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“THANKS FOR THE RIDE,” Peter blurted to his mom through the open front passenger-side window of her compact car. “See ya around nine.” He turned, thinking he might find Roland walking away.
Roland had muttered a thank you and climbed out of the car before it had fully stopped. Now he stood with his back to the school building attached to Saint Michael Church, his hands in the front pockets of his black jeans. His gaze followed Peter’s Mom’s car. Apprehension showed in the tilt of his head and his posture—one foot poised to make a break for it. He probably wished he hadn’t come over to Peter’s place after school. He could be home right now, doing therapy for his lame leg.
Granted they’d only met last year, but Peter knew him well enough to guess his thoughts. He was probably picturing every kid in speech class, trying to remember if any of them belonged to the Fire Starters. He’d want to avoid them tonight because of his speech fail.
Or wait . . . he was probably wondering who knew about the spray tan incident from last week. Rotten way to begin the school year. While Roland hadn’t spoken much about it, he’d crawled back into his shell since then. Peter would bet that Roland was thinking up an excuse right now as to why he had to go home.
“Let’s go.” Peter motioned for Roland to go first, making a sweeping gesture toward steps that rose up to the side entrance of the school.
Roland’s head dipped down, and he peered up at Peter. “Um, you know, I just remembered—”
“Oh, no, you don’t.” Peter grabbed him by the upper arm and shoved. He and Roland still had to talk. Roland hadn’t actually committed himself to investigating the vandalism of Brice’s house. Finding and exposing her enemy might not get Peter closer to Brice, but then again it might. Either way, it ticked Peter off that someone would do that to her because she’s different. That’s what he liked about her. She was cool, heavy metal, not into glitter and girly things. So this had become mission number one for Peter. He was getting that commitment from Roland tonight.
With a sigh, Roland jerked his arm free. On the upwards swing, he combed a hand through his hair. Then he finally faced the school building.
“What’re you worried about anyway?” Peter mounted the steps alongside Roland and yanked open the door.
Roland shook his head, his eyes saying he didn’t want his motives found out. “Nothing.”
Peter laughed. “Stop being paranoid. These kids are your friends. And with the rest of the scuttlebutt going around today, no one’s thinking about vain Roland West.”
Roland threw Peter a sulky glare as he walked past. His gaze shifting to the half-open door down the hallway. Light streamed from it onto the shiny and seriously-old dark laminate flooring. Voices and laughter grew louder.
“Come on.” Peter led the way. Having a shy friend who liked to keep to himself had its benefits. Roland would never tell Peter’s secrets, like the one Peter almost gave up in the garage.
A funny feeling coursed through Peter, as if his body suddenly pixelated and then returned to normal. He shouldn’t think about Brice. Roland obviously knew he liked her, but he wouldn’t tell anyone. Did anyone else know? Peter shook his head. Don’t pick up Roland’s paranoia.
Peter stopped outside the open door. If they didn’t talk now, he might not get the chance. “Hey, before we go in, I just wanna hear you say you agree to it. We should get to work right away.”
Roland stared for a full two seconds, his expression giving away nothing. “Agree to what?”
“Really?” Peter smirked. “Back at my house, we were talking about—”
“Hey, vato.”
A blur of tan arms and shiny black hair appeared in Peter’s peripheral vision, Dominic Miato emerging from the meeting room. Then he was right next to Peter, slapping him on the back.
Peter seized up, his heart sailing to his throat as he faced Dominic—the last person he’d trust with a secret. Dominic didn’t even need a secret—or a shred of truth—to spread a rumor. You’d think a guy that had received a miraculous healing would have a different attitude toward confidentiality. Okay, maybe he’d changed a little bit, but Peter still didn’t trust him.
Roland and Dominic exchanged nods in greeting, Dominic’s silky black hair shifting and making his new haircut look like a shiny motorcycle helmet.
“So today we are planning the camping trip, no?” Dominic said.
“Right.” Peter relaxed. He loved planning the annual camping trip. Last year he’d devised the most awesome way yet to ignite the bonfire. This year he would come up with something more spectacular. “Might as well get started.” Since they had no hope of talking privately now, Peter motioned Roland into the room.
Roland must’ve steeled himself to his paranoid thoughts. He strode into the room with a cool composure and a blank expression, immediately scanning faces.
A group of boys stood just inside the doorway. Fred Buchanan, the tallest kid at River Run High, said something that had the other guys laughing. He always had a hysterical story to tell. Peter wished he’d heard it. Doug Baxter doubled over with laughter in that effeminate way of his. He’d once admitted his struggles to the whole group during a retreat, assuring the guys they had nothing to worry about. They’d all sort of guessed anyway, but he lived his faith wholeheartedly, probably knew the Bible and Catechism better than anyone. Knew the patron saint for everything. Everyone considered him a friend.
“So, we get to come up with all kinds of loco ideas for fun,” Dominic said, shuffling past the group, “and Father gets to shoot them down, no?”
Peter followed Dominic further into the room. “Is that how Father works?” He hadn’t planned camping activities with Father and the Fire Starters last year.
Twenty or so kids stood or sat in groups. Two kids set up folding metal chairs between and around the three mismatched couches and four old armchairs in the room, the teachers’ lounge by day and youth center by night. End tables and shelves held lamps that made the lounge look homey, though overhead fluorescent lights countered the effect.
Roland scanned the room, and his gaze locked onto Caitlyn Summer, who sat on the couch by the wall lined with tall windows. Kiara sat next to her, dressed in long shorts, her knee resting on the flaring skirt of Caitlyn’s turquoise vintage swing dress. Phoebe—who could only be described as an eclectic mess—stood behind them, leaning on the back of the couch, forcing them to twist around to see her. More girls sat on the other couches, and a few on windowsills.
As if sensing Roland’s presence in the room, Caitlyn turned her head.
Their eyes met for a split second then Roland pretended he needed to check his phone.
Peter laughed. “Why don’t you go talk to her? She’s—” Peter froze. While Roland wouldn’t divulge secrets to anyone else, he always lost his mind around Caitlyn. He wouldn’t tell her Peter liked Brice, would he?
Phone in hand, Roland stared at Peter. “Go talk to who?”
“Never mind.” Peter shut his mouth before his foot got stuck in there.
Father Carston—dressed in a long black cassock, his white hair glowing under the artificial light—sat at a laptop, two boys and a girl at the table with him. They were probably going over notes for the camping trip.
Any way Peter could get Brice to go? She probably wouldn’t want to go alone. Who could she go with? From what he’d noticed, she didn’t get along with many girls. Or guys, for that matter. Still, he could get her to go. He’d just have to make it interesting. He’d convinced Roland to go last year. And his brother Jarret.
“You don’t like my idea?” Dominic said.
Peter snapped from his thoughts and focused on the blurry tan face in front of him. He hadn’t heard anything Dominic had said. “I, uh . . .”
Roland finally went over to Caitlyn just as Keefe West strode into the room, flushed and breathing hard. Keefe veered toward the group of guys and greeted a few with “Hey” and “What’s up?” Then he scanned the room until his gaze found Roland.
“Okay, gather around.” Father Carston pushed a couch across the hardwood floor with an awful noise, moving it closer to the rest of the furniture and making a big oval-shaped arrangement.
The chatter lessened. Folding chairs scraped on the floor as everyone took seats.
Dominic merged with the rest of the guys moving toward the furniture. “Hey, Padre,” he shouted, “have you heard about the vandalism here in town? Trees burning, yard trashed, graffiti on the garage.”
Peter flinched as if it had to do with his own house. Or his girlfriend’s house. He sat on a folding chair next to Roland. “They only burned one tree,” Peter said, though Roland looked indifferent.
“As a matter of fact, I have heard.” Father sat on the arm of a chair, the power of his voice and his authoritative posture immediately commanding everyone’s attention.
“You have?” One of Dominic’s eyes narrowed. It must’ve disappointed him that someone else spread the rumor first. “Who told you?”
“The principal of your high school, Mr. Freeman.”
“He told you?” Now both eyes narrowed, and his brows climbed up his forehead and disappeared under the black helmet hair.
“Yes, he informed me of the vandalism, stressing that the vandals had set a tree on fire the way the KKK used to burn crosses in yards. Then he wanted to know how you kids got the name for your group.” Father gave the slightest grin. “I began to enlighten him with scriptures, but I guess he didn’t really want to know.” Father glanced down then up, his expression turning grim. “He asked me to talk to you all about a few things. He believes the vandalism was a hate crime, and he’s concerned that kids from the Fire Starters might be responsible.”
“What?” Peter said, indignation making his voice squeak.
“Additionally”—Father’s voice took on an even more serious tone—“A police officer contacted me and will likely be contacting you for questioning.”
Objections filled the air, some kids grumbling, others speaking in raised voices.
A peaceful expression on his face, Father motioned with both hands for silence. “Calm down, calm down.” When the group quieted, he continued. “I know you kids. I know you had nothing to do with this, and I told them so. But I can guess why you are on the list of suspects.”
“They’re blaming us because we’re Catholics,” Phoebe shouted.
“They think the name Fire Starters means we’re pyros,” someone else shouted.
A jumble of comments followed.
Peter glanced at Roland. “It’s because we’re so insensitive,” he said mockingly.
“Wait!” Caitlyn shouted, jumping up from the couch. “I have an idea.” She smoothed her turquoise skirt and looked from kid to kid.
Father—and of course Roland—turned to her, but the chatter and sarcastic comments continued.
Sliding off a window sill, Phoebe stuck her fingers in her mouth and—
Knowing what would come next, Peter jammed his fingers in his ears.
Phoebe’s high-pitched whistle overrode all other sound and might’ve broken an eardrum.
Father winced, one hand lifting to his ear. Everyone quieted.
“Caitlyn has the floor.” Phoebe shot angry looks at random kids as she leaned over the back of the couch. Dark eye makeup, spiky purple-streaked hair, eclectic clothes, and sharp features made the girl someone not to mess with.
“Go ahead, Caitlyn,” Father said, still perched on the arm of the chair and with hands now folded neatly on one leg.
Caitlyn gave Father a little smile. “I have an idea.” Her green eyes lit up like traffic lights as she glanced from face to face. “Why don’t we volunteer to repair the damage? We can wash the bad words off the garage door, clean up the trash, and chop down the burnt tree.” She bounced on her toes, looking increasingly pleased with her plan. “We could even buy and plant a new tree!”
The group stared in silence for a moment.
“Un momento, Caitlyn, I know you mean well,” Dominic said, “but do you not think that will make us look guilty?”
“No, it’ll show that we care.” Phoebe folded her arms. “It’ll show the type of people we really are. We don’t tear down, we build up.”
A few made quiet comments, their tones gradually showing openness to the idea.
Kiara jumped up next to Caitlyn. “I love it!” She grabbed Caitlyn’s hands, and the two of them bounced on their toes. “Who cares what people think? It’s a good thing to do.”
“Oh, brother.” Peter rolled his eyes.
“You don’t like the idea?” Roland said.
“It’s just that Caitlyn and Kiara get so excited; they’re like two little girls.” He wasn’t going to admit it, but he loved the idea. Roland could begin the investigation at the scene of the crime. Peter would find out where Brice lived and maybe get to talk to her. She’d appreciate that he was helping her foster family and showing support, right?
This was perfect!
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