Fire

Flames in the Darkness

I didn’t stop walking until I found myself around the back of the gas station, out of sight of the school field and all the people there. Then I leaned back against the stone wall of the convenience store and shut my eyes, tears finally escaping.

What the hell just happened? What was that? And what do I do now?

That was the question wasn’t it? What the heck did I do with myself now? The school would be calling for my arrest, very likely, and the idea of going home and relying on Dad to help me was ridiculous. The only thing Dad would do about the situation was blacken both my eyes and scream at me for awhile. I sucked in a deep breath and opened my eyes again, staring down at my hand, turning it over to examine the fingers. What had happened to me? There had been a tingling feeling and then…fire. Fire that didn’t burn me. How had I done it?

Something in me wondered if I could do it again if I wanted. If I could call up orange flames to encase my arm any time I wanted, like some kind of weird super power. But another part of me was sick about the whole thing, terrified that something horrible was happening to me. That next time, it would burn me.

Where did I go now? Did I go back home and try to pretend that nothing had even happened? No, that didn’t work. Even if I pretended that nothing had happened, the police would show up at my door and then…

No. I can’t go back home.

So…I would run. My fingers curled into fists again, and for a moment my hands tingled and it sent a stab of panic through me. When I glanced down in terror I realized it was only because my hands were white and shaking, I was digging my nails into my palms, clenching them into fists so hard it hurt.

Run, my brain kept repeating, run now.

Run where?

Staring straight ahead I got my answer. The highway ran right behind the gas station, and there was the rusty shriek of breaks as one of the old city buses rumbled to a halt in front of the bus stop. I would get on a bus and go somewhere. Anywhere, as long as it was the hell away from here. Dad had relatives in Sidney, just a half hour ride from here. A sister he didn’t talk to. Maybe she would be sympathetic. What would I tell her? Obviously I couldn't show up and say, “Hey Aunt Mary, I just burned down my school and the police are looking for me. Can I crash on your couch for a few weeks?”

No, I’d have to make something up. Maybe I could say I’d been framed. That someone else set the fire and pinned it on me. That might work.

I jammed my hand into my sweatshirt pocket, feeling my stomach sink. I had a couple bucks in my pockets, since I was addicted to the stupid coke machine in the school hallway, I nearly always had change. It would get me a bus ride, but if Aunt Mary didn’t take me in, or I couldn’t track her down, I was screwed. My wallet was in my knapsack back in my locker. It had five bucks in it that I’d stolen from Dad, that wouldn’t have got me much, maybe a hot lunch, but I still felt lost without my knapsack.

My sneakers sounded loud on the pavement as I hurried to catch up with the last of the bus stop crowd, luckily an old lady with a cane was getting on at glacier speed, so the bus had to wait. Finally she was on, settling in the handicap seat at the front, and I hopped the stairs and shoved my coins in the slot, noticing the sideways glance the bus driver shot me.

What the hell is his problem?

Could he smell smoke on me, sense something weird about me? Was the news already out and people knew that Jessica Parker had set the high school on fire?

No, I was being paranoid.

The bus lurched forward while I was still halfway down the aisle, and my hand shot up and grabbed one of the swinging plastic cords to keep myself from falling over. I glanced up at it, imagining my skin growing hot, melting the plastic. Setting the bus on fire.