Free Ignited by Lily Cahill

nodded slowly. “All right. Fine.” He turned to Ruth and grabbed her shoulders. He stared straight into her eyes. She hoped he couldn’t read anything in them. “Will you be okay here by yourself? Do you think your dad will mind?”
    She knew the right answer, but she shook her head no anyway. “There are a lot of people here. I’m sure he wouldn’t care.”
    He nodded and then took a step back. He kept his gaze on her as he walked out of the room.
    As soon as he disappeared, Briar snorted. “Thank goodness. Why on earth did you bring him ?”
    “Did you just …?” Ruth gaped at Briar.
    Briar had tricked Arnold into going away—and for what reason? She felt trapped, suddenly. She hadn’t wanted to spend the evening with Arnold, not really, but he was familiar and normal and expected. Now she was surrounded by people who were spending their time trying to fix a mess caused by people like her —and how was she supposed to keep a straight face while volunteering here? What if she talked to someone she shouldn’t, or what if she ….
    Why was it so hot in here?
    Ruth could feel her blood running in her veins, could feel her face heating up. Her chest tightened until it was difficult to breathe. She reached up and pressed her hand to her face, gasping, and tried to push her hair back behind her ears.
    The strand sizzled and came away in her hand.
    For a brief moment, Ruth didn’t understand. The confusion acted like a cold cloth and dampened the fire in her bones. How could she have done this to her own hair?
    It hit her all at once. At one end, the hair was burned. Singed.
    Ruth’s head snapped up and her heart sank. Briar was gaping at her.
     
    “Come on,” Briar hissed, reaching out to grab Ruth’s sleeve and drag her out of the room. She led Ruth down a series of twisting corridors, never hesitating to glance behind them. Their footsteps echoed against the stone of the empty hallways.
    Briar stopped abruptly in front of one of the doors, turning the handle. She breathed a sigh of relief when it swung open and then pulled Ruth inside behind her. When she hit the light switch, Ruth could see child-like recreations of Jesus, the twelve disciples, and Bible verses written out in uneven script.
    Why had Briar brought her to the Sunday school room?
    “Patrice makes me volunteer here twice a month. It’s a good excuse to roam the building when I’m supposed to be polishing pews,” Briar said, dropping her grip on Ruth’s cardigan. She walked to a chest in the corner and fell to her knees, pawing through it.
    “What are you doing?” Ruth whispered urgently.
    “Craft supplies used to be right—a ha!”
    When she looked back at Ruth, she was brandishing a pair of scissors.
    Ruth took a step away. “What are those for?”
    “You singed off too much hair for you to hide until it grows out again. You’re better off if we even everything up, make it one length. I know these,” she snapped the scissors open and closed, “aren’t ideal, but it’ll hide everything until you can go home and neaten yourself up.”
    At the word “singed,” Ruth’s breath caught. Briar had seen everything, Briar knew —
    What if she told?
    Ruth reached up to touch her hair before remembering that was how she’d gotten into this mess in the first place. She put her hand back at her side and chewed her lip, thinking.
    “I don’t know what you think you saw—”
    “Ruth.” Briar got to her feet and walked forward, calm and measured. When she was close enough, she caught Ruth’s eyes and held them. She didn’t look disgusted or angry. She looked … sympathetic. “I already know the truth.” 
    Her father had never taught her that just anyone could have compassion. He’d always insisted that only the faithful had it—and when he said “faithful,” he meant his followers. But it clearly wasn’t true because here was Briar Steele, helping her in a crisis.
    What did it mean that he was so wrong?
    “I saw what