Igniting Lies (The Burning #1)

Chapter One

Who do you keep looking at?”

I blink and turn toward Laurel with a forced smile. “What do you mean?” I return my attention to the field, hoping she buys my innocent act.

“Omigod! Run! Run!” Danika grips my forearm and jumps in the air. The crowd erupts, the cheers nearly deafening.

A player in our school’s white jersey sprints up the field, a defender right on his heels. I tense with anticipation, clamp my teeth and hold my breath—as if breathing might make him falter.

Danika screams when he crosses the goal line just as the defender tackles him. The referee raises his arms with a blow of the whistle, signaling the touchdown. I squeeze Danika, and we high-five the spectators surrounding us.

“I love it when he scores,” she says, her face beaming with pride. Her elation is contagious. It’s like she ran the forty yards herself; she’s so happy. Especially when everyone around her touches her shoulders in congratulations, the recipient of his praise.

When number eighty-two rises from the bench and straps on his helmet, I bite my lip.

“Really, Sadie? He’s the one you’ve been checking out all game? He’s been in maybe twice.”

I pretend not to hear her. I’m a terrible liar and shouldn’t be surprised Laurel saw through me. She sees everything. Even the things that aren’t really her business.

Laurel unrolls the program clenched in her hand and flips through the pages. “Jonathan Reeves. Senior. Six feet. Receiver. One hundred sixty pounds. How come he doesn’t have a picture?”

Because he had a black eye the day they took team pictures. I keep my eyes on the field and my mouth shut. Danika sips her drink.

I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. Laurel looks confused, her face twisted as she tries to place him. “Have I met him?”

“No,” I mutter, concentrating on Jonathan as he joins the huddle. “He doesn’t play much. Only when Oren needs a break and we’re up a couple touchdowns.”

“So, he’s not that good?” Laurel has a hundred questions. And a thousand opinions. I am doing everything I can not to feed her curiosity.

“No. Oren’s that good,” Danika corrects, coming to Jonathan’s defense while also hyping her boyfriend.

Laurel’s new to Hollis. I’ve been assigned as her peer mentor to acquaint her with the school.

She’s a bit… judgmental. And gossipy. Considering she’s new, she has a lot to say about people she barely knows.

But I haven’t had the nerve to abandon her.

Maybe the need to talk about everyone is just a nervous, insecurity thing.

I’m trying to like her… at least until she finds her true circle. Danika doesn’t even bother trying.

Jonathan jogs into motion just before the ball is snapped. He sprints upfield, easily outpacing the cornerback. But the quarter-back hands it off to the running back, who is tackled after gaining only a couple yards. My shoulders droop with disappointment.

They’re eating up the clock to claim the win. Jonathan probably won’t touch the ball this game, like most games. But it doesn’t keep me from anticipating the pass to him every time the ball is snapped. I know he’d catch it. Possibly even score, if given the chance.

With seconds left, the quarterback takes a knee to run down the clock. A player from the opposing side rushes across the line and shoves him, sending Jackson onto his back and bending his kneeling leg at an awkward angle.

Our players closest to the offender shove the guy. The referee blows the whistle. Guys on both benches rise and encroach the sidelines. There’s more shoving. Obscene shouts. A higher-pitched whistle.

My chest tightens when number eighty-two rushes into the mayhem, seeking out the player who took the cheap shot. Jackson is on his feet with the help of his teammates, the trainer by his side. He tentatively puts weight on the leg and nods his head. He’s okay.

Greenfield’s coach tries to get his guys off the field before shoves turn into punches. Jerseys are pulled, redirecting the players back to their benches. The mayhem has deflated the win. The band plays, and cheerleaders bounce around, but the crowd doesn’t respond with the usual enthusiasm.

Jonathan is back with his team on the sidelines. I breathe and unwrap my claw from Danika’s jacket. I grimace in apology. She offers a knowing smile. She gets it. It could just have easily gone the other way.

We slowly make our way down the stands, one agonizing step at a time.

“Are you coming with us, or are you waiting for Oren?” I ask Danika, holding my ground as I’m being squeezed from both sides.

“He’s going with the guys, so I’m coming with you.”

I feel Laurel looking over my shoulder. When I glance back, she’s scanning the field.

I know she’s trying to find Jonathan. But he’s already jogged off toward the school.

There’s a reason she hasn’t met him yet.

I wish I hadn’t made it obvious tonight, but I guess I couldn’t hide him from her forever.

Whose party are we going to again?” Laurel asks from the back seat when we finally ease out of the game traffic and onto a residential road. We’re following behind a red pickup truck, creating a line of headlights heading to the party.

If the cops in town really wanted to know what we were up to, we’re easy enough to follow. They’re currently too busy directing traffic out of the school parking lot and can’t be bothered… until the neighbors call with a noise complaint.

“Ryder Daniels,” Danika responds, scrolling through her iPod to select music.

The speakers blast with techno that makes it too loud for anyone to be heard.

It’s intentional. Danika’s patience with Laurel’s questions is running thin.

She’s stressed many times that she didn’t sign up to be an honorary member of the welcoming committee.

I’m waiting for Danika’s curt responses to sting, but so far, she’s kept her barbs hidden.

Even though I’ve known Danika my entire life, we’ve only recently become close friends.

She changed a couple years ago, and she’s made a point not to hold anything back—her thoughts, her feelings or her attitude.

And I’m one of the few who appreciate her candor.

Especially since it’s not a skill I possess.

I think that everyone deserves a chance.

That we can’t judge based upon appearances, assumptions or even first impressions.

But I get it. There’s a limit. Laurel’s not a bad person, really.

But after spending the last six weeks introducing her to Hollis High, it’s become more obvious that she’s not our person.

And now I don’t know how to ease her loose without hurting her feelings.

Danika types on her phone. Turning down the music, she reports, “Jaz and Darcy are leaving the school now. The football players are extra tonight. Guess some of the guys are already shotgunning beers. This party could get messy.”

“That’s good, right?” Laurel leans between the seats to contribute. “The last few parties have been so lame. I mean, why doesn’t anyone ever dance? They just stand around and talk.” She flops back with a heavy sigh. “I miss Brooklyn.”

Danika’s face fights for composure, contorting and tightening. I press my lips together to hide the smile.

“Last time,” Danika says to me. She takes in a deep breath through her nose to remain calm.

“I know,” I reply, getting it.

Every time Laurel talks about Brooklyn or compares us to her old school, Danika and I share a look. It happens a lot—at least three times a day.

Before Laurel can ask what we’re talking about, Danika turns up the music and starts bellowing along. I join in. We’re going to a party, after all… not in Brooklyn.

We’re only a couple hours north of the city, except we’re in the woods. And there isn’t much to do here other than sports and drinking. I mean, there’s more, but only if you make an effort. And Laurel is kind enough to remind us just how pathetic our town is. Every. Day.

We follow the line of cars into the driveway like a row of ants returning to the hill. If the neighbors didn’t know there was a party happening next door, they do now.

“Five dollars each,” the pimply-faced freshman demands at the door. Lowerclassmen aren’t allowed at Ryder’s parties, so he makes them work for the privilege of saying they were there.

“Are you serious?” Laurel looks offended.

“Keg money,” the kid drones as if he’s had to say this a hundred times already tonight.

“But I already paid Livvy for lemonades. Why am I paying for crap beer I’m not even going to drink?”

I hand over a twenty. “I got it.”

“That’s shit,” Danika proclaims, offering me a ten. “You’re driving. You shouldn’t be paying. We should pay for you.”

I decline with a shake of my head. “I owe you.” I glance at Laurel, who’s craning her neck to see who’s here.

Danika rolls her eyes. “True.”

Laurel pushes through with a huff, not bothering to thank me. But I’ve learned not to expect her gratitude—for anything. And I’m not one to demand it from anyone.

“We’re leaving her here,” Danika says, eyeing the back of Laurel’s auburn head with a curl of her lip. “I’m done putting up with your pet project. I can’t listen to her talk about Brooklyn one more time.”

I sigh. “Yeah. She… misses home.” I squeeze through a group who are determined to block the entryway, not caring that every person who arrives has to walk between them to get access to the rest of the house.

“People. I swear. They’re all assholes.” Danika elbows her way through to make her point, earning some colorful protests in return.

We just arrived, and I already want to leave. “Give it an hour?”

Danika nods.

I stand beside Danika in the keg line. “I can get you a beer if you want to walk around and see who’s here.”

“Why bother? I won’t be able to put up with anyone while I’m sober.”