Playing With Fire
Caution
When you are little, your parents tell you not to play with fire. Usually it's because they don't want you to get hurt. By the age of twelve, they stop warning you, believing you to be old to do something like that.
My parents' warnings, however, didn't make me stop playing with fire. They just made me do it in secret. Sitting alone in my room, I'd turn the lighter over in my fingers, flicking it open and closed, watching the flame flicker on and off. It consumed my thoughts, and I stared at it until the spots in front of my eyes clouded my vision too much to tell whether the lighter was on or off.
I don't know why people say that fire is bad. It isn't the fire's fault humans use it to burn things. It's like saying water is bad because people drown in it. It's not the nature of the instrument; it's just how the instrument is used.
***
A familiar buzzing sound filled my ears, and I groaned. School again. I rolled out of bed, falling on the floor with another groan.
"Honey?" my mom called. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I answered, pushing myself up and smacking the alarm clock. It made a horrible beeping noise that always angered me.
I walked to my closet, grabbing random clothes for that day, smelling them to make sure they were clean. It wasn't until I was completely dressed that I looked into the mirror. I sighed at my reflection, combing out my messy red hair with my scarred fingers.
That's the only problem with playing with fire... When you're not careful, it leaves marks.
I quickly walked out my door, grabbing my backpack along the way. My mom threw me a granola bar as I passed through the kitchen. I smiled at her and waved, rushing to school.
My mom used to hassle me about how late I woke up. She doesn't anymore. She knows that the earlier she wakes me, the later I get to school. I do things my own way, in my own time. She's accepted that. We're too much alike.
I walked to school, munching my granola bar on the way. I watched the bus pass by, and my friend Melissa waved as it went by. I smiled and waved back. The bus never went by our house since we were the only ones living on that long dirt road. It was too much trouble for just one kid.
It didn't matter; I liked walking better. I could look around and actually see what I was passing, stopping if I had to. The bus went by too quickly. You couldn't appreciate what you were seeing.
And the bus smelled like boy. I hated that smell.
Finally I reached the school, meeting Mel by the font door. We went off to our first class, not saying a word. Neither of us is a morning person.
Mel is a self-injurer. She has a hard time coping with things in her life. She is the only person that knows my obsession with fire, and I am the only one who knows her secret. It's always been that way, and it always will be.
We sat in our usual seats, near the window. We both had what I called "front-ophobia"-- fear of sitting in the front of the class. So Mel picked a seat near the back. To my dismay, we sat in front of a group of guys. Great.
I wasn't so juvenile to think that boys still had cooties. I just hated the "boy smell" that seems to emanate from all of them. I shot a look at Mel, and she shrugged apologetically. It was either here or the other side of the room. I sighed and took a seat, carefully breathing through my mouth, filtering the air through my teeth. Mel laughed at me, digging through her messenger bag.
The bell rang, and the Chemistry teacher entered, dragging the cart of supplies with him. He pulled them in front of the class, and my eyes widened. Bunsen burners. Mel and I glanced at each other, hoping we'd get to pick our lab partners.
Mr. Domaryu pushed his glassed up and cleared his throat. I cringed. I hated that habit.
"Students, we will be doing a lab today." Mr. Domaryu announced.
"No shit," one of the guys behind me said. I snickered inspite of myself. Mr. Domaryu narrowed his eyes, glaring at the delinquent sitting behind me.
"And you will have assigned partners." The whole class groaned, and Mel and I shot each other exasperated looks. I fingered the lighter in my pocket nervously as Mr. Domaryu called out names.
"Melissa Meyer... Seth Andrews." Mel and I sighed as she moved to another table.
"Sayuri Edwards... Jakob Armstrong." I nodded. Of course. Another boy-smelling boy. I looked up to see a brown pair of eyes staring at me curiously.
"Hey," the boy said. "I'm Jake Armstrong."
"Sayuri Edwards."
My parents' warnings, however, didn't make me stop playing with fire. They just made me do it in secret. Sitting alone in my room, I'd turn the lighter over in my fingers, flicking it open and closed, watching the flame flicker on and off. It consumed my thoughts, and I stared at it until the spots in front of my eyes clouded my vision too much to tell whether the lighter was on or off.
I don't know why people say that fire is bad. It isn't the fire's fault humans use it to burn things. It's like saying water is bad because people drown in it. It's not the nature of the instrument; it's just how the instrument is used.
***
A familiar buzzing sound filled my ears, and I groaned. School again. I rolled out of bed, falling on the floor with another groan.
"Honey?" my mom called. "You okay?"
"Yeah," I answered, pushing myself up and smacking the alarm clock. It made a horrible beeping noise that always angered me.
I walked to my closet, grabbing random clothes for that day, smelling them to make sure they were clean. It wasn't until I was completely dressed that I looked into the mirror. I sighed at my reflection, combing out my messy red hair with my scarred fingers.
That's the only problem with playing with fire... When you're not careful, it leaves marks.
I quickly walked out my door, grabbing my backpack along the way. My mom threw me a granola bar as I passed through the kitchen. I smiled at her and waved, rushing to school.
My mom used to hassle me about how late I woke up. She doesn't anymore. She knows that the earlier she wakes me, the later I get to school. I do things my own way, in my own time. She's accepted that. We're too much alike.
I walked to school, munching my granola bar on the way. I watched the bus pass by, and my friend Melissa waved as it went by. I smiled and waved back. The bus never went by our house since we were the only ones living on that long dirt road. It was too much trouble for just one kid.
It didn't matter; I liked walking better. I could look around and actually see what I was passing, stopping if I had to. The bus went by too quickly. You couldn't appreciate what you were seeing.
And the bus smelled like boy. I hated that smell.
Finally I reached the school, meeting Mel by the font door. We went off to our first class, not saying a word. Neither of us is a morning person.
Mel is a self-injurer. She has a hard time coping with things in her life. She is the only person that knows my obsession with fire, and I am the only one who knows her secret. It's always been that way, and it always will be.
We sat in our usual seats, near the window. We both had what I called "front-ophobia"-- fear of sitting in the front of the class. So Mel picked a seat near the back. To my dismay, we sat in front of a group of guys. Great.
I wasn't so juvenile to think that boys still had cooties. I just hated the "boy smell" that seems to emanate from all of them. I shot a look at Mel, and she shrugged apologetically. It was either here or the other side of the room. I sighed and took a seat, carefully breathing through my mouth, filtering the air through my teeth. Mel laughed at me, digging through her messenger bag.
The bell rang, and the Chemistry teacher entered, dragging the cart of supplies with him. He pulled them in front of the class, and my eyes widened. Bunsen burners. Mel and I glanced at each other, hoping we'd get to pick our lab partners.
Mr. Domaryu pushed his glassed up and cleared his throat. I cringed. I hated that habit.
"Students, we will be doing a lab today." Mr. Domaryu announced.
"No shit," one of the guys behind me said. I snickered inspite of myself. Mr. Domaryu narrowed his eyes, glaring at the delinquent sitting behind me.
"And you will have assigned partners." The whole class groaned, and Mel and I shot each other exasperated looks. I fingered the lighter in my pocket nervously as Mr. Domaryu called out names.
"Melissa Meyer... Seth Andrews." Mel and I sighed as she moved to another table.
"Sayuri Edwards... Jakob Armstrong." I nodded. Of course. Another boy-smelling boy. I looked up to see a brown pair of eyes staring at me curiously.
"Hey," the boy said. "I'm Jake Armstrong."
"Sayuri Edwards."