Torched by April Henry Read Free Book Online Page A

September. Like Richter had said, they had firebombed a helicopter used to spray weeds, as well as burned down a wild horse corral, a logging truck and a ranger’s station, for a total of more than five million dollars in damages.
    I also read about a reporter who had infiltrated a group of MEDics in England. After he published a series of stories about them, he had been abducted by four masked men. They let him go—after branding the letters M-E-D on his back.
    I went back to bed, but just tossed and turned until the sheets were wrapped suffocatingly tight around my body. I kept trying to think of a way out, but found none.
    In the morning, Matt, who was usually up early, stayed in bed. Bustling about the kitchen as if nothing had happened the night before, Laurel made me oatmeal for breakfast. She set it down before me, and it was just the way I liked it—with lots of maple syrup, raisins and almonds. I ate two spoonfuls, but when I tried to swallow a third one, it wouldn’t go down. I barely made it to the bathroom before I threw up in the sink. When I lifted my head, my eyes looked like two bruises in the mirror.
    At school, I didn’t hear a thing the teachers said that day. My head ached, and I kept my eyes down so no one would call on me.
    When the last bell rang, I met Marijean outside the front doors. For the first time that year, I was glad that we didn’t have a single class together. Because as soon as she looked at me, Marijean knew something was up.
    “What’s wrong? You look terrible.”
    “Nothing.” I couldn’t tell her the truth. I couldn’t tell anyone.
    “It’s something to do with Coyote, isn’t it? Did he call you? Is it that other girl?”
    “What other girl?” I barely heard her.
    “The one with the red dreads.”
    “No, it’s not that.” I tried to find something to say that wasn’t a complete lie. “It’s my dad. His heart was acting up again last night. He wouldn’t call the doctor, but he looked terrible.”
    “Oh.” Marijean hugged me, then reached in her pack for her cigarettes.
    I held out my hand. “Can I have one?”
    “What?” She raised her eyebrows in surprise. “But you don’t ever smoke. You’re always telling me how bad it is for you.”
    “Just give me one, okay?” Smoking was bad, which was why it was suddenly so appealing. Smoking would match how I felt inside.
    “I’m just saying.” She put two in her mouth, lit them both with her lighter and handed one to me.
    I took a deep drag, welcoming how it burned my throat, and then I started coughing. As I coughed and coughed, I imagined the smoke turning my lungs all gray and dirty, the way I felt.

CHAPTER EIGHT
    That Saturday, I walked over to Multnomah Village to meet Coyote as we had planned. On any other day, my footsteps might have been slowed by nervousness. Now it felt like every step took me closer to the edge of a cliff.
    I had barely stepped into the doorway of the bike store when Coyote ducked under the counter. “I’m leaving, George!” he called over his shoulder.
    George was in the back, holding a small wrench between his teeth. He grunted in response.
    Coyote grabbed two tall mugs. I tried to smile at him, but my face felt stiff.
    He held the door open for me. “Hey, I like your bag.”
    My messenger bag was made of green fabric patterned with sky-blue scribbles. Before I bought the fabric at the Bins, it had been a tablecloth. “Thanks. I made it.” The fact that Coyote noticed small things about me made me feel worse. I wondered if he had noticed that today I wasn’t wearing any eyeliner. My face felt oddly bare without it. But I figured wearing makeup was fundamentally incompatible with being a MEDic.
    When we got a block away from Village Coffee, Coyote didn’t say anything, just flashed one of his mended-toothed grins and sprinted ahead of me. I stood there for a second, trying to figure out what he was doing. By the time I finally started running myself, it was too late. When