26. All fires, one fire
Now

“I think David set Kent against you. Don’t you see?” Mr. Aschen asks.

“No,” I answer.

“David was feeling shamed because of Steven’s taunting. The only way he could repair this shame was to humiliate one of you, so he manipulated Kent to believe that if he got tagged, everything would be better. And since you were It, that meant Kent had to force you to tag him somehow. But in the end, this is still all David’s fault.”

“Just wait,” I say. “It gets better.”

*

I decided to give Kent what he wanted—then he’d have to see how wrong he was. I laid low until lunch, and managed to avoid being harassed too much between classes by staying within eyesight and earshot of teachers and principals. It wasn’t precisely preferable, but it was an existence.

When lunch came, I snuck away from my usual awkward find-a-chair-and-be-ignored ritual and found Cameron and Kent. Kent was surrounded by friends; stacks of muscle and fat cracking the same jokes to each other endlessly, laughing and guffawing, food in oily globs flying from wet lips.

I wasn’t a fan.

Cameron sat with him. They did seem to be closer than usual, even if it wasn’t the way Kent wanted. I only needed to prove to him Eureka wasn’t the answer—I expected it to cause it an explosion, but in the long run, he’d have to give up on chasing me.

I tried to look natural as I approached the table, but they spotted me coming. Two of Kent’s friends stood up immediately, looking as threatening as possible. Dogs barking at passing cars. Deciding to make this quick, I came up behind Cameron and put a hand on her shoulder. Kent turned, dangerously close, but let this occur.

“Tag,” I said.

Cameron stood, all knit jackets and blue jeans, hair a royal strawberry blonde, more red and gold than a Catholic cardinal. I knew what secret her clothes held: a hidden network of scars.

The troubled young woman lifted her leg over the bench and stepped around Kent. Myself and my audience of haters watched as she walked directly to the nearest fire alarm and pulled it, yanking her hand away as purple dye spat from the device.

We all met eyes for one, two, three seconds and briiiiiiiiiiiiiing. Flashing lights and sirens.

A gentle tide of students began slowly moving toward the exit, in no hurry to end the fire drill. Kent jumped up and began pressing against their current, arms directing the flow past him as he crossed the cafeteria to reach Cameron.

I took a few steps toward them. Kent stood before her, blinking lights like a strobe, and dropped to one knee. Repulsive, seriously. Trying to use Cameron’s tag as an excuse to make her get with him? No wonder David didn't want him to play: Kent was incapable.

Cameron looked suitably disgusted by the act. “I’m fucking David!” I heard her high-pitched voice even over the sirens. Kent quickly stood, dusted his jeans off, and stalked away, head down, tears coming.

Painful.

When school let out, I was actually happy. Now Cameron was It, and Kent wouldn’t have a reason to bug me. I knew he’d be angry at first—that there’d be some retribution—but it meant the war was almost over.

I spotted Nora carrying a large bundle of books and waddled up to her with my massive backpack. “May I?” I asked, arms extended.

“Knock yourself out,” she said, smiling.

My heart skipped a beat. Despite my certainty that whatever else I uttered would be shot down upon reception, I was elated to make some progress with Nora.

Unfortunately as we turned a corner in the halls, Kent was waiting, close-set eyes and little stubby nose red and puffy.

He didn’t look at me or say a word as we walked past. So, of course, I couldn’t resist taunting him. “Have a good day, Kent,” I said, smile beaming through my voice.

“Fuck off,” he said, banging his head against a nearby locker.

“Don’t say that,” Nora objected.

I stared at her, as surprised as Kent.

“You fuck off, and leave Jacob alone. He never did anything to you,” she continued.

“Would you shut this bitch up?” Kent said, turning to face me now.

“Don’t talk to her like that,” I said reflexively, surprised by the power in my voice.

As strong as my voice sounded, though, my legs froze as the larger boy approached. My center of gravity seemed to fall around my ankles.

I saw the hand moving toward me in slow motion. As it connected, Kent’s fist filled my entire view. I fell backward and banged my head against the linoleum floor with so much force, I blacked out for a few seconds.

Nora let out a little yelp and ran.

Kent stood over me, rubbing a red fist. “I really hate you. You didn’t have to do that.”

I tried to say something, but was too shocked by the taste of blood in my mouth; so much I might drown by attempting to speak.

Both of us were interrupted by Nora arriving with the principal in tow.

I got treated by the school nurse for my injuries, including an icepack on my swollen lip, that hurt more than it helped, and a mouthful of gauze. In the meantime, Nora flitted between the principal, to whom she told everything, and me.

She was a star student, the cameras backed up her story, and no one knew anything about Eureka, so Kent would get the same punishment I’d gotten. He would finish out the year at Hope High, now officially a bad kid.

I thought I’d feel better about it, but was still pretty shocked by the whole thing. I’d been prepared for a punch from Kent for weeks, figuring I’d move or block it or something. Of course, he was meaner, stronger, and heavier than me, so any sort of defense against such an assailant was fantasy.

It didn’t help much that as I left the school an hour and a half later, I saw Kent wearing handcuffs, being escorted to a police cruiser by two officers.

I turned to Nora, trying to voice a question through the gauze that still filled my mouth. “Mmff?!”

“They found drugs in his locker,” she said. “Pot. It serves him right.”

I remembered when they’d unceremoniously cut the lock off my locker and dumped the books into a box to be shipped to Hope High. But weed and Kent? It didn’t mix.

I contained my reaction to keep Nora from becoming suspicious. I didn’t even realize she kept talking until she was halfway through her statement, “…and thanks for standing up for me.”

I shrugged and nodded, which could have meant anything, but hopefully meant “It was nothing” to her. As we stepped into her car, I noticed an old white luxury sedan across the school parking lot. A thin, pale young man with spiked blond hair and thin rectangular glasses stood, leaning over its hood and watching us. Smiling.

Steven had no business being at the high school. Made me wonder.

That night, I couldn’t sleep, and instead sat in my tiny cell in the trailer and ran my tongue over the cut in my lip as I pondered the day’s events. It seemed like there could only be one person responsible for Kent’s arrest.

I wished he hadn’t made it seem so much like something I would’ve done. Hell, if I’d known Kent’s locker combination, I probably would have done it. It was an elegant way to remove him from the picture.

Still, seeing Kent arrested was too much. I would’ve been happy with him going to Hope High, which solved my problem. I should’ve been relieved, but was more nervous than ever.

Did Steven mastermind all of it? It seemed extreme. It made me a little bit afraid of my nerdy friend—if he could even be called that anymore. But, he’d gone to extreme measures to protect Cameron before, and this might fit his definition of ‘protection.’

I was shocked out of my stupor by a fierce knock on the door—the kind of aggressive, unrelenting knock that cops use. I hurried through the trailer to where my dad snored into the face of the TV, shifting half-awake at the pounding on the door. I crept past him and opened the door.

It wasn’t the cops, it was Cameron. She had a wild look in her eyes—wilder than usual—and was drenched in sweat.

“Kent’s gonna do something stupid,” she blurted. “You’ve gotta come with me, now.”

I rushed out of the trailer, letting the door slam behind me. Her car was already running, and I got in without bothering to ask any of the questions which would’ve been prudent, like: Where the hell are you taking me?

However, not asking made me seem so much cooler. Plus, it was easy to guess who this involved: “Isn’t Kent in jail?” I asked.

“His dad bailed him out in an hour,” Cameron answered, knuckles white from gripping the wheel, or perhaps the mention of her abuser. The crimson-haired teen sped down the road and scarcely twitched her neck to check the cross streets at each red light before cruising through it.

“And then what?”

“They got in a fight. Knocked the crap out of each other for a little bit, then Mr. Gimble left. That’s when Kent called me.”

“You weren’t there?”

“I never get within a hundred yards of his shit stain father. Can’t, even if I wanted to: court order. Anyway, then Kent came to me and we talked; he is not taking this ‘me and David’ thing well. Or the thing with his father. Or the thing where he got kicked out of school and arrested. I need help. Plus, you’re partly responsible, so I thought you’d welcome the chance.”

“I didn’t play any part in this,” I said. “I swear, I didn’t. Steven planted the drugs, I’m sure.”

“Yeah, right,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Seriously, I’m not that clever. I didn’t think of any of this.”

“I can almost believe that. I don’t care. Look, I did something stupider.”

“What’d you do?” I asked as we squealed around a corner.

“I tagged Kent. I felt bad, and it seemed like the only way to shut him up. But, he started begging again. I said no. I’m in love with David. But, Kent…he’s kinda got a temper. Sometimes he loses it and kinda keeps rolling in one direction and doesn’t stop.”

“Yeah, so I’ve noticed. And then what happened?”

“Things got more emotional. He kept calling me, getting angrier every time. I think Kent lost his mind. He’s coming to terms with his dad, with things about David—he’s trying to fix himself, to fix what happened, so that I’ll like him. He said he’s going to be like David.”

“You’re well aware that you tend to lead men on,” I admonished. “Why weren’t you clearer about the status of your relationship? Kent didn’t think you’d sealed the deal with David.”

“Because no one likes me if they know I won’t sleep with them,” she shouted, voice tinged with hysteria. After a few deep breaths, Cameron spoke again: “I don’t want Kent or Steven. I love them like brothers. They’ve always been there for me. But they don’t…move me.”

Cameron spun the steering wheel, smashing me up against the window. She tore into a parking lot past a rusty station wagon and a few other decrepit minivans before slamming on the brakes. Kent stood outside a second-story apartment with a red plastic gas can in his hands.

I jumped from the car. So this was what ‘being like David’ meant.

“Don’t do it!” Cameron called up to him.

“It’s genius,” Kent exclaimed, voice hoarse. “I can get back at Dad, erase my past, come on. What’s not to like?”

Kent put the gas can on the ground then raised a white rag with one hand and a cigarette lighter with the other. He sparked the lighter and a small orange ember lit up the night. Wild eyes reflected the flickering aura, and a mad grin enveloped his face. Kent laughed, but tears rolled down his cheeks.

He lifted the flame to the rag and the infant inferno licked at it nervously once, twice, and finally took its first bite from the material. I noticed a problem with his plan: there were five other apartments in the building.

“Come on, Kent. I’ll go to prom with you! Don’t start that fire,” Cameron pleaded.

“Do you mean that?” Kent asked.

“Yes! Forget about the game. Just put the fire down.”

“Do you forgive me?”

“There’s nothing to forgive,” she called back. Any chance at Kent putting the fire out was quickly dying; the orange disturbance in the air reached his hand.

“I did all this for you,” Kent said, lowering the burning rag.

“It’s okay. Just come down from there. We’ll talk,” she said. Curls sweat-soaked and stuck to her forehead like they were tattooed there.

As soon as it looked like he might relent, Kent’s hand ignited where gasoline had spilled. In another tiny explosion of orange, his shirt lit as well.

In a panic that only fire can bring, he ripped the shirt off and began flailing his glowing hand through the night air. In the process, the kicked the plastic can of gasoline, and some part of the fire’s infernal consciousness saw opportunity and leaped.

There was a much larger eruption of heat; the devouring elements tore into our world as though from another dimension, climbing up Kent’s doorframe and wrapping the entrance of his apartment like a gate to hell itself.

Kent stumbled away from the unholy portal and into the railing, nearly tumbling backward over the second story walkway while batting at the flames on his pants. I watched, frozen there, as the irreverent chemical reaction reached across the curtains of Kent’s apartment, then climbed up the wall. From my vantage point below, I could only see the furious amber light amplify exponentially, a gradual explosion, starving maw demanding more. It licked the carpet, bit the drapes, gnawed on the ceiling, and soon the fangs of its ever-teething mouth breached the shared wall and the incandescent ember glow began to reflect through the neighboring apartment’s window as well. The devil Kent summoned into this world feasted voraciously.

I ran to the nearest door and began slamming my palm against the panel. “Call 911!” I shouted to Cameron. I yelled out, trying to warn the inhabitants of the eminent threat. I moved to the window and pounded my fist on the glass, shouting all the time.

I watched, spellbound, as Cameron moved to Kent. They stood only a few feet away from the beast he’d unleashed, and flames whipped around the two of them. Her reddish hair was a flickering candle compared to the larger boy’s balefire; she tugged at his arm, but he wouldn’t budge, so she did the next best thing. Cameron slapped him—once, twice, three times, the sound blending in with the crackling of timber. “You’re going to kill someone!” she shouted finally. “You’re an idiot.”

He stared at her, gaping. “David…” he said.

I tore my eyes away and began banging on the next door, shouting again. Someone came out, a small boy and his mother, both of them in tears. At the sight of the door opening, a strange feeling welled up in me, somewhere underneath the raging torrent of panic—like how a rock at the bottom of a fast-moving river causes a disturbance. I couldn’t shake the sensation I’d been here before.

I reached the third and final door on the bottom floor and began banging on it. My knuckles ached, so I used my feet as well. Another set of people came staggering out.

Cameron managed to drag Kent down the stairs and away from the fire. He swayed, either drunk from the acrid fumes or weak from the depression and shock. She shouted indecipherably, punching and slapping at the boy’s broad chest and face.

He didn’t look her in the eye—just stared downward, occasionally reeling from a well-placed blow.

I ran up the stairs to the first apartment on the second floor and received such a shock to my memory that I stumbled up the steps and landed face-first into them. I recovered and skipped the apartment, going past it for the one neighboring Kent’s.

I’d never been there at night before; everything looked different.

This was where Geoff lived.

I banged on his door and shouted as the heat from the fire curled the hair on my arms and threatened to consume me in its gluttony. I tried looking through the window, but the smoke was too thick. Orange light glowed from the inside of his apartment, and I prayed my Hope High compatriot wasn’t home. I kicked at the door once, twice, but it didn’t budge.

I hammered my fist onto the windowpane until it shattered. I reached through, cutting myself on the searing hot glass then burning my fingertips on the metal of the lock, finally twisting it and getting past the barrier.

The second my foot crossed the threshold, I pressed against a near-impenetrable wall of heat. As I took another step, the air was stolen from my lungs and the strength baked out of my muscles. Geoff’s body lay on the couch, facing upward, on the opposite side of the living room.

I put a foot down and pulled my body’s weight up to it, then felt the eyebrows melting from my face as searing hell ate its way through one wall of his living room; the beast sucked the air out of the chamber. I couldn’t take another step, or even breathe. Tears welled up in my eyes; the raging devil evaporated even those.

I don’t remember stepping back out of the apartment. Maybe my body did it automatically, reaching for oxygen like a panicked diver swimming for air.

The cool breeze of the night outside hit me like an arctic blast; I gulped in soot and smoke and tried to dash back inside. The heat pushed me out; I looked to my left, and the fire was almost touching me, trying to wrap its hungry tongues around me, trying to make me another gray, lifeless victim.

At last, I turned and ran to the parking lot, jumping down the stairs four at a time. Kent sat on the hood of Cameron’s car, and Cameron watched me. I felt where the fire torched the hair from my face and arms. My skin was flaky and tight, like brittle old plastic wrap.

I ran straight to Kent and pulled him by the shoulders down onto the pavement. I kicked him, aiming for his head but instead glancing off his ear. I tried to kick again, but a weight rushed into me, knocking me to the ground.

“Stop!” Cameron shouted, her body pressed against me, arms wrapped around my chest and arms, trapping me.

“He killed Geoff.” I choked on the words.

She pulled me close to her, hands on my shoulders, arms wrapped around me. “The fire department will be here soon. Don’t make things worse. It’s okay.” She did not sound like she meant it.

After a few moments, after the blinding rage seeped from me and into the cold cement, I shrugged her away and stood up.

Kent lay curled up on the ground. I walked over to him and pulled him up to face me. “What’d you do that for?” I asked.

“I didn’t mean to,” he blubbered, tears and snot running down chubby cheeks.

“You killed my friend,” I said, voice calm now, like scolding a child. “Eureka isn’t about getting people killed.”

He reached out to my arm and gripped my torn skin in his hands. Somewhere through the snapping of timbers and the roaring of the demon he’d summoned in his apartment, he voiced the words: “Tag. You were right. I can’t handle it. You take it.”