Jennifer Lynn Alvarez - Lies Like Wildfire

July 7

Time: 12:15 p.m.

Five weeks earlier

As I reach into my Jeep, I hear quick footsteps and feel the back of my bikini top snap against my skin. I whip around to see the gleeful face of Nathaniel James Drummer, my main best friend out of my four best friends, smiling at me from my driveway. I aim a kick at him. What are you, twelve?

He dances out of my striking range, cloaked as usual in faded jeans and a too-tight T-shirt. Grizzled, spiny trees surround us, rearing toward the sky, and a hot summer wind gusts off the Sierra Nevada mountains. Whats in the bag? he asks. And you better not say homework.

Its summer, idiot. I snatch my backpack and sling it over my shoulder. I did make the long drive to the library to check out books on criminology, nothing wrong with getting a head start, but it isnt technically homeworknot until I leave for college.

Drummer eyeballs the heavy pack, and his smile deflates. Come on, Han, dont waste the time we have left reading.

I laugh. Thats exactly why Im going to college and youre not. But when I meet his gaze, my stomach lightens. Drummer has no idea I fell in love with him in the sixth grade. It happened fast, like sliding off a cliff. One moment he was my sharp-kneed, slightly smelly best friend, and the next he was golden-skinned and handsome and a million miles out of my league. I cross my arms so he cant see the gigantic Drummer-shaped hole in my chest. The thing about love is, unless your best friend falls too, you fall alone.

Drummer hooks his finger around a loop in my jeans and tugs me closer, his deep voice making my eardrums vibrate: I came to get you. Everyones meeting up at the Gap for a swim. Want to go?

Everyone?

Yep, all the monsters. And Mos bringing beer.

Our groupMo (short for Maureen), Luke, Violet, Drummer, and me, Hannahare the kids hes referring to when he talks about the monsters, a nickname we received when we were seven years old.

It was at the community center. Our parents had signed us up for a low-budget daycare-in-disguise summer production of Where the Wild Things Are. The director asked who wanted to be a wild thing, and since none of us wanted to play the human, our hands shot into the air. After that, she called us simply the monsters, and weve been the monsters and best friends ever since.

I bump my hip against his. Lets ride the horses there.

He and I have moved into the shade and are now leaning against my Jeep in the driveway. My bloodhound, Matilda, watches us from the family room window, her big ears cocked.

Temperatures will soar into the hundreds today, with afternoon winds blowing from the east. Humidity is at 11 percent and dropping. I know because Red Flag Warnings started pinging on my phone at 8:00 a.m. Drought caused an early fire season this year, and the electric company plans to shut off the power at noon. When you live in California, in a tinderbox called a forest, you know more than you ever wanted to about wildfires.

Drummer slits his eyes. Im not riding that colt that stomped on you.

Sunny didnt stomp on me; he stepped on me. Not his fault he weighs a thousand pounds.

Another reason Id rather not ride him. His gaze shifts to the tank top covering my bikini, and his eyes burn straight through it. Youre the only woman on this damn earth who can get me on a horse, you know that?

My voice falls an octave. I know it. Drummer flirts with everyone, it means nothing, but my stupid, traitorous heart soars when he looks at me like that.

His pretty blue eyes slide up to my face. All right, Hannah Banana, have it your way.

A half hour later, were saddled and on the trail. Drummers horse, my fourteen-year-old Appaloosa barrel racer named Pistol, hops at every shadow. Hes bucking, Drummer complains.