Page 14 of Emma on Fire

“And could you?” he asks. “Take it?”

“Of course,” Emma says flatly. “You know what you always used to tell us, Dad.”

Then they say it together: “‘Pain is weakness leaving the body.’”

At the window, Mr. Hastings puts his head against the glass, a deep exhalation fogging up the pane.

She remembers Sunday bike rides back when they were kids, their father goading them up hill after impossible hill with that very same phrase, the muscles in her legs burning, her sister pumping along beside her, sharing a glance of mutual misery while also being aware that whoever won would get the bigger ice-cream cone.

“But why did you do it?” her father asks.

Emma answers with a quote. “‘Knowing yourself is the beginning of all wisdom.’”

“That’s Aristotle,” says her dad.

“You used to tell us that all the time too.”You’ve always borrowed other people’s lines.Parenting through quotes. He probably has a Pinterest board.

Hastings undoes his tie completely, pulling it away from his neck in one sharp movement. Clearly this phone call isn’t going the way he thought it would at all.

“So you learned that you’re tough,” Byron Blake says.

Emma feels a surge of defiant pride. “Yes.”

Her dad grunts again, but it almost sounds like a laugh. “But we already knew that,” he says. “Your experiment was unnecessary.”

Mr. Hastings finally manages to get his vocal cords working. “Sir,” he says, “this isn’t something we should be proud of. This is something we’re deeply concerned about.”

“How bad did it hurt?” her dad asks, as if he hasn’t heard a single word Hastings said.

Emma clutches the underside of her injured arm. It hurts so much that sometimes it’s hard to breathe. She wonders if it would hurt less now if she had burned it for longer. If she’d killed the nerves that caused the pain. That’s what her research said was supposed to happen.

“The results of Emma’s so-called experiment should not be the focus,” Hastings says. “We need—we all need—to beasking why she did it, and what we can do collectively to support her and ensure it won’t happen again.”

“Searing pain,” Emma says, following her dad’s lead on ignoring the headmaster. “It felt like someone was pressing a sword through my arm, but the sword was made of red-hot lava. I could feel it in my teeth. My stomach. I thought I was going to throw up.” She looks down at her bandage. “Now my arm is throbbing. It feels like I’m still being burned. Like it’s still over the flame. I took Advil, but—”

“That’s enough!” Mr. Hastings practically shouts. “Mr. Blake, we are seriously concerned about your daughter! I’m not sure you understand the gravity of the situation!”

“Emma, promise the man you won’t do anything like this again.” Her dad sounds bored, and she knows well enough the value of promises. How many trips to the zoo canceled at the last minute? Beach vacations for four suddenly reduced to three? Promises in the Blake family are simply words that you say. They don’t have to carry any meaning or weight.

Emma chews her lip. She doesn’t want to promise Hastings anything, doesn’t want to follow the family pattern. But it’s the quickest way to get out of this. “I, Emma Caroline Blake, solemnly swear not to burn myself in science class.”

“Again,” Hastings adds.

“And?” her dad presses.

“And I’ll try harder at school. Bring up my GPA.”Blah blah blah.

She sneaks another glance at the sparrows. One of them’s perched on a branch with a fat, disgusting caterpillar in its mouth.

“That’s my girl,” her dad says. “You are the best of the best, Emma Caroline Blake. Don’t let anyone forget that. Including yourself. I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Click.

Emma clutches her arm, right above the burn. As much as it hurts now, soon it’ll be nothing but a scab, if she’s alive long enough to finish the process. The body heals so much faster than the heart.

CHAPTER 10

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