CHAPTER 28

VIDEO OF THE BURNING HOUSE LEADS CHANNEL 8’S ELEVEN o’clock news.

I try to tune out the pleasant voice of the anchorwoman, telling me once again what I saw with my own eyes—that Mr. and Mrs. Elliott got third-degree burns on their heads and arms. And what I didn’t see—that Brandon got third-degree burns on his back and broke his arm while trying to escape. Dad never lets me stay up for the late news, but tonight he didn’t make an attempt to send me to bed.

Right away I learned that Brandon had recently turned six—which means somewhere in the ruins is the Steel Cage Ring that Chad bought him for his birthday.

The TV cuts to a school picture. Brandon has a huge smile that shows his missing baby teeth. I don’t have to touch the photo with skin and eyes and hair to feel as empty as Ms. Marvel did after Rogue touched her and stole her emotions.

The picture fades, replaced by the anchorwoman.

Brandon was transferred by helicopter to a pediatric burn unit out of state where he is expected to recover. His parents, Chad and Melissa Elliott, are listed in critical condition at University Medical Center. Police believe that they were operating a meth lab out of their rental house, and when officers arrived at the neighborhood to investigate a child abuse report, the Elliotts disposed of the chemicals by pouring them down a drain. Police expect to charge both tomorrow on a variety of felony counts.

A mug shot of Mr. Elliott flashes on screen. His hair is a lot darker than I remember.

Wait . . .

How could the police have taken this mug shot for his court case tomorrow if he’s burned up in the hospital? I shudder at the image of his melted fingers.

According to police, Chad Elliott previously served three years, from 1996 to 1999, in the Iowa state penitentiary for the manufacture and distribution of methamphetamine . . .

That makes it a really old mug shot. I scoot closer to see what else might be different about Mr. Elliott. Not much. The same hollow cheeks. He had a sore on his lower lip then that wasn’t there when he played music with Dad.

Police originally believed the Elliotts’ older son, twelve-year-old Chad Junior, was also in the house, but he was later found safe at a neighbor’s house. He remains there, awaiting further arrangements.

The TV cuts back to the fire and rescue workers running around.

The explosion rocked the quiet neighborhood around nine this morning. Neighbors say the owner of the house, Diane Mackenzie, recently relocated to Philadelphia . . .

I glance up at the ceiling. Had Chad been there and not here . . . had Mrs. Mac not moved because she saw her husband’s ghost . . . had Dad not called the police . . .

I wonder if Dad’s thinking the same thing because he stares down at his hands and his carefully clipped guitar player’s fingernails. I push one of Brandon’s wrestlers back and forth across the wooden floor.

Old Mr. Toomey, who lives two houses up Cherry Street, is now talking into the Channel 8 microphone.

“No, the wife and I, we had no idea what was going on. We often saw the boys playing in the park . . .”

“No, they didn’t play in the park,” I shout at the TV, my voice breaking. “Their parents made them stand lookout there.”

Dad makes a shushing sound and glances up at me. “I want to hear this, Kiara.”

Mrs. Alvarado, the neighbor on the other side of Mr. Toomey, now appears on the screen.

“They kept to themselves . . . No, there wasn’t a lot of noise, and not a lot of people coming or going either. That’s why we never suspected anything.”

And Mr. Toomey.

“They just moved in. I don’t think anyone really got to know them.”

The two anchors appear again. Tomorrow on Live at Five: Experts discuss how to spot a meth lab in your neighborhood—and what to do about it.

Dad has turned away from me. While the anchorman reads the national news, I spread what’s left of Brandon’s wrestlers on the floor and sort them into the good guys and the bad guys.

A Tech Town commercial comes on. I glance at the table in the corner of the living room, where my computer used to be. After I hung up with Mami, Dad carried all its pieces one by one to my bedroom. The first thing I asked Mr. Internet as soon as I plugged in the power cord was “what happens to kids who don’t have a home?” because I wanted to find out where Chad would go after I left—and Brandon as soon as he got out of the hospital.

They would first look for a relative to take him in. If they couldn’t find one, there are foster homes with loving parents who know how to help a kid who’s had a terrible life.

Mami may not know, but Mr. Internet knows what foster homes are. Loving parents who know how to help a kid . . . That means Chad and Brandon would get to live in a better place. But they might end up somewhere far away—and no longer my friends.

After a mattress commercial, the anchors reappear on the screen.

In other police news, more than a dozen teenagers have been arrested following an underage drinking party in College Park last night. Two students from the high school were treated at area hospitals for alcohol poisoning . . .

I let the wrestler slip from my hand.

Alcohol poisoning? Is that what happened to Chad? And should he have gone to the hospital?

Then the police would have met Dad there. They wouldn’t have come to our neighborhood, and Brandon wouldn’t have run inside.

Nineteen-year-old Stephen Nickolaus . . .

Veg. My gut twists.

. . . and eighteen-year-olds Brian Gerardi and Joshua Laiken were among those arrested and charged with trespassing, aggravated alcohol possession, and unlawful dealing with minors.

I cover my face, but I can’t block out Veg and Brian and Josh standing next to the height chart, all of them over the six-foot mark.

The other suspects, all under eighteen years of age, have been released to their parents and their cases remanded to juvenile court. More arrests are expected as the investigation continues.

I grip one of the wrestlers to steady my hand, but it still shakes. The investigation continues . . . Does that mean they arrested Antonio? I don’t know who picked him up from my house, or if he returned to the party, or if evil Josh ratted him out.

Does that mean I’m next? I shot a video of Chad drunk.

I think about my phone call with Mami. She sounded excited to see me.

If I go to Montreal, I won’t have to worry about the police coming after me for being at the party and making videos. I won’t have to look at the burned-out house on the other side of the park where Mr. and Mrs. Mac and Chad and Brandon used to live.

My hand steadies. I scoop up the remaining wrestlers. Chad wanted to run away with Brandon. Now is my chance to run away, too. To start over somewhere else.

I smile at the thought. I won’t be Crybaby Kiara or Crazy Kiara in Montreal, and Mami can tell me how to act so I make new friends. Because for the first time in my life, I’ll be the New Kid.

Dad hits the remote control, and the TV goes black. “I think we’ve seen enough trouble,” he says. When I don’t answer, he adds, “Let’s go to bed. Tomorrow is another day.”

Tomorrow is another day. The day Ms. Latimer arrives with my test scores.