
Above her, the stars were out in full, the moon floating near the horizon. The scent of salt and brine rode on the mist from the ocean, a vaguely primordial smell. In another context, she might have found something soothing about it; right now, it felt as foreign as everything else.
First Blaze. Then Marcus. She wondered if everyone was crazy down here.
Marcus certainly was. Well, maybe not technically—he was intelligent, cunning, and, as far as she could tell, completely without empathy, the kind of person who thought only about himself and what he wanted. Last fall, in her English class, she’d had to read a novel by a contemporary author, and she’d chosen The Silence of the Lambs. In the book, she’d learned that the central character, Hannibal Lecter, wasn’t psychopathic, he was sociopathic; it was the first time she’d realized there was a difference between the two. Though Marcus wasn’t a murdering cannibal, she had the feeling he and Hannibal were more similar than different, at least in the way they viewed the world and their role in it.