All That Matters ❁ Benny Rodriguez

35

Thursday, August 13, 2015

A full week had passed since the fire, and Squints was finally playing with us again. His mother was reluctant to let him come to the sandlot, fearing that something else could go horribly wrong, but we all talked her into it.

Throughout the entire day of playing baseball, one thought had been on my mind — what actually caused the fire? The question bugged me so much, I slacked that day.

When we decided to end the game, the boys, Luke, Elizabeth and I made our way to the dugout. As usual, I grabbed a cold water bottle out of the mini fridge. I took a seat at the edge of the bench, Benny on the right side of me.

Benny nudged me lightly with his elbow and asked, "What's wrong? You seem off today."

I sighed lightly and looked at him. "The fire . . . how did it start in the first place?"

He furrowed his eyebrows together slightly. "Well . . . I don't know. We said it was an accident though, because I mean . . . I'm sure that's what it was. Like . . . you know, Ham's always making s'mores with candles. What if he accidentally left it lit and it fell over?"

"He didn't," I muttered. "I made sure he put it out. The candles were all unlit."

Now Benny frowned, looking utterly confused. "Well," he said, "what do you think caused it?"

"Well, the fire started from the back of the tree house, from what I saw," I began, frowning concentratedly in reminiscion. "So . . . what if someone started it?"

"No one was awake. . . ."

"No!" I responded in a slightly raised voice in aggravation. "What if someone else caused it? And not accidentally. It was late at night when we went to bed, and it was even later when I woke up to the smoke. I think someone came late at night, when they knew we'd be asleep, and set it on fire."

"I never thought of that . . ." Benny whispered. "But . . . who do you think would do that?"

"Someone who hates us to the point that they'd be willing to kill us," I replied, staring intently at Benny. "And I was thinking . . . Phillips."

"Phillips hates us, but I don't think he'd try to kill us."

I averted my gaze back to my full water bottle, which was set between my thighs. "Trust no one," I mumbled. "Don't even fully trust the people you do trust. It'll save you a lot of shock and hurt."

"I trust you," he replied lightly, "all the way. But I've known Phillips for a long time. We used to be friends. He may be the world's biggest asshole, but he wouldn't try to kill anyone."

A sigh escaped my lips and I shrugged. "I know, but anyone can change, and anyone can hide something big for all their lives. Or maybe it's because of me. I punched him, and he probably hates me —"

"He wouldn't try to kill you for it," Benny said in finality. "Just . . . let's try to forget about the whole thing, okay? And if someone really did cause it on purpose, it'll land on them eventually. For now, we should cherish the time we have together instead of dwelling on negative things."

"So poetic," a voice spoke near us. Ham, who sat a couple feet away, was leaned over, staring at us.

"Shut up, Ham," Benny mumbled.

"No, really," he responded, "that was poetic. I didn't know you could talk like that. I'm impressed."

Although bitter thoughts flooded my mind, I cracked a smile. "Yeah, I agree with him, Benny man. I've never heard you sound so sophisticated."