Page 128 of Burning Skies
Huh. “Okay, well, I still want the sweet and sour chicken.” Maybe Adrian misremembered which restaurant he called. I still need dinner, though. I finally got my period today, and I’m ravenous since I barely ate this week.
Adrian joins me and starts the truck. I explain what the lady told me, that she didn’t have his order.
“Weird.”
“Did you call Golden Wok over on Mesquite Street by mistake?” They make fantastic egg rolls. My stomach growls in approval.
“I don’t think so.” He makes a U-turn and his tires squeal. “Sorry.”
“You’ve probably had a rough day. I can’t believe the sheriff thinks one of your kids might be the arsonist.”
His jaw tightens. “It’s bullshit. My students are innocent.”
“I believe you. I can’t see any of them being deranged enough to go around lighting fires like that. I wonder if that means Reynolds also thinks one of your students is the MadCrapper.” As he drives, I glance around his truck again. There’s a cupholder attachment with a compartment underneath that’s attached between his seat and mine. It’s overflowing with papers and old soda containers. Not that unusual for a guy. “It’s funny that your car is messy when your desk is so organized. Not that I’m judging. I have messy days too. You should see my closet right now.”
For some reason, I can’t stop talking. It must be the stress of the last few days. He listens as I tell him about my ink explosion this week.
After a few minutes, though, I realize we should be at the restaurant by now. I glance around. It’s getting dark. Why are we headed toward the river? “Did you have another errand to run? Because Chopsticks is in the other direction.”
That’s when he slows down, and several papers slide off the seat. I glance down, and my eyes land on a pack of cigarettes wedged into one of the cupholders. That’s odd. Adrian never smells like cigarette smoke.
His phone buzzes with a text, and he pulls it out, nearly driving off the road to read it. He curses under his breath.
“Adrian. Careful.”
“Sorry.” He tosses his phone on the dash.
Is he sick? He doesn’t seem like himself right now. “Are you feeling okay? I can drive if you want.”
He shakes his head, his hands tightening on the steering wheel. “This was a mistake.”
“The Chinese food?” Is there a third restaurant I don’t know about?
“It just got out of hand. I didn’t mean for anything bad to happen.” Sweat beads on his forehead. I hope he doesn’t have the flu.
“Of course not.” I have no idea what he’s talking about.
My phone buzzes with several texts, and I pull it out of my pocket. The one from Beau catches my eye.
Beau: Babe, where are you? I need to talk to you ASAP!
I’m so relieved to hear from him. Maybe he can meet me at my house. I’d love to see him one last time before that limo driver tries to kidnap me.
Me: I’m getting food with Adrian.
I’ve just pressed send when out of nowhere, Adrian slaps my phone out of my hand.
“What the hell?” I glare at him.
“Don’t fucking make any calls.” He wipes his sweaty forehead and turns to me, which makes us swerve across the road again. “I’m sorry about this. I’m just out of options.”
When he glances at me, the wild look in his eyes makes all the hair on my arms stand on end.
I look down at the cigarettes. Then back at him.
That first fire at the school, the one in the bathroom, was caused by a cigarette.
Like dominos, the dots connect. “It’s you.”
