Free Firegirl by Tony Abbott

kind of cream was on her cheeks and neck. That’s what the smell was. Medicine. She probably got it in New Haven. I couldn’t imagine a fire that would do this to someone.
    “You have a nice room,” I said, looking around. It sounded lame when the words came out.
    Jessica looked at me under the thick folds of skin around her eyes. “I don’t know how long we’ll be here, but my bedroom is the first thing they do when we move to a new place. My parents, I mean. They brought all my stuff when we came from Boston. I spend most of my time in here. When I’m not at school or at the hospital. It’s okay.”
    She was saying a lot for someone who didn’t talk in class.
    “My room is small,” I said. “This is nice.”
    “I usually get to be alone here.” She kept going. “Except when my parents come in and yell. They get mad all the time.”
    “They yell? Your dad seems okay.”
    “They get mad about me.” She moved back on the bed.
    Sure, I thought. Because of her sister, right? Because she died? Was it true what people said? Is that why Jessica cut herself out of the picture? Because of what happened?
    “They shouldn’t bother you,” I said.
    “Yeah, well, they’re parents. What else are they going to do?”
    I didn’t know what to say to that, so it got quiet for a minute. It still seemed too early to leave.
    “I don’t know,” I said. “Mine are okay most of the time. They wanted me to run for class president. Like that would work. My dad thought of a dumb slogan. My mom bought stencils for the poster and everything. I just sort of shoved the poster into my locker —”
    “I hate my mother,” she said suddenly.
    I shivered. “What?”
    “I hate her.” She said this without emotion, still looking at me.
    “Because she’s mean to you? Always getting on your case?”
    “She doesn’t get on me. I just hate her.”
    Okay, this was weird. My chest was feeling all buzzy and electric; my ears rang with a high noise. I fumbled around with the math books. Could I just leave now?
    “My mom’s okay,” I said, trying to change the subject. “My dad, too, pretty much. He thought of this slogan for my poster. A vote for Tom is a vote for
Tomorrow.
Get it? They’re okay, I guess.”
    She shrugged. “Good for you.”
    Yikes. I felt as if I was going to explode or something. A breeze came in the window and not wanting to, I shivered again. “Do you want me to close the window?”
    “No. I like the air coming in.”
    I nodded like I understood. It was because of the fire, right? You felt trapped. You couldn’t breathe, right? I mean, I guess, right? What was keeping me here? Was it okay to leave yet?
    “Sometimes I just lie on my bed really still,” she said, glancing out the window. “I have to stay really still sometimes when I go to the hospital —” She stopped. “Do you read comic books or something?”
    I turned to her. “What?”
    She motioned to my backpack. The top edge of Jeff’s comics were sticking out from between my books. The red and yellow and orange title was partly visible.
    The Human
…
    I quickly pushed them down. “A little. Not much.”
    “It’s not like I care,” she said. “I read them in the hospital sometimes, when there’s nothing else. It’s so dumb. They think all kids read comics, so they have them in the ward. Somebody donates them.”
    I imagined rows and rows of beds with burned kids screaming and moaning in them.
    I tried to be light. “Really? Which ones do you like?”
    She shrugged, and I felt like an idiot. Of course she doesn’t have a favorite, you dork! She doesn’t read comic books. Why would she read comic books? This is insane. I’m going.
    “What do
you
like?” she asked. “
Superman?
”
    “
Superman!
No way,” I said, almost instinctively. I shook my head, wanting to end it all right there. But the way she just kept looking at me, I began to think that maybe she was talking because she didn’t get a chance to talk much. After all,