Firedown Sun

"THERE'S GONNA BE ONE LESS LONELY GIRL..."

My teeth clenched tightly as the music came from the invisible speakers in the wall. I dug my hands into my sheets and ordered, "Turn it off!" before I did get up and break my hand punching the wall.

The song cut off in a clicking instant. Dragging in a deep breath and letting it out in a rush, I slowly crawled out of bed. Sure, listening to Justin Bieber woke me up instantly, but was it really worth it?

"Thanks for the wake-up call," I said before the wall shut off entirely. It hummed back in response, and I snapped my fingers once for the lights to turn on.

The mirror area in the back corner of my room glimmered with the fluorescent light shining down from the thick glass bowl on the ceiling. It was sort of pretty, how light could sparkle like that.

I stumbled sleepily to the huge wardrobe to put on jeans and a solid blue shirt. I hardly looked at my reflection until I started messing with my brownish-red hair. It was put in the same style every day: my trademark side ponytail, two bobby pins stuck in at my hairline to keep any loose strands out of my eyes and a shiny blue barrette placed above my right ear to complete the style.

Everyone had a hallmark of some kind in Monten. A certain charm they wore on a neck or wrist chain, bangs cut a certain way, a favorite color they presented themselves with, a fashionable accessory, like a brilliant-colored scarf or pendant in a meaningful shape, depending on what was most important to them. To some, it would be love, so they'd have a heart pendant, or to others, perhaps peace was essential, so they'd have a dove, sometimes complete with an olive branch to poke fun at ancient traditions, the old ways of living. Some people used to believe in things like doves bringing olive branches and things like that.

Strange. Couldn't they find something to do, rather than just sit around and think to themselves, "I believe in this, I believe in that?" Not that I was one to talk. I wasn't always the sharpest knife in the drawer, either.

"Open up, little secret drawer," I murmured, tapping the wall in a specific spot. A rectangular, hollow compartment slid out. "Good morning," I told it, stroking the edge. The lid popped open, displaying my secret stash of forbidden things.

Among the many items no regular citizen was allowed to have-- I think there were ninety seven in all-- books and matches were two, and both were kept hidden in that drawer in my wall. I didn't really remember the punishment for owning them, because I'd never received it.

I grabbed my box of matches containing, to my dismay, the last thirteen I had stored. I frowned at the amount. I'd have to trade another of my books in for a new box. I sighed. A trip to Ankun's would be necessary, although I hadn't been planning on it for another two weeks. Gosh, those matches didn't last long. How many had I used in the past month? My calculations were fuzzy in my head, so I just guessed too many.

I used to keep nails, too, and super-stretch rubber bands. I traded those to Ankun ages ago. Probably those who witnessed my trips to his house all the time suspected my intentions, but apparently no one cared, and why should they? All of us kept something.

All of us burnt something, too.

Shoes tied and on my feet, I rushed downstairs, hurtling to a stop when I got to the bottom because my mother stood there.

"Kitten, can't you do things right these days?" she said, rather than her usual morning greeting. Of course, first day of school was stressful to everyone, especially parents to kids like me. They had to sit home and worry that they wouldn't get a call saying their child was in trouble, or worse- that they wouldn't come home because they were undergoing investigation.

I blinked away the thought and yawned at my mother. "Morning, Mother."

"Hurry and eat your oatmeal. This is a big day for us."

Oh, was it? Since when did my education concern anyone but me? I knew a comment like that wouldn't go down well with my mother, so I just said, "Mm-hmm."

Her hands fluttered impatiently as I walked slowly to the table. "Hurry, Kitten, sit down and eat. You need your strength today. Oh, gosh, don't first days come by so fast? Come on, sit, SIT!"

A half bowl of oatmeal, two slices of buttered toast, and a glass of grape juice appeared as I sat at my normal place at the round table and I finished it within minutes, downing the juice and wolfing the toast just as quickly. The whole time my mother watched me, taking sips of some orange juice but eating nothing. Just because her silent stare was beginning to make me uncomfortable, I licked the crumbs off my plate and smiled at my mother. "That tasted wonderful."

"Oh, you know full well I didn't cook it," she replied swiftly, standing and ordering her cup away. It sank into the table to be cleaned and stashed away somewhere behind the kitchen wall. "That's the wall's job."

Just like everything else? I wanted to say. No one did anything anymore. We had our walls. They were our chefs, our heaters, our alarms, our toys. Mine practically raised me.

"Alright, you're finished, right?" I didn't even have time to respond. "Get your jacket on, Kitten, hurry on out. It's almost time."

I knew that full well, too. I slipped into my jacket and waved goodbye to my mother, imagining, as I stepped out into the synthetic sunshine, what would happen if the sun just simply stopped working. The thought was a little unnerving, but I shrugged it off. It wouldn't happen. It wouldn't be allowed to happen.

I quickly pressed the hem of my left sleeve, hoping that there was enough solar energy to kick in the music speakers in my hood, which I pulled up around my face. Graciously, the robotic voice piped up, asking in a whistling shrill what selection I'd like to make.

"Lifehouse," I answered. The strumming of an acoustic guitar echoed in the bubble of my shiny black hood milliseconds after the band's name slipped off my tongue. I smiled. Some music back in the old days really had been great. Counting out Justin Bieber, of course. I didn't want to seem ungrateful for his attempt to please the ears of society, but honestly? It seemed like the only thing musically-talented teenagers wanted to sing about back then was falling in love and suffering from heartbreak. It got old after a while.

I closed the door at the same time the other kids in the neighborhood did, too. It created a single thudding bang in the morning silence. Every sixteen-year-old stepped to the end of the sidewalk and waited for the school bus to come around the corner, all perfectly in step.

Yes, even I was in step. If I wasn't, my door would slam closed at a different time; I would get to the curb at a different time; everyone would notice and everyone would stare.

I may have been rebellious, but I wasn't that stupid.

We were all grouped by age onto certain streets. Every three years from the time you were born, you were assigned a different one. On your third birthday, you were moved from Wingsong Avenue- the road every child was born on- to Camber Street; at six, Harvex Lane; nine, Tress Alley; twelve, Dusty Hill; and fifteen, Heavenlight Row.

The scary part about it all was that, when we turned seventeen, we were all expected to choose a career, get married, and move into a house onto Wingsong Avenue by the following year. And then by twenty, you were supposed to have a child.

Me? Marry a boy? Have a child? I didn't even know any boys. Hardly, anyway. It's not like I just walked up to them and struck up a conversation. Even the boy across the street- his name started with a J, but that's all I could remember- was a complete stranger to me. I knew his parents were doctors; everyone knew that; it was common sense. My parents were doctors, too. That's why we'd been put on opposite sides, because our parents both had the same occupation.

That was another concept with this ordering thing. Occupations. There were twenty six houses on each side, and that meant twenty six jobs.

One day I would have to choose one. And it's not like there was much of a choice. If a job got taken, it was completely gone from the list. One boy and one girl got the same job. And I'd never heard of a boy and girl with different jobs pairing up.

I was sixteen, so I might as well get used to the whole stupid process that would happen after my next birthday. I had been born knowing what would happen to me, to another boy somewhere. Yes, he'd get stuck with me. I could care less about what he looked like or even who he was, but I did care that he'd have to have me as a wife.

I was totally wrong for any boy in Monten. I was a rebel, a girl obsessed about fire, the one that never did anything right. Was it because somewhere in Monten there was a boy like me? I highly doubted that. Was it because my brain was so messed up? I'd heard a rumor that I had been dropped on my head when I was a toddler. Maybe that was it. Maybe I had brain damage.

Yes. I could settle for that.

I heard the rumble of the bus pulling up to Heavenlight Row, with twenty six doors on each side so that when it stopped, one would face each of us and we could all get on. At the same time.

Tightening my hood around myself, I breathed out heavily, "Happy first day."

Fifty two doors whooshed open simultaneously and we all climbed on the bus, still perfectly in step. The boy that lived across from me- WHAT was his NAME?- nodded to me in greeting like he did every year and we walked the few steps to our seats silently. Just like every year. My side was on the right, his on the left. But here was something different. This year, our seats were labeled with little square pieces of white paper taped to the back of our seats with our names written in sparkly silver lettering. How perfect. I glanced at my neighbor's label.

Jaz Erewing. That was his name! Of course.

He was looking at my paper, too, smiling at me nonchalantly. "Hi, Kitten," he muttered before plopping down.

"Hi, Jaz."

And we headed off to the orchard-crushing school, the one where "nothing bad ever happened".

That promise was proven false the moment I got off the bus. When I tripped over my own two feet and landed, SPLAT, on the black pavement in front of everyone. And it didn't hurt.

Not until they started laughing.

*

I was standing at my assigned locker, just leaning against it casually, when a pack of students turned the corner in front of me, catching my eye instantly.

They weren't together, or at least they didn't seem to want to be. They merely were headed to the same place, moving in step to a beat I couldn't hear. Still moving robotically in step as we'd been ordered to do in order to look proper and obedient. There were three girls and two boys, all heading down the corridor silently. Most likely going to the Life Studies Room. A lot of kids liked to study all the different plants and tiny creatures in the morning. It was refreshing, like a deep breath right after you had emerged from a pool of murky water, to know that something hopeful was happening under your nose.

Life.

I spotted a tall boy among them, dark-haired with bright hazel eyes, and my hands balled into fists. It set my teeth on edge just to see his face, made my temper flare like wildfire, and yet, for the first time, it occurred to me how pathetic that was, given that I didn't even know his name.

No-name was buddies with my ex-best-friend, and somehow, I could forgive this guy less than my old acquaintance. Because what if this boy stole my friend away? What if he was the reason I had been left alone, dropped like a rock, thrown away like an old toy you used to love but no longer cared for? What if my friend dumped me because, supposedly, this guy was better?

And so, whoever he was, I couldn't stand him. No, that was too kind. With a passion as red-hot as the flames that fed my rage, I hated him to the very core.

Eighteen minutes later, the announcement came for us to go to homeroom. I walked into a cheery room lit by green and red light-bulbs, looking around with raised eyebrows, and then my gaze fell on the first person seated in the front row. My eyes became slits, and I walked forward now mechanically, keeping a twelve-foot radius between us at least.

As I sat down in the back row by the windows-- as far away from him as possible-- I couldn't help but try and find his trademark. I studied his neck, his wrists, but there wasn't a chain. No, wait. He leaned forward a little, and his collar shifted just enough I could make out something black tied around his throat. It looked like rope. Confused, I let my eyes flit away, to stare at more important things.

The rest of homeroom filed in, sat down, and watched as our Teacher stood up from his huge, organized desk and beamed at us with bright, hopeful eyes.

Oh no, I thought. This was all I needed right now, an optimist.

"Welcome, class," he said cheerfully. "I'm Farrens Sibley. I'll be your homeroom teacher this year. I am so excited that you're here! Oh, oh, oh! I would appreciate it if you would NOT try to give me a nickname. I've suffered near fatalities from them in the past. Just thought you'd like to know. So, please, just call me Farrens, but if YOU want a nickname..." He grinned at all of us. "I'd be most obliged to give you one!"

None of us moved. We just stared, wondering what the heck he wanted us to do. Smile? Nod in understanding? Maybe even raise our hands and play this little game? I stared at my hands, clutching the edges of my desk. No offense to him, but I'd rather sit out today.

Farrens cleared his throat. "Here we go. Attendance." He picked up a clipboard on his desk and read from it, "Zarther Summon?"

A boy up front raised his hand, but it wasn't No-name. I listened and waited for him to be called, to know just who my blasted arch-enemy was.

"Perisnow Lilley? Haminn Bluelace?"

Neither one was him. The list seemed completely out of order, not alphabetical in any form. I wondered if he was reading it name by name or calling out the kids at random.

"Lune Drumer?"

HE raised his hand, and the name engraved itself in my brain, attaching itself to the anger and hatred boiling inside me. Lune Drumer. The best-friend stealer.

"Kitten Zigbol?" Farrens called. My hand automatically lifted, and then it hit me.

Lune and then me. He got called first. What kind of sick trick was this? How did HE get placed above ME?!

On their own, my fingers itched toward where my matches were stored, in my pants pocket. Later, I promised myself. Wait until after lunch, when no one's in the hallways. Then you can light one. Then you can drift away to a better and simpler world, where peace is brought by infernos, not by following every stupid rule.

A loud announcement sounded, startling me. "Report to your first class."

Fine for me. I scurried over to where Farrens was handing out red and blue cards, explaining that they were our schedule cards for the entire year. I listened closely as he told us, "There are two different cards. The red and the blue. All the students who have red will have the same classes, all the students who have blue will have the same classes. There will be no classes shared between the two colors. Is that clear?"

Perfect. If he and I got different colored cards, I could be separated from Lune the whole year for all except homeroom. That would be utterly fantastic!

Lune was three ahead of me in the line, and I saw clearly the card that was given to him-- blue. I advanced toward Farrens impatiently, crossing my fingers.

When it was my turn, Farrens smiled broadly as he had to each student, said, "Here you go," and held out a card.

With dread, I realized I would be stuck with Lune for the whole year. Every period. Every day.

I had been given blue, too.

"Please can I have red?" I pleaded, once everyone else had left.

Farrens sighed. "Sorry, Kitten Zigbol. Kitten... Hm. Can I call you Kitty for short?"

I pursed my lips. "Only if I you give me a red card."

He shook his head, the goofy, optimistic smile abruptly replaced by a new expression, one of both exhaustion and impatience. "I'm sorry, Kitten. These are labeled with the student's name and ONLY that student can be handed that card."

"But-"

"Those are the rules," he told me, and I detected a warning note in his tone. "Now head to class, young lady, before you're late." With no more to say, Farrens turned back to his desk and left me alone in the doorway, sulking.

Defeated, I glanced down to see where I would have to go, and it only added to my growing aggravation.

The Study of Rules and Regulations.

Perfect.