Page 11 of Burn

“So,” the blonde interrupts my thoughts, “Did you?”

Her midriff is visible in her tight, cropped t-shirt, and her navel is pierced. Last summer, I asked my mother if I could pierce my belly button, and she scoffed and told me that ‘only strippers’ have their belly buttons pierced. It had turned into a blowout fight. We screamed at each other, and ultimately, she slapped me so hard across the face that my nose sprayeda trail of blood over the hallway wall. I don’t care what she thinks; this girl looks so cool with her pierced navel.

I shield my eyes from the sun to get a better look at her face, at all their faces. “I… what?” I stutter. I’ve never spoken to any of these girls, and the question seems so direct.

“Well, we’ve been talking about it,” she signals to the two girls behind her, “And we just can’t wrap our heads around it.”

“Well,” I start, wrapping my arm protectively around myself, “If you figure it out, please let me know.” I laugh nervously.

The main blonde looks thoughtful, eyes tilted upward, searching the sky. She’s quiet so long that the bored blonde reaches out and tugs on her shirt.

“Naveah, let’s go. The guys are doing drills on the east field. If we leave now, we can watch the last fifteen minutes.” She whines, the sound like fingernails on a chalkboard.

Naveah pulls her shirt out of the bored girl’s grip; her eyes fixed on me.

“I’m Naveah. This is Zoe and Story.” Her tone is saccharine-sweet and full of deceit.

My intuition fires alarm bells, creating a ripple of goosebumps across my arms and sending a chill down my spine.

“Hi, I’m Morgan,” I reply tentatively.

The words are barely out of my mouth when Navaeh reaches out her hand, her broad smile curving up at the sides into devilish points.

“Come on!” she chirps. “Let’s go watch the hockey team run drills.”

Every fiber of my being screams not to take her hand. My body comes alive with sparks that ripple out of my chest and down through my limbs, exploding out of my toes and fingers.

Her smile — if I can call it a smile, it looks more like a snarl — doesn’t falter when she says, “Come on, silly rabbit. We don’t bite.”

Story sighs, rolls her eyes, and turns, walking toward the east field. And I… I disregard every single warning from my intuition and reach up, take her soft, perfectly manicured hand, and allow her to pull me from my safe, comfortable seat on the ground.

Naveah loops her arm through mine, and I scramble to balance my book and backpack awkwardly. Her light and bouncy steps remind me of a bird hopping along the grass. Zoe jogs past us, quickly catching up to Story, and then leans into her, whispering. I can tell by Story’s body language that she’s irritated. Her head shakes back and forth in an exaggerated way.

“Ignore them,” Navaeh whispers to me. “They’re territorial andhatewhen I have a new friend.” She exaggerates hate as if she finds them so utterly pathetic.

I tuck my head, lifting my hand, tucking my hair behind my ear, and nodding.

“Yeah, I get it. It’s tough to adjust to change.”

My voice still sounds so strange. It’s small and soft.

Friend.

She tells me about the boys on the team, informing me that she’s slept with not one but two of them. I thank my lucky stars that she’s looking ahead and not at me because my eyebrows shoot up. She’s had sex?

“Logan went absolutely insane when he found out I hooked up with Tristan. It was such a mess,” she stops suddenly, spinning to face me, a devious look on her face. “Oh. My. God. Is that what happened with you and Aaron?” My cheeks heat, and she takes this as confirmation. “Stop! You slut! Who’s theother guy?” When I don’t immediately reply, she offers, “Or girl. We’re equal opportunists here.”

It suddenly feels like I’ve sprouted three tongues, and they’re fighting an MMA-style battle in my mouth, trying to reply.

“I… no… I didn’t…” I stammer.

Fuck’s sake.

“Okay, okay. You don’t have to tell me, you little vixen.” She scrunches her nose, leans in close enough for me to smell her cherry lip gloss, and then continues bouncing across the field, dragging me behind.

Shit. Fuck.

I’m trying to find the best way to tell her that I didn’t have sex with Aaron, that he isn’t mad I slept with someone else, and that she’s got it all wrong when we reach the fence at the edge of the track field. Story and Zoe lean on the fence, their hips popped out awkwardly to one side, elongating their bodies.