Read Burn for Free Online

Weed again and hugs him. “Belze,” he whispers. “He’s an old man. Get him out of suspension too.” And then he lets him go.
    Weed nods and starts to leave, but Partridge says, “Wait. Have you heard anything from our old teachers at the academy?”
    “What?”
    “You know—our teachers. Do you keep up with any of them?” He wants Arvin to bring up Glassings.
    Arvin shakes his head. “Like I have time for that,” he says. “I know you won’t find them here.” He’s right. The professors at the academy aren’t elite enough for this invite-only crowd. Arvin walks away. Partridge wishes they’d had more time, more privacy.
    A ten-year-old is next in line. He’s wearing a navy blue suit and a striped tie. He doesn’t say a word. He simply salutes Partridge.
    “Take it easy,” Partridge says. “At ease.” The boy is frozen like that. Where are his parents? “You can stop,” Partridge says.
    One of the cameramen senses the moment and edges in for a close-up of the kid.
    Now Partridge has to stand there and accept the salute. But it’s clear the kid is waiting for a salute in return. Partridge won’t do it. He doesn’t want to be seen as a military leader. He doesn’t want to align himself with world war and annihilation. He reaches out and ruffles the kid’s hair. “Go on now,” he says gently. “It’s almost time for the service, okay?”
    The kid raises his hand and touches his head where Partridge touched it as if awed by the personal contact.
    The cameraman zooms in on Partridge. He stares straight ahead, refusing to look directly into the camera. The truth , he thinks to himself. It’s time for the truth.
    Finally, the line dwindles, and Partridge is escorted to the front row of the hall.
    There is Iralene, the shock of her: her upright posture, creamy skin against her black funeral dress (she seems to have an unlimited supply of them), and her perfect features lilting in the soft sadness of her expression. He specifically asked that she not be here, and yet there she is. Iralene was raised to be the perfect wife, one who does as she’s told. She’s been groomed for her role so thoroughly that she seems always prepared, but that facade clouds her motives. Partridge rarely knows what she really wants. Did they ask her to leave and did she politely refuse? This is absolutely possible. Iralene can talk people into or out of nearly anything with such stealth that they walk away thinking that they’d just convinced her of something and not the other way around.
    Her mother sits to her left—Mimi looks barely stitched together. Her eyes, round with fear, dart around the room as if she’s lost. The seat to Iralene’s right is empty, reserved for Partridge, of course.
    He sits down and leans over to her, whispering, “I told them to let you go home. You’ve been through too many of these. Seriously, you should take off if you want to.”
    She touches his knee. “You both need me here,” she says, indicating Partridge and her mother.
    “Actually, I’m fine.” He glances around for another seat nearby, but they’re all taken.
    “Your father would have wanted it this way.” She smiles sadly.
    This is the part that’s confusing. Iralene knows that he killed his father. She was the one who delivered the poisonous pill to him. So why would she think he’d be moved to do things the way his father would have wanted?
    “I wish Glassings was invited,” he says.
    His name startles her. She whispers, “I heard he stopped showing up for classes. His office is cleared out too.”
    “How do you know that? Who told you?”
    “I do have some friends, Partridge. Your father made sure that there’s a handful of academy girls who know me well enough. I have to have someone to ask to be my bridesmaids!”
    “Bridesmaids? Iralene, you know that—”
    “I didn’t say I was marrying you . Did I?” She touches her hair to make sure it’s perfectly straight.
    He unbuttons his suit jacket.