"Charlotte," he said.
"Okay, yes, I did, but that was before he apologized to me, and I hadn't started trying to get along with him yet."
"And now you are?"
"Colton, you don't understand." I took a step toward him, making a sweeping motion with one arm as though I could explain it to him with hand gestures. I wasn't trying to accuse Bryant—I just wanted an explanation. I wanted Colton to suddenly remember that Bryant had several aunts, one of which liked to drop in and help people paint their houses.
All my gesture did was manage to do was knock over my napkin tower and send several fluttering to the floor.
Colton took a step away from me. "I understand perfectly, Charlotte. If I hang out with you and I'm still friends with Bryant, then sooner or later I'm going to end up drenched again because you can't let go of the past. You're so sure that—" He stopped suddenly and straightened up. "What's that smell?"
"Smell?" I repeated, and immediately smelled the acrid scent of burning plastic. Turning, I noticed a cloud of smoke billowing up from the end of the table. I gasped, then yelped, "Colton, the tablecloth is on fire!"
I knew exactly what had happened. The napkins I knocked off the table had landed on the Bunsen burner, started a flame, and now that flame was looking around to see what else it could consume. I had thoughtfully provided it with not only a tablecloth but dozens of paper snowflakes and a napkin tower.
Colton scanned the room, searching the gymnasium walls. "Where's a fire extinguisher?"
"I don't know." But I did know where liquid was. As the fire climbed to the top of the table, I picked up two cups of cider and threw them in that direction. The flames flickered for a moment, then continued their march toward the cookies. I grabbed two more cups and repeated the process.
Colton picked up cups to help me. He mumbled several things under his breath, and I'm pretty sure he fired me from the refreshment committee, but I was too busy pouring cider on the table to answer him.
The thing about being in a darkened room is that people tend to notice when there is suddenly a lot of light, like say, a table lit up like a bonfire, and they begin to swarm around you gasping and yelling, but not really doing anything to help. I mean, someone actually called out, "Stop, drop, and roll!" Which is handy information if you yourself are on fire, but not such good advice if you're trying to extinguish blazing cookies.
I started to panic—not because the fire was so big, but because I suddenly realized I'd spent all afternoon taping kindling to the walls and ceiling. I'd also dangled streamers over the table, which is just the sort of thing you want hanging over flames. Then Ms. Ellis pushed her way through the crowd with the fire extinguisher and sprayed down the table.
I don't think I breathed at all throughout the duration of the fire, so it's probably a good thing that it only lasted for about a minute—just long enough to draw everyone's attention to me pitching cider at the refreshments, to create a nasty cloud of smoke, and oh yeah, for me to slosh cider onto Colton's shirt.
This was an especially bad omen, since the last words he'd said to me before the fire were, "If I hang out with you and I'm still friends with Bryant, then sooner or later I'm going to end up drenched again."
I stared at Colton's shirt. "You're not that wet," I told him.
Breathing hard, he looked from the smoldering refreshments to me. "What?"
"You didn't get drenched," I said. "Just a little splattered." His eyes narrowed momentarily like he didn't know what I was talking about, and then a flicker of understanding passed over his features.
He didn't have time to reply, however, because just then the smoke alarm and sprinkler system kicked on.
Usually I hate the shrill ring of the fire alarm, but tonight it was sort of nice, since it masked the shrieks of the student body as they went running from the gym. I mean, okay, so the sprinkler system is misnamed. It wasn't a light sprinkle, but more like a torrential downpour, but still, it was just water. Water is not going to hurt you, well, at least not unless you were stupid enough to pay a lot of money for a designer silk shirt. Then you may have a reason to pick up a folding chair and hold it over your head like an umbrella while you scramble across the room screaming. And I did feel bad for Olivia as I watched her do this.
But still, there was no need for everyone else to get hysterical. Especially not Ms. Ellis. Oh, she wasn't hysterical at the sprinkler part. She became hysterical later as Harris explained about the Bunsen burners and I explained how I'd accidentally knocked a couple of napkins off the table. She called us many names, none of which are usually associated with National Honor Society members. Then she made us clean up every single soggy snowflake in the room while she went outside to tell three fire trucks that we weren't in need of their services.
Colton and I were never alone together as we cleaned up, which was probably a good thing, since really, I didn't want to hear his assessment of the matter.
twelve
Brianna has a warped sense of humor. I know this because she wouldn't stop laughing when I called her Saturday morning and told her what happened. I mean, all night I worried about how I was going to face everyone at school when they knew I'd accidentally set the refreshments on fire. I also worried about the trouble I was going to get into with the administration for unauthorized Bunsen burner use, and whether or not the deejay throwing himself over his speakers in order to protect them had actually worked.
After the sprinklers shut off, the deejay carried the sound system back to his truck, cradling it in his arms like it was an injured child, and Colton shook his head and said, "I'm so glad I didn't let you talk me into using my stereo equipment." Then he didn't say anything else, and he left to take Olivia home.
He was mad at me, and I didn't know how to fix it.
Also, Olivia would undoubtedly tell everyone she knew what I'd done, and then I'd be forever banned from social gatherings and have to go to college in some distant state where they didn't know about my troubled refreshment history.
And was nearly setting the gym on fire something that showed up on your high school transcript?
See, a good friend would be concerned for you instead of laughing so hard that she had to keep gasping for air.
"Colton will eventually get over it," Brianna told me when she could finally talk. "He's only mad now because he's the president of NHS, so he'll get blamed for the fire too."
"Maybe," I said. I hadn't told her about our disagreement over Bryant right beforehand. "I'll be sure to let the principal and everybody else at school know he didn't have anything to do with it."
"And apologize to Colton again when you see him," Brianna said. "Be extra nice, and he'll forget all about Olivia."
Well, I didn't know if he'd actually forget Olivia. Probably the image of her hefting a chair over her head and swearing in three different languages was burned into his memory like it was into mine, but still Brianna had a point.
On Monday I got all sorts of abuse about the dance. People sang, "Raindrops keep falling on my head because I set off the smoke detector," and various versions of "Singing in the Rain." I also heard, "Hey, you sure made a splash at the dance!" "Next time the theme can be Noah's Ark!" and "What does NHS stand for? Nice Hot Shower? Not Highly Sensible? Never Heard of Safety?" And about three hundred other variations.
The principal called Harris, Preeth, Colton, and me into his office to lecture us about responsibility, liability, safety rules, and fire hazards. I didn't think he'd ever get tired of telling us about what could have happened and reciting every awful inferno story he'd ever heard. I mean, by the time he finished, I'd developed a firm paranoia of anything related to fire and might never be able to light a candle, use an electric appliance, or stand near a birthday cake again.
Since Harris, Preeth, and I had set up the Bunsen burners, we were given in-school suspension for the rest of the week, and then another week of suspension when school started up after winter break. Colton just had suspension for the rest of the we
ek because he'd known about the Bunsen burners and hadn't alerted the teachers.
This, the principal assured us, was letting us off easy. He could have given us straight suspension and not allowed us in school at all. Admittedly, this would have killed my grades, but on the other hand, it would have been a simple way to avoid everyone until they stopped thinking of new meanings for NHS. As it was, I still had to see them at lunch. Plus, I'd have to sit in the study hall room for a week with Colton. I knew he'd do nothing but glare at me because I'd turned yet another NHS project into a disaster and gotten him suspended in the process.
Throughout the week when they let all of the in-school suspension delinquents out to walk to lunch, I went out of my way to talk to Colton. I apologized again. I tried to make small talk. It didn't get me anywhere. Any time I spoke, his expression took on a hunted look, and he kept looking over his shoulder as though something bad was about to swoop down and grab him.
Brianna found another use for the iron-on letters she'd bought. On Thursday, Preeth, Kelly, and Brianna all came to school wearing the matching shirts with the words, FREE CHARLOTTE on the front and COOKIES ARE BETTER FLAMBE on the back.
"I thought you were giving the shirts to Amanda," I said when I saw them.
"I decided to give her a book on finding the right career. Besides, she was the one who came up with the 'Free Charlotte' phrase."
Well, it was nice to know they found a cause they could agree on.
On Friday, NHS met in the school parking lot after school to coordinate last-minute details about the Santa project and to load all the presents into my van. Colton kept stealing glances at me.
Which meant something.
Of course it might mean he was keeping an eye out to make sure I didn't do anything stupid, dangerous, or that would leave him drenched; but still, it meant something.
I wished we could drive to the mall together, but I had to transport the presents, and Colton took a load of NHS members in his convertible. Harris and Preeth came with me, probably because they knew I was the one person who wouldn't offer them an opinion—pro or con—about the merits of burning down the school.
Once we all got to the mall, the other NHS members unloaded the presents from the back of my van while Colton disappeared into the men's room to change into the Santa costume. I went into the women's room, clutching the plastic bag that contained an elf suit.
Surprisingly, it was a real elf suit, at least in that it only used enough material to cover an elf. The skirt was way too short for a human being, and I kept tugging at it, trying to pull it down farther. Normally, nothing would have made me put on the bright green tights that were included with the outfit, but the skirt was so short, I had to. I mean, one wrong move and thirty elementary children would be telling their friends that they knew what color underwear Santa's elves wore.
Faux fur lined both the skirt and the red velveteen jacket. I'm using the term fur loosely, since it more closely resembled a strip of building insulation than any living animal. I put black, pointy elf slippers on, and then a red stocking cap with attached jingle bells. After this was done, I surveyed myself in the bathroom mirror.
I decided the only positive thing about wearing an oversized furry hat with jingle bells is that it might draw people's attention away from my bright green legs and nearly nonexistent hemline.
It took courage to walk out of the restroom. I mean, at least Colton would be disguised in his Santa beard and costume. Anyone who saw me—and I knew high school kids were walking around the mall—would recognize me.
When you've nearly burned down the school gym and you need a boost of credibility with your peers, it's probably not a good idea to show up in the mall in an elf suit; but still, I was stuck with the job. I stood at the restroom door repeating to myself, "It's for the kids," several times. When my feet still didn't move, I added, "It's Christmastime, and no one will think anything of it." They wouldn't make endless jokes about my fashion choices, career ambitions, or how my taste in men had improved now that I was hanging out with an older, overweight, jolly guy.
Yeah, just like they hadn't made jokes about how some girls would do anything to meet buff firemen.
I knew as I stood there in the doorway that I had done this to myself. I'd sent out the message I didn't need any of them. Now that people had a chance to make me eat humble pie, they were taking full advantage of the situation.
Which goes to show that even though you chose justice over friendship, it doesn't mean you'll get it—justice, I mean. It's more likely you'll spend your one break from suspension dressed like a Keebler Elf-hooker.
I could probably write a really in-depth chapter for my dissertation about this day. You know, sometime in the future—after therapy had recovered all the memories I was about to repress.
I mean, seriously, I was so starting to hate the mall and everything that had ever happened in it.
I took a deep breath and walked out of the restroom. Once I made it to the courtyard where the Santa chair was, things wouldn't be so bad. I would blend in with the rest of the Christmas decor. Probably no one would even give me a second look.
Three steps out of the restroom, I saw Bryant getting a drink at the water fountain. I resisted the urge to turn around and flee back into the bathroom. I wouldn't have made it back gracefully, considering I jingled every time I moved. I took a long breath, forced a smile, and kept walking forward.
Bryant looked up, saw me, and his head jerked back in surprise. He nearly spit out the water he'd been drinking. "Charlotte!"
"Hi, Bryant." I motioned toward my outfit, pretending I didn't feel stupid. "It's what all the well-dressed elves will be wearing this Christmas season." His gaze traveled from my pointy elf shoes to my furry hat and back again. "Let me guess, Bloomingdale's is making you spray mistletoe-scented perfume today?"
I laughed, jingling as I did. "No, I'm helping Santa pass out presents." I nodded toward the men's bathroom. "He's getting changed in there right now." Bryant looked blankly at the bathroom as though Colton had never mentioned anything to him about it.
"The Santa service project for the needy kids at St. Matthew's," I prompted.
"Oh." He nodded without a hint of recognition. "That's really cool of Bloomingdale's to do. Where are you going to be? Inside the store?" I vaguely wondered why he asked. Was he actually volunteering to walk with me there? That was so sweet. So unexpected. "We're using the Santa chair out in the courtyard."
"How long will you be there?"
I shrugged. More jingling. "We're singing some Christmas carols, then handing out presents to thirty kids. I'm guessing about an hour."
"Maybe I'll stop by and see you." He took a step down the hallway. "Right now I've got errands in the opposite direction."
"I'll give you a candy cane when you come," I called after him. "It's one of the professional perks of being an elf."
He shot me a smile, then walked away.
I stood by the drinking fountain and let out a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding.
That hadn't been so bad.
I'd been nice to Bryant, and he'd been nice back. It seemed like a small thing and yet a big thing at the same time—a sign that the past was over.
As I stood by the water fountain, Colton came out of the men's room. He carried the Santa bag in his hand and wore his normal clothes. He saw me and did a double take. "Wow. You look really . . . um, elfish."
"I look like a trampy gnome with gangrene. You gave me this outfit as payback for getting you suspended, didn't you?" He shook his head and laughed. "Actually, no. The elf outfit came with the Santa suit, but now that you mention it, it does seem a fitting revenge."
I pulled the skirt down again. "There's nothing fitting about this outfit. That's part of the problem." After adjusting my skirt, I gestured toward his bag. "So why aren't you decked out as Saint Nick yet?"
"I put the costume on, then realized I'd left the box with the wig and beard in my car. I can't go aroun
d the parking lot in half a Santa suit. I had to change back into my regular clothes."
"I can get it for you," I said, momentarily forgetting I was mortified of being seen in my own costume. "Or I can call someone else from NHS."
Colton looked down at his watch. "It's okay. We still have fifteen minutes till the bus from St. Matthew's arrives, and everyone else from NHS is probably busy arranging the presents. I have time." He turned down the hallway, and I followed beside him, sounding like a one-elf sleigh as I walked. He glanced over at me, laughed, and said, "I need a picture of you like that."
"Thanks. Not only will you be unrecognizable in your costume, you didn't even tell any of your friends you were doing this, did you?"
He let out a grunt. "I don't need a bunch of them coming down here to bug me. It's bad enough I've got to do this at all. How much do you want to bet some kid gets so excited to see me, he wets his pants—while he's sitting on my lap?"
"That's not going to happen," I said. "Well, probably not, anyway."
He swung the bag slowly as he walked. "At least when I'm dressed as Santa, that one soda-throwing kid won't recognize me." Colton took a few more steps and added, "You better make sure he's not anywhere near a drink, just in case."
"I'll make sure," I said. "I'm really sorry about all that."
"Right," he said.
"No, really." We'd almost reached the mall exit, and I stopped walking. "Look, Colton, I'm sorry for getting you suspended, and for soaking you at the dance, and, you know, for making your date cry . . ." He raised an eyebrow at me. "You're apologizing for making Olivia cry? Charlotte, you're the one who yelled, 'Now you look really Juicy!' as she ran out of the room."
"I was trying to lighten the mood of the situation. How was I supposed to know she has no sense of humor?"
"People who dash past you while hauling chairs over their heads generally don't have a lot of humor."
"Which is why I shouldn't have said it. And while I'm apologizing, I'm also sorry about Bryant. I've been far too suspicious of him, but you know him best, and if you say he's not cheating on Brianna, then I believe you."