burn, baby, burn
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[two]
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Mr Tripp is the coolest, most liked teacher in the vast AJHS faculty. He's in his late twenties, and according to the pictures on his desk, he's got a gorgeous wife and an adorable baby boy. Not to mention he's ripped, funny and almost never gives homework -- or detentions. That was why Addison and I loved bio. Not to mention we end up laughing like crazy.
I slip into the noisy classroom with Evan trailing behind, just as the bell rings. Mr. Tripp looks up from the dry-erase white board, and gives up a smile. "Are you the new student?" He asks Evan.
Evan nervously nods his head.
"And are you showing him around, Dylan?"
I shrug. "No." My voice sounds dead and harsh, but Mr. Tripp isn't fazed. He can handle me.
"Evan, why don't you sit with Dylan. She doesn't have a lab partner."
I visibly flinch, and both Evan and Mr. Tripp notice. "Is that all right with you, Dyl?"
I avert my eyes and nod, a single curt nod, before stepping down the rows of lab tables, until I take a seat at the very last table in the center row. Evan drops his bag awkwardly on the ground and stands before the empty chair next to me. Addison's empty chair.
"Sit," I say. And he sits.
Mr. Tripp doesn't do the whole 'class we have a new student' deal. Everyone knows the Evan's there, and I can tell the boy is nervous. He probably came from a tiny private school or something. Cultural shock.
I take a deep breath and fill my voice with all the kindness and patience in my body. Turn to Evan. Whisper, "Are you okay?"
He glances at me with a small smile. "Sure," he whispers as Mr. Tripp goes on about science fair projects being due soon. "Wasn't I asking you that a period ago?"
I grimace and shrug. Honestly, I've talked more today than I have in the past few months. Stupid New Boy thinking he can break me that easily.
Twenty minutes through the period, I dig through my bag for my hall pass and a box of matches. I pull out the crumpled blue sheet and scribble in the slot for the bathroom. But I can't find a box in the clutter of my bag, so I sigh, and pull out Addison's Box, hastily slipping it into my sweatshirt pocket.
Evan's glancing at me with curiosity, and with a sinking feeling, I realize that he's seen the matches. Screw him. Mr. Tripp wordlessly initials my pass and I slink down the hall.
No one uses the science wing bathroom by choice, and for the first time since the fire, I sneak in. The floors are clean, the mirrors clear, and the sinks shiny and untouched. There are two stalls, and Addison used the second one. I hold my breath, step into the second stall with closed eyes, and lock the door.
Here goes.
The walls and the toilet are still partially charred. The floor is clean, but the overbearing presence of death lingers.
Not a good idea. Be quick.
I tug the baggy sleeve of the sweatshirt up, and strike the match. Right below my elbow, the skin is puckered, scarred and blistered from previous burns. The fire spreads up the match and I pull the bobby pin out of my hair. Hold it to the flame. Smoke rising. And then press the bobby pin against my skin.
Everything disappears. The death, the pain, the hurt, the anger. Addison and New Boy and school. All that's there is the match, burning dangerous close to my fingertips, the beads of sweat from the heat, and the pain. Burn. Burn, baby, burn.
Then its gone, and I rush back to class. Evan gives me a 'look' which I ignore. I can practically feel my skin blister. It's all good.
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