Read Fire With Fire for Free Online

to watch; it’s as if the moon and the stars have
been banished from the heavens and forced to be mortal like
the rest of us.
I wanted Reeve to get in big trouble, to lose what made
him feel so confident, so superior to everyone else. And he did
deserve what was coming to him, I know that. But a part of me
wishes it never had to get to that point. That we didn’t have to
break him for him to learn his lesson.
The first quarter of the game, we play as terribly as expected.
Lee Freddington gets the ball back at the start of the second
quarter. On his first chance to pass, he almost gets tackled by
the other team. Our coach calls a time-out and starts yelling at
the guys on defense.
I watch Reeve seek out Lee Freddington on the sideline and
give him some tips. He’s been doing this all game long. But Lee
hardly looks at him. He barely even makes eye contact. And
not because he’s embarrassed. Because he thinks he doesn’t
need the help.
Right before the time-out ends, Lee Freddington walks over
to Alex Lind. He drapes his arm over his shoulder and seems to
whisper something. Reeve is watching this, his jaw set.
A second later, our team rushes back on the field. Lee leads
the huddle, and when the ball snaps, he pulls his arm back like
he’s going to really go for it. Way downfield, Alex Lind is outrunning another player. Lee throws the ball, a tight spiral, and it
lands right in Alex’s arms.
Touchdown.
I get up to leave while PJ kicks the extra point. As I pass by
the sideline, the cheerleaders are lining up to do their individual
player cheers for that play. Teresa Cruz steps to the front, and I
see Rennie charge up and grab her by the sweater.
“What are you doing?”
“Lee threw a touchdown. I’m doing his player cheer.”
Rennie gives her a look like she’s an idiot. “Alex caught a
touchdown. He’s the one who scored the points.”
Teresa huffs. “But we always do the QB cheer—”
“ Reeve’s our quarterback. Lee is second-string trash.”
Rennie steps up and shouts Reeve’s cheer so loud I see him
shrink on the bench.
Rennie thinks she knows what Reeve needs, but she doesn’t
have a clue. He doesn’t want everyone looking at him. He wants
to be left alone.
I get up from my seat and begin my walk home. That’s exactly
what I’m going to do. Leave Reeve alone. Even more than that,
I’ll rewire my brain so that I don’t think about him, don’t feel
anything for him. It’s the only way.
    Back at the house, I find Aunt Bette in the living room. She’s in
the dark, sitting on the floor with candles burning all around her.
Wax is pooling in puddles on the hardwood. My dad would flip
out if he saw that. He always says the floors are his favorite part
of the house. They’re cedar, the most beautiful strawberry-blond
color.
“I’m home,” I say, stepping into the room.
    Aunt Bette startles. Now that I’m closer, I see that she has a
piece of linen spread out in front of her. It’s covered with piles
of dried leaves and herbs. She’s putting them into small bundles
and binding them up with twine.
    She finishes tying a knot before she says, “I didn’t know you
left,” annoyed, like I’m interrupting something important.
“I went for a walk.” And then I add, “Sorry,” even though I
don’t have anything to apologize for. I point down at the bundles and ask, “What is that stuff?”
With one hand Aunt Bette grabs a sprig of something and
rubs a leaf between her fingers. “Ancient herbs.” It looks like
rosemary. Or maybe thyme? I can’t tell in the dark.
“O-kay,” I say. “Well, good night.”
At the foot of the stairs I spot a teacup on the floor. Inside is
a bundle of dried leaves wrapped up with twine. It’s burning red
embers and letting off a twisty curl of smoke up to the hallway
ceiling.
What in the world?
I call out, “Um, Aunt Bette? Is it safe to leave this thing
smoking in the hall?” I worry that I sound like a patronizing
jerk,