Playing with Fire by Phoebe Rivers Page A

glass harder, but Lilyturned toward where I pointed. “It’s okay, Belinda. I’m here. You’re not alone. We can be friends. . . . ”
    Lily’s voice grew fuzzy as thick smoke filled my eyes. I tried to see the spirit’s reaction to Lily’s words, but everything turned hazy and began to spin. My knees buckled and my body swayed. Then the smoke covered me like a blanket, and I closed my eyes.

Chapter 14
    Dust tingled my nose, causing me to sneeze. I squinted into the glare of the late afternoon sun. Reds, oranges, and yellows filled the cloudy sky. The colors of fire.
    But there was no fire. No more smoke.
    Trees surrounded me with their autumn leaves ablaze. I stared in wonder at the fat maple leaves dripping from the branches. A rhythmic clip-clop on the other side of an iron fence revealed a tan horse pulling a wagon and kicking up dust on a city street.
    The laughter of young children reached my ears. I stood in a school yard with girls wearing long dresses, big bows in their hair, and lace-up boots. Boys dressed in tweed pants and jackets.
    Where was I?
    â€œLily?” I twisted, searching.
    A small girl ran from the crowd. Her red hair blewbehind her as she dodged their jeers. A stone sailed toward her. Then another. The children threw rocks and taunted her.
    The girl barreled toward me. Her tiny hands balled into fists. Her face scrunched in hurt and fear. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
    I opened my arms to her.
    And then I stood in a sweet-smelling bedroom with yellow wallpaper and tall windows. On a four-poster bed, a regal woman with dark hair twisted in a bun gathered the red-haired child from the playground in her arms.
    â€œMama, no one will be my friend. No one!” the girl wailed.
    The mother smoothed her daughter’s tangles. “It’s only because they are afraid of what you do.” The mother tried to mask her own sadness. “Do not fret. You have your sister. She will always be your friend.”
    And then I stood outside on a sloping lawn bordered by majestic pines. Beside me two girls played with porcelain-faced dolls. The red-haired girl was older now, maybe ten. The slight, dark-haired girl beside her looked younger. A whistle caught theirattention. A boy in overalls kicked a stone down the nearby road. He spotted the girls. “Freak!” he called. “Freak!”
    â€œDon’t listen, Belinda,” the younger girl soothed.
    The red-haired girl’s face had already crumbled. Color rose to her cheeks as the boy continued to cry, “Freak!”
    In a shower of sparks that made me jump, her doll burst into a bonfire. Fire ate at the doll’s petticoats and satin dress, then slowly moved to singe the moss-green grass.
    Belinda now sat on a moss-green sofa with her hands folded on her lap. Older still, maybe sixteen, her hair held back in a braid.
    Across from her sat the regal woman and a heavyset man with a turned-up mustache. Andrew and May Helliman. His face was grave. Hers was tearstained.
    â€œIt’s the only way.” Belinda’s mother twisted a lace handkerchief as she spoke. “Cousin Katherine has agreed to take you. I hear her cottage in Bristol, England, is quite nice.”
    â€œI don’t want to be sent away! I don’t want to go toEngland. I don’t know this cousin.” Belinda couldn’t control her tears.
    â€œIt’s not a choice.” Her father refused to look directly at his daughter. “The doctor said it’s the only way. After that boathouse fire . . . everyone knows you’re a danger, Belinda.”
    â€œYou and Margaret are all I have!” Belinda wailed. “I promise not to start more fires. I promise!”
    â€œThe doctor said the only other choice is to have you locked up.” Mrs. Helliman pressed her handkerchief to her eyes. “We can’t do that. You must leave.”
    â€œI won’t!” Belinda said defiantly.