Read Online The Fire by Caroline B. Cooney - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Caroline B. Cooney
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night, she begged her parents to let them stay up all night, and her parents always said no.
But it was not as much fun as she had expected.
In school the next day, she was dizzy with sleepiness; her eyelids closed relentlessly. When her brain dredged for information, it found only grit.
She worried continually about Val, sleeping on bare metal springs in a vacant house. Was Val stable enough, well enough for such a night? Was it even safe for anybody to stay alone like that? Should Christina call Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong and tell them? Should Christina tell Robbie? Or Benj? Or her own mother and father?
But the Shevvingtons must have an ally she had not identified. What if the ally was Robbie? And when she said, “I have Val!” what if his mouth went thin and evil like Mrs. Shevvington’s … his eyes hot and yellow like theirs?
As for Benj, last night when she could have used his granite, he had been elsewhere. At some meeting for Band, working on fund-raisers. Oh, sure, he said he wanted her help, but when push came to shove, he got all stuttery and embarrassed and said he couldn’t bring a seventh-grader to the meeting. “I mean, girls like Astrid and Megan are going to be on the committee,” he said helplessly. Astrid and Megan were impressive, exciting seniors. Once they had been best friends with Anya. But when Anya began to collapse, Astrid and Megan vanished. They weren’t going to hang around with a failure. Christina would just as soon kick Astrid and Megan in the shins as work with them. “That’s why you can’t come,” Benj had said at last. “You act like a seventh-grader, too.”
I do not act like a seventh-grader! thought Christina resentfully, walking down middle school halls, passing middle school classrooms. Who saved Val, anyway?
But oh, how Christina wanted to lean on somebody. How she wanted a partner! Or at least some advice.
From some unknown source Val had acquired a surge of strength. But breaking out of the Institute, hitchhiking to the village, creeping into Schooner Inne, hiding from the Shevvingtons … all Val’s resources were used up.
Now Val expected Christina to accomplish everything else — bring food and news and company. Find a way to make her freedom last. Save Val from going back. Prove that Val was well again. Prove, in fact, that she had never been ill to start with. That it was all the Shevvingtons’ contrivance.
Christina did not have the slightest idea how to do any of that.
If only she had gotten a full night’s rest. Then perhaps she could think clearly. As it was, all her thoughts were blurred.
In school it was Safety Week. Christina tried to open her eyes and concentrate on Safety. The Fire Department gave an assembly talk about safety with matches, lawnmowers, and barbecues.
Nobody in seventh grade wanted to be safe. What was exciting about safety? Everybody wanted to be in danger. In history they talked about terrorism and how it was sweeping the world. Jonah said, “I like terrorism. It’s exciting to get on a plane and wonder if you’ll be hijacked and end up a prisoner.” Everybody agreed that was much more exciting than getting salted nuts for a snack.
In Art they had to make posters about safety, and in English Mrs. Shevvington made them write slogans for the posters. Christina was too tired even to hang onto a crayon, let along design something. “We’re too old for this,” she complained. “Elementary school kids have to make posters, but seventh-graders have outgrown it.”
“Outgrown safety?” said Mrs. Shevvington. “How interesting, Christina. I shall bear that in mind.”
“Yeah,” said Gretch, “you should see what she’s doing in woodworking. She’s making a fire.”
Mrs. Shevvington’s little eyes flared. She turned her whole body, like a vehicle, and her flat oatmeal face fastened on Christina. “Making fires?” she repeated.
“We’re all making summer fires,” said Christina.
“But only yours,” smirked
But it was not as much fun as she had expected.
In school the next day, she was dizzy with sleepiness; her eyelids closed relentlessly. When her brain dredged for information, it found only grit.
She worried continually about Val, sleeping on bare metal springs in a vacant house. Was Val stable enough, well enough for such a night? Was it even safe for anybody to stay alone like that? Should Christina call Mr. and Mrs. Armstrong and tell them? Should Christina tell Robbie? Or Benj? Or her own mother and father?
But the Shevvingtons must have an ally she had not identified. What if the ally was Robbie? And when she said, “I have Val!” what if his mouth went thin and evil like Mrs. Shevvington’s … his eyes hot and yellow like theirs?
As for Benj, last night when she could have used his granite, he had been elsewhere. At some meeting for Band, working on fund-raisers. Oh, sure, he said he wanted her help, but when push came to shove, he got all stuttery and embarrassed and said he couldn’t bring a seventh-grader to the meeting. “I mean, girls like Astrid and Megan are going to be on the committee,” he said helplessly. Astrid and Megan were impressive, exciting seniors. Once they had been best friends with Anya. But when Anya began to collapse, Astrid and Megan vanished. They weren’t going to hang around with a failure. Christina would just as soon kick Astrid and Megan in the shins as work with them. “That’s why you can’t come,” Benj had said at last. “You act like a seventh-grader, too.”
I do not act like a seventh-grader! thought Christina resentfully, walking down middle school halls, passing middle school classrooms. Who saved Val, anyway?
But oh, how Christina wanted to lean on somebody. How she wanted a partner! Or at least some advice.
From some unknown source Val had acquired a surge of strength. But breaking out of the Institute, hitchhiking to the village, creeping into Schooner Inne, hiding from the Shevvingtons … all Val’s resources were used up.
Now Val expected Christina to accomplish everything else — bring food and news and company. Find a way to make her freedom last. Save Val from going back. Prove that Val was well again. Prove, in fact, that she had never been ill to start with. That it was all the Shevvingtons’ contrivance.
Christina did not have the slightest idea how to do any of that.
If only she had gotten a full night’s rest. Then perhaps she could think clearly. As it was, all her thoughts were blurred.
In school it was Safety Week. Christina tried to open her eyes and concentrate on Safety. The Fire Department gave an assembly talk about safety with matches, lawnmowers, and barbecues.
Nobody in seventh grade wanted to be safe. What was exciting about safety? Everybody wanted to be in danger. In history they talked about terrorism and how it was sweeping the world. Jonah said, “I like terrorism. It’s exciting to get on a plane and wonder if you’ll be hijacked and end up a prisoner.” Everybody agreed that was much more exciting than getting salted nuts for a snack.
In Art they had to make posters about safety, and in English Mrs. Shevvington made them write slogans for the posters. Christina was too tired even to hang onto a crayon, let along design something. “We’re too old for this,” she complained. “Elementary school kids have to make posters, but seventh-graders have outgrown it.”
“Outgrown safety?” said Mrs. Shevvington. “How interesting, Christina. I shall bear that in mind.”
“Yeah,” said Gretch, “you should see what she’s doing in woodworking. She’s making a fire.”
Mrs. Shevvington’s little eyes flared. She turned her whole body, like a vehicle, and her flat oatmeal face fastened on Christina. “Making fires?” she repeated.
“We’re all making summer fires,” said Christina.
“But only yours,” smirked
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