Burning from the Inside (2/4)

Charlie throws his arm around my neck and starts talking my ear off about Tina Glassman's new haircut on our way to lunch. It's Friday. I humor him. We go through the lunch line together like usual.

And Eddie's already at our table. A minute later, Hector joins us. Esmé is nowhere in sight, but I don't want anyone to notice me looking for him, so I don't look hard.

"So you sure you're not coming to the meeting tonight?" Charlie asks me with his voice way lower than when he was comparing Tina to a sheepdog in the hallway.

"Yeah," I tell him, even though I know he's really asking for Eddie. Even though she's right there. Watching us. Mouth full of the blueberry quickbread we got for dessert. "I already told you why."

"Come on, buddy, you're gonna miss out."

"Night time is for sleeping," I tell him.

"Don't worry about it, September," Eddie tells me. "We'll find something to try during the day next time."

<<>>

"Next time" isn't until after winter break, of course. My last class before lunch is French, and as a side effect of testing out of the first couple semesters, I ended up in the same class as Esmé. By the time he entered the room, of course, I was boxed in at my spot near the door by other students. But he caught up to me after class let out.

"How was your break, September?" he asked, louder than usual out of necessity in the crowded hallway. He'd been at my side for several steps before he spoke.

"Could have been worse." I took a bus to the town nearest my aunt and uncle's home in upstate New York, which is my parents' second-favorite dumping ground for me after boarding schools. They turned up two days before Christmas in a rental car, then left the day after. The only reason we got to see them at all was because the holiday landed between digs this year. I spent most of the rest of the break wandering around outside in the woods. Snow always makes me feel safe. "Yours?"

"Could have been worse," Esmé repeated.

He didn't say anything else, but he stuck to my side like pine sap until we were both at a table. After several minutes of me panicking and failing to think of anything adequate to say, he started making small talk about our schedules. Obviously, we didn't share any other classes, given that we're two years apart. French was a lucky fluke.

He kept watching the people around us. At the time, I thought it was because I was boring him. But now I think it was something else. I'm back in the cafeteria to study, since they have snacks and drinks until nine and I won't be surrounded by wood shelves crammed with paper. Eddie's waving manically at me from a table right in the middle of the room.

"Hi, September!" she says once I'm close enough to hear. "How was Christmas?"

"Not bad," I tell her. "Yours?"

"I'm Jewish," god, I'm an idiot, "but the break was still nice. And I'm really excited about my history class this semester. Anyway, I just wanted to let you know? We're all touching base after classes on Friday. Common room of Addison Hall." That's where both of us live. Probably a majority of the other people coming, too, although it's also possible Eddie didn't think that far and is going with whatever's most convenient for her.

"Uh, okay." How do I handle this? Think, September. "Who's 'we'?" That's it, play dumb. You already act dumb without trying anyway. No one will notice.

Eddie chuckles humorlessly. "You know, silly. The occult club."

"You're going to have a hard time finding new members if you keep going like that." Damn. So much for playing dumb. Time for actual stupidity, I guess. That wasn't even a little subtle.

"Eh," Eddie shrugs, "It's the middle of the year. I think we have enough. And it's only until next year, anyway."

"Why so specific?"

Eddie gives me a smile expressing something between pity and frustration. "Esmé's a senior, remember?" she whispers.

"Oh, right." Did that sound sincere enough? Maybe I can get away with playing dumb again. "Uh, can I ask? Did something happen between you two?"

Eddie blinks at me unbelievingly. She doesn't say anything. I think I'm supposed to change the subject.

Hell with that. "I mean, uh—I asked him. He won't tell me anything."

Eddie splutters and laughs. Am I being too personal? A dumb person wouldn't notice. Keep playing dumb. It's not like you're actually friends.

"That's Esmé for you. He loves his secrets. You saw everything there was to see, September. We haven't spoken since that last meeting he was at."

"I don't th-think I understand, though. What actually happened?"

Eddie rolls her eyes, not quite lovingly, but smiles. "Didn't you notice, September? He was sabotaging us the whole time. Intentionally sending us on wild goose chases so we wouldn't run into anything actually paranormal."

"What makes you think it was intentional?"

Eddie sighs. Doesn't stop smiling. It's only with her lips, though. Guess that doesn't really count as a smile. "You don't know him like I do, September. I've seen what he's really capable of. That thing he said, about true phenomena being hard to find? It was a lie. At least, as far as he's concerned. That's why he's out of the club."

I bite back the urge to say we never actually voted on it. Not officially, anyway.

"You understand, right? It's not personal. Though we're not dating anymore, either. If that's what you were really wondering about."

I hate my face for how it betrays me in moments like this. "I wasn't." Really.

Eddie laughs. "No worries, okay? Anyway, see you Friday. Right?"

I shrug. Smile for good measure.

<<>>

Gently, with two fingers, someone just tapped my shoulder. I turned around on reflex and found myself faced with a neatly folded piece of paper jutting out from between the last two fingers of a petite, pale hand. I say "petite" because Esmé's fingers aren't exactly skinny, nor are they particularly short compared to his palm, but they're far from large or thick. He always keeps his nails clipped, too. I took the note without thinking, then remembered who I was sitting with and nearly panicked.

By then, Esmé was already gone. I slipped the note into my inner blazer pocket and looked at Trudy (who just happened to be sitting across from me) like nothing had happened. But she and Charlie and Emma are all staring at me.

Maybe if I just don't say anything, they'll act like it didn't happen.

Charlie breaks the silence. "I think that was the sketchiest thing I've ever seen in my entire life."

The others laugh. Some of the tension is gone. I might just get out of this with my—what, exactly? My reputation? What reputation? I don't think I've ever had one of those before. Whatever it is that makes these kids keep hanging around me without me doing the slightest bit to encourage them. But it doesn't matter. I don't care. They're not my friends. It doesn't matter if they ostracize me next.

Maybe I ought to ostracize them first.

"Does he think he's in some spy movie or what?" Emma says. Wait, no, I think she was asking me. Eh, if she was, it looks like she's already given up on me answering.

"What's it say, September?" Trudy asks with a hesitant grin.

"It's probably nothing important."

"That's not how Esmé was acting," Emma says with a smirk.

"Why does he still talk to you, anyway?" Charlie asks. "He never talks to any of us."

I shrug and grab my toast, piled high with baked beans, which ooze all over my fingers. Now I have an excuse not to pull it out of my blazer and read it.

"What do you guys even talk about?" Trudy asks.

"Not a lot," I tell them. It's true, but unsatisfying. "We're in the same French class, so mostly that, I guess."

"Wait, how are you in the same French class as him? I thought you were a first year?"

"I lived in France for a couple years when I was little, so they put me in the advanced class." Normally I don't tell people things like this, because then they'll ask pointless questions and I'll have to keep talking or look rude. But in this case, that would be to my advantage.

Eddie puts her tray down between Trudy and Charlie's right as I'm finishing my sentence. "What part of France? I love Paris." Did she see Esmé hand me that note? If she did, she isn't saying anything.

No one in the occult club is in my next class, so it's safe to read the note now. "Meet me in the library after class," it says. I fold it back up and put it in my pocket again. Esmé's cursive is so tidy it looks like a machine could have printed it. I don't have anything else he's written on, so I'll probably keep it for a ridiculously long time.

<<>>

Why couldn't he have been more specific?

I forgot how massive the school library is. Which is, of course, because I normally avoid this place as much as I can. The last and only other time I've been here was for my research paper last month on how the Monticello and Three Mile Island disasters helped make the transition to the steady state economy politically acceptable. I found one book my teacher recommended, then grabbed four more at random that were on the same shelf. Only one of those was actually useful, but still, I passed the class.

Where would I be if I were Esmé? Maybe near the history section? Or the one on other cultures? That's where Anne says she finds all the useful books in stores. "'Occult' means 'hidden,'" she always says. "It's not going to straight up say 'magic' on it, so if it does, you're looking at a pile of horseshit."

Esmé isn't Anne. And I don't think we're here to do research. Or we'd better not be, because if we are, he could have just pulled the books out and brought them elsewhere.

No, he wouldn't know to do that. Why did I expect him to, just now? I guess he kind of just seems like he knows everything. Besides, maybe he needs more than five books, and wanted me to check out more so he could go past the limit. Yeah, that sounds like something he'd do, actually—

"September."

Behind me and to the left. I walked right past him. Why am I such a dumbass?

By the time I get to the table he was at, he's already getting up. "I was only waiting here so you'd see me," he whispers. "Let's go to the back."

Great. Fine. Let's get this over with. “What section? Do you have any of the call numbers?”

Esmé turns toward me and gives me a quizzical look. Then he seems to remember where we are. “I don't need any books. It's just easier to talk back there.”

“Uh, you realize the cafeteria's still open, right?”

“The cafeteria's too noisy,” Esmé murmurs. I doubt that's his real reason, but no need to tell him that.

“Then can we go outside instead? Libraries make me nervous.”

“Aren't you always nervous?”

I can't believe he didn't ask why. “Libraries make me more nervous than usual.”

He stops and looks at the row of books to his left even though we've already established he doesn't need any. “All right. Let's go outside.”

So we head back for the front doors and the coat room just inside them. I follow Esmé outside even though I don't think he knows where we're going any more than I do. Several minutes pass.

"So, uh, why'd you want me to meet up with you?" I finally ask.

"Because," I can tell he's buying himself time with that. Why does he need to? "we didn't get a chance to chat over lunch. Or did you have plans?"

I shake my head. "No, I just—" Why do I do this to myself? Maybe if I shrug my shoulders that'll be good enough.

More than good enough. It gets a smile out of him. Or is he laughing at me? "So you like being outdoors, I take it."

"Well—" He's not wrong. Not for this time of year. I should just let him keep thinking that. "—kind of. I like winter." Actually, I like being less of a fire hazard around trees. Once, the summer when I was seven, my parents took me camping and I started a forest fire that nearly killed all of us. They've never taken me since.

Esmé nods. He's looking off to the side like he's filing that bit of information away in his mind somewhere for later. Does he pay as close attention to me as I do to him? He must. Same as he does anyone else, I'm sure. Stupid thought.

"But you're not fond of the library," he says when I don't say anything.

I shake my head again before I can think better of it. "I mean—well. Yeah. Sorry."

He shakes his head back at me. "It's going to get dark soon. What dorm do you live in?"

"Addison."

"That's what I thought. Why don't we go to my common room instead? I'm in Moore."

"Is that because Eddie's not there?"

Esmé chuckles and turns away, towards our new destination. "Very perceptive."

"They're meeting in Addison common room on Friday, you know. The occult club." Why am I telling him this? I doubt he even wants to know.

"Do you think she's avoiding me, too? Or just picking her own dorm because it's convenient?"

What am I supposed to say to that? His tone was so casual. He might as well have been asking if I thought we'd have a surprise quiz in French tomorrow. "Either seems plausible."

He doesn't say anything to that. We keep walking. Over the snow accumulating on the sidewalk. Up to the front steps of Moore Hall, de-iced for now but probably not for much longer. Through one of the two massive sets of wooden doors—

Oh no. No no no no no.

Esmé looks bemusedly back at me. When did he get that far ahead? Wait, I'm already leaning against the door to open it again. I backed away without noticing what I was doing.

"I—there's a—"

Esmé searches ahead of us for a few seconds. Even if I can't see his eyes, I can tell he's genuinely looking around. Maybe it's something about his posture. He turns back toward me, genuinely clueless for once. "A what?"

"Um." When I look around the front hall, none of it registers. I can't find anything to pretend to be afraid of. I don't even know what that light above us is coming from. "I, uhhh—"

Esmé shrugs his coat back on and walks toward me. "Tell me outside," he says, inches away. Right. Outside. That exists. Of course that was where he was headed.

I push the door open and take the step backwards. "I. Um." My tongue might as well be made of jelly. I can't for the life of me make anything articulate come out of my mouth.

Esmé curls his hand around my upper arm and walks in the direction of some bare trees, away from both the main school building and the dorm.

I keep my mind on the cold, and my words come flooding back. "Um. I'm so sorry, I'm just—I'm deathly afraid of chandeliers, one time I was in a hotel with my parents when I was three and we were eating dinner in this fancy old dining room but the chandelier came loose while we were eating and it almost—"

"September."

"What?" And why is he smiling at me like that?

"There's no chandelier in Moore Hall."

"There's—"

"Not in the entry way. Not in the common room."

"I—" Oh. Shit. I'm in for it this time.

"Tell me what you were really scared of."

"Oh, well, uh, I saw this girl from my chemistry class in the main room, and I'm pretty sure she hates me? So I kind of panicked—"

Is he laughing? He's laughing. "September. Stop lying." I can't believe he can just say that without sounding the least bit angry. It's almost as amazing as the way he used to roll his eyes at Eddie. "Whatever it is, you can tell me. It's safe."

Is it? I'd never really thought about telling him in particular. He's so quiet and secretive himself, maybe it really would be okay. Maybe he just likes collecting secrets, and wants another for his collection. That wouldn't be such a bad thing, would it? As long as he kept it.

"I promise," he tells me, his voice a little softer than before.

I let my shoulders fall. Didn't even realize how much I'd tensed up. "The fire," I say, keeping my eyes on the snow. "There's no fireplace in Addison Hall. I didn't know Moore had one."

"I see," Esmé says.

He doesn't see, of course. I haven't explained a thing. He's keeping quiet because he wants me to say more. "I don't know how to explain it. There's just something about me and fire, all right? Something bad."

"How so?"

I sigh heavily. "Look, odds are? There's going to be at least one fire at this school before I graduate. And it's going to be my fault. I do my best not to start them, but historically, my best isn't enough. It's only a matter of time. So if you want a place to sleep that isn't, I don't know, a cot in the cafeteria or something? I can't go in your dorm."

"Is it a compulsion?"

"No!" He doesn't get it. How the hell am I supposed to explain this? "They just happen around me. I guess the real issue is heat, not fire. Like, you've noticed how I blush easily? That's another aspect of it. Sometimes I melt things, too, especially if it's summer. Everything gets worse in the summer."

He bites his lip and stares at—not the ground. Maybe the tree behind me? Or my shoulder. Maybe he's just doing his best not to stare me in the eye and make me feel like the freak I am.

"I heard something about someone's hair catching on fire in chemistry last semester,” he finally says. “Were you in that class? I think Emma was. I must have heard it from her."

"Yeah. That happened to me."

Esmé furrows his brow. Thoughtfully, not angrily. "But I don't remember you having any burns last semester."

"Maybe you just didn't notice." Come to think of it, I don't remember being in any physical pain afterward.

He shakes his head. "I would have noticed. Oh, there was that incident in the Warner house, too. And I don't think you came on any other field trips with us after that, did you?"

"No."

"That would have been why."

"Yes."

"There wasn't a fireplace in the library, though."

"Books are incredibly flammable!"

Esmé looks me in the eye. I'm having trouble pin-pointing that wide-eyed expression. It isn't incredulity. Not quite curiosity, either.

"It's that serious," he finally says.

"Which part of 'I can't stop myself from accidentally setting things on fire' did you not think was serious?" I'm being too hard on him, I know I am. I can't help it. It's almost as slippery as the heat itself.

He takes a breath. Looks away again, at the snow, thinking fast now. Calculating. Does he think I'm going to set the trees on fire?

"We should be fine here, though," I say, "these trees are both covered in and surrounded by snow—"

"Have you ever killed anyone, September?"

"Excuse me?"

"Not on purpose. I mean with the fire. Has anyone died because of it?"

I have to think about it. If something like that had happened recently, I would have noticed for sure. But the times I was little, and too out of my mind with fear to wonder? Like that time at the hotel, when the chandelier actually didn't fall when we were eating because by then my dad had already scooped me up out of my seat and was holding me under his jacket with my face pressed against his shirt, so I wouldn't inhale the smoke? Because the reason the chandelier fell behind us was the fire I'd started?

I have no idea if there was a body count. Enough of the building survived that they were able to rebuild it. There had definitely been ambulances, but the people that got loaded into them must have been alive. Right? "I can't say for sure. But I don't think so. I hope not."

"I have."