Chapter 2

Maisie grabbed Nick's sleeve so hard her knuckles went white.

"Nick… she's acting it up so well. I'm actually scared," she said, urgency in her voice. "Let's go. Your mom's dishes will get cold. It's the holidays. We shouldn't keep your parents waiting."

Hearing that, Nick's last flicker of hesitation vanished. He shot me one cold look, then turned and wrapped his arm around Maisie as they walked away.

They hadn't gone more than twenty meters when a plume of flame leapt half a meter from the car's bonnet. The whole vehicle began to crackle and roar, engulfed in fierce, hungry fire.

A wall of heat hammered at my skin through the glass; the panic of facing death swelled up and swallowed me.

Instinct drove me to one last, violent burst of strength. "Help! Somebody help! Fire!" I screamed, then hurled my phone at the window with everything I had.

The screen shattered on impact. The jagged glass sliced my palm; blood spilled warm and bright, but I barely felt it. My scream finally stopped Nick in his tracks.

He spun around. When the true horror of the blazing car and the flames engulfing its frame hit him, he froze.

Maisie, however, let out a scream even louder than mine. "Katie! Are you setting off fireworks in there? They're so pretty but so dangerous! I know your car's supposedly fireproof, but you can't play with fire just to get Nick's attention!"

"Fireworks?" Nick's rational mind, muddled by Maisie's absurd explanation, wavered again. He thought, 'Of course, someone like Katie would do anything to get what she wants.'

"Katie, you lunatic!" he barked at the flaming car.

I pounded with all I had. At last, a crack split the window. Fresh air rushed in. I leaned toward the fissure and gulped it into my burning lungs.

Maisie moved with wicked speed to her car, yanked a roll of wide clear tape from her trunk, and ran back to my window.

"Katie, why would you smash the window? That's so dangerous!" she feigned concern, tearing off strips of tape. In three brisk motions, she sealed the crack so tightly you couldn't push a needle through it. She pressed the tape down with the flat of her palm, checking for any leaks.

"This is your car and Nick's. How could you be so selfish and smash it like that?" she scolded.

The oxygen I'd just drawn hit my throat and stopped; my vision dimmed in waves. Nick, furious and shamed, lunged forward.

"Have you had enough?" he snarled, snatching the tape from Maisie. His eyes were hard. He layered tape over tape, sealing the crack more tightly than she had.

Looking at his face—familiar but alien—I felt my limbs go slack. My breathing thinned to near nothing.

Scenes I couldn't control flickered through my mind.

In college, he'd been penniless and sick from irregular meals; I cooked him nutritious meals without fail, day after day, patching his body back together.

After graduation, I stood by his side through startups, pulling every favor and contact I had to get him investors, networking until my throat ached. I drank and smiled at social events so he could focus on his work; once, I drank myself into a bleeding stomach for his sake.

And now… now he was the one closing me off, layer by suffocating layer.

Just as my consciousness began to blur, a middle-aged man on a motorcycle slowed and stopped when he saw the car ablaze.

"Hey! What are you doing? That car's on fire. Call the police! Help her!" he shouted.

Hope flickered in my chest. I smashed the glass again and again.