The flame flickered.
I stared at it, horrified. But it seemed that the more I tried to move, it did too. It was trying to consume me.
I whimpered, “No.”
It wavered. And even through my narrowed, tearful eyes, I saw it. With my hands over my head, I peeked at it. As soon as I looked, I was blinded by the light, scorched by the heat and deaf by my own cry.
I blocked out that part of the memory, the part where between the peek and where I writhed on the floor, panting in pain. And it was just a fleeting second before I willed myself to be erased from that Earth, to be rid of those black burns. They were everywhere… everywhere.
The flame flickered.
I stared at it, horrified. But it seemed that the more I tried to move, it did too. It was trying to consume –
“WHAT T’HELL ARE YOU DOING!” Blake screeched, rushing towards me like the tackle team of FBI with a mouth fully rounded, though she looked highly unprofessional with her huge wavy hair flinging in all directions… and into her widely opened mouth.
The second her eyes squinted as she spits her hair out while continuing in my direction, I took a mental photo, as I did not have the emotional leisure of laughing till I broke my neck at the moment because I was supposedly consumed by deadly fear, saving it for later when I would always, always look back on this epic, epic gesture of Blake Gaetti.
Wait a minute. She’s coming at me, like a lioness.
Move, move! I jerked backwards and tripped into somebody. Expecting that somebody to have tipped over and caused a domino effect, I was surprised when steady hands gripped me upright. I didn’t have time to look just who it was yet.
Because all eyes, were on Gaetti.
She’s closing in on the fire, yes! No, wait, she’s going too fast! She’s gonna – she’s gonna crash –
“What… are you doing, Gaetti?” Professor Doyle pokes the Bunsen burner from beneath the mound of bubbling pink foam oozing and overflowing from the beaker above.
Blake’s foot hit the edge of the table and she fell backwards. Butt breaking her fall, she winced. Just then a burst of laughter erupted, shaking the Chemistry lab. I held back a giggle, looking down at Blake with my lips pursed. And her blackened stare scared me.
Because Blake Gaetti was not just my super smart, super responsible lab partner. She was not a cheerleader who could make my high school life miserable or future high-flying lawyer/governor who could make my future miserable. But she was my best friend.
I lunged forward, reaching out to pull her up. She took my hand with no protest but her eyes that bore into mine suggested otherwise, or rather the hanging threat of “later, I’ll…” She dusted herself and fixed her glasses, attempting to hide any trace of embarrassment.
This was senior year, no joke. What we did every step of the way that was worth remembering, whether in the good way or bad way, was going to be remembered and reminisced throughout the rest of everyone’s years, until maybe we lose our memories and spoke of nothing but just that one thing we’ll never forget in our lives. Clearly, we’ve all seen the “I remember when I was (insert age)” happen on repeat in front of us, often the same grandparent… or even parent.
She continued to glare at me as she smoothed her auburn hair. Then she shot a look to whoever was behind me and spoke abruptly. “Thanks, Keanu!” She flashed a smile.
Keanu?
I turned around and saw the Hawaiian guy with the awesome smile. I bowed my head, eyes wide with wonder, nodding my thanks.
He shocked me by placing a hand onto my already-messy short blond hair and messing it up further. With a glimpse of a smile in his eyes, he said no problem and left to be swamped by a bunch of girls who’d already moved on from Blake’s big fall.
Oh.
There’s nothing out of our control, Blake had always reminded me. She believed that with different factors, people of course are able to control circumstance. So that was what she’d always done – tweak circumstance. Through a detailed study and understanding of human behavior that transcends any 17 year old I’d come to meet and know, she worked her way to get what she wanted.
Like right now. She directed attention towards Keanu to invert the unwanted eyes and ears.
And why were they unwanted, other than the initial embarrassment –
“OW!”
“I think you should take up therapy.”
“I’m not insane, Blake,” I muttered with a roll of my eyes, attempting to hide the hot red mark on my forehead that was caused by certain nails and fingers.
“Therapy is not exclusive towards people with severe mental illness. All forms of traumas and phobias are actually mental illnesses which can cause –”
“Blake, we’ve been through this.” I tossed my bag onto the kitchen counter and headed towards the fridge.
“Yes, but I think you should reconsider because this is going to affect your life if you don’t take action immediately. Who knows how what this trauma may develop into – I mean that rhetorically, of course. Studies show that –”
“Is it a habit of yours to give ‘high-IQ’ speeches?” The quotation marks were clear.
She grimaced. “Is it a habit of yours to cut me off?”
“Why, yes.” I popped myself back out from behind the fridge. “What d’you want to eat?”
She gave a look of horror. “The last thing I want you to do, is cook.”
“Ha-ha. There are such things as electric stoves and microwave ovens now, you know. We don’t live in the stone age anymore,” I mumbled the last part. “Why would we have to live with fire anyway?”
“Because it’s a natural resource of heat –”
Trust her and her 20-20 hearing. “Yeah, but we have replacements now.”
“Replacements are never as well as the real thing. That’s why they’re called replacements. They’re defined as substitutions.” She caught my look of exasperation and changed tactics. “You want to be a chef. A large number of cooking methods include working with a live, burning fire –”
“Lalalalalalalalala –” I marched off with an apple in my hand, heading towards the staircase.
“Wait, does that mean you’re not cooking?” She stumbled after me.
“Lalalalalalalalalalalalalala,” breath, “lalalalalalalalalalalalalalalala –”
“That’s really immature, you know –”
I turned around, halfway up the stairs. “You go cook your own dinner.” Then I turned back and ran the rest of the steps.
“You know,” she spoke loudly in attempt to swallow my steadily louder “lalala”s, “we are supposed to be studying.” Louder. “Our sociology project!” Blake was shorter than me by a full head and thus, had shorter legs. She was panting.
I stopped to open my room door.
“We. Have to. Do. A project. On. Each other.”
I plopped myself down on the white swivel chair and start spinning back and forth. “Alright then. What do you want to do? What form?”
She fell into my bed. “I want to highlight your delusion.”
The chair squeaked to a stop. “What delusion?”
“Your trauma that triggered your delusion that you have pyrokinesis.”
When did I agree to go along with this?
Wait. Wait, say it out loud. She can’t read your mind.
“When did I agree to go along with this?”
Blake held up a microphone and was testing its sound. Instead of answering my question, she encouraged me. “It’s like therapy. It’ll help. We’ll discuss your experiences and analyze them. Then we’ll do an amount of research on pyrokinesis. Because this has worked its way to define you.” She paused. “What are you doing for my project?”
I nodded, blending into silence.
“What?” She looks up from a notepad where she was scribbling notes down on.
“Did you know I just found out your middle name is Nina?”
She raised an eyebrow.
“It means fire. And Blake means black or pale.” She looked at me weirdly. “I personally think it’s black.”
She thwacked me with a pillow. I pretended to cower.
Then laughing, I decided. “I shall define you as my out-of-place death match of a best friend.”
The night before we had to present our projects, I couldn’t sleep. So I snuck downstairs to nick some food out the fridge.
It was a habit as far as I could remember.
I’d wanted to be a chef since I was 3, when I first started speaking. My momma always said I was talented. Because it’s like I could control fire. I believed her.
I was raised by a single mother. My momma only told me stories of a father with an image painted like superman. Instead of princess fairytales, she told me about a father who was undercover as a fireman, but really had superpowers. I believed her.
My mother burned down that night. So she never got to tell the truth, in whether or not everything she spoke of and had taught me to believe as a child was a lie.
“I’ve recreated several possible scenarios. In the memory of a 5-year old, it’s apparent that the fireplace had lit itself –”
Gosh, I thought, tuning out, I wasn’t going to listen to this.
Let it be over, let it be over. Fast-forward…
The class solidified in silence when I heard Blake say thank you. Cold eyes of laughter, pity, mockery and disbelief circled its way into my heart and froze it right there. We’ve been through this before, she spoke. My heart soured and tried to get a grip.
As a child, I’d had a rough time as an only child. My Aunt Kayla brought me up until I turned 15, then she was hospitalized and has been there for the past two years. She always told me after I came crying home after going back to the outside world only after my burn marks had healed miraculously completely, to not speak of what I’d gone through anymore, for my own good. But I’d made one good friend with the stories when I was asked about why I was an orphan. Though that was mostly based on this girl’s intrigue.
Blake cleared her throat to break the silence. I turned to look at her with wide eyes. She nodded at me encouragingly. “C’mon, your turn.”
When I stepped forward, she exchanged a look with me that spelled apology. I smiled wistfully.
“Alright –”
“Do we get to ask questions?” Bonnie, yes, the stereotypical popular girl raised her hand.
Blake threw a look of complete horror in my direction. “No.” Then she saw me with an unreadable expression, she mouthed, “No, Colbie, no.”
There was a silence. Mrs. Vessely stared at me with her penetrating eyes through those x-ray glasses of hers.
“You know what… gimme your best shot.”
“That was brutal.”
“Yeah –” I answered, without so much as glancing or thinking about who it was that I was talking to. I stopped myself and looked.
Check tan skin and ultra-white teeth. “Oh.”
I looked around. Right… he was talking to me. The hallways were empty because of the horrid Q&A session ended class late and everyone sprinted right out of school, leaving Mrs. Vessely speaking to Blake about her studies… on me.
His smile widens. Gosh, those teeth look so straight. What? Wait, I should stop staring. His teeth, of all the – when I met his warm brown eyes, it caused me to blush into the color of a candy apple. Bad, bad idea.
“You know… when I was a kid, in Honolulu, I used to go surfing all the time. And somehow, I was never ever beaten down by a single wave. My grandpa told me it was a gift. That the God of the seas took a liking to me and that I was going to be the best surfer the world has yet to see. Vapokinesis, I think it’s called.”
I stared. Just. Stared.
His expression began to fall a little, to look tired and worn.
“Then my grandpa got into this huge wave one day, and he never came back.” He inhaled sharply. “I keep thinking I could’ve saved him.”
I caught a glimpse of his soul that moment, right in the dimly lit hallway that smelled like… sweaty socks. Great, we’re outside the gym.
My face twitched. Why did I have to notice that? Way to ruin the moment.
He saw the change in my expression and laughed one of those deep loud laughs. “I know, it stinks here, doesn’t it?”
I nodded, returning his smile.
“Whaddya say we get outta here?”
In the background, I heard Blake shouting my name. And it stopped. I didn’t bother to look back, because I finally felt like I was moving forward.
His hand felt right in mine, like two puzzle pieces fitting perfectly. Here’s a soul that was like mine.
“You know how they say fire and water can’t exist together?” I asked, smiling up at him.
“No,” he dragged the one-syllable word. “You just gotta find a balance.”
We walked together, out into the school parking lot and as cliché as it was, rain started falling.
“Think I can stop the rain?” When I shook my head, not answering, he said something that made me remember a part of me that was forgotten. “Maybe we should try being superheroes,” he laughed.
“Colbie, when you grow up, you’re gonna outshine superman.”
“But Momma, I’m a girl,” I giggle, in my jammies and tucked up for bed.
“Well, you’re a special girl. And you can be a chef and a supergirl.” Her long, dark brown hair swirled at the side of my bed as she rested her head on her arms folded right there.
I sat up and looked at her very seriously. “Why do you think I can outshine superman?”
She pushed me down back on bed gently and tucked me in again. She smiled. “’Cause you’re light, baby. Your daddy was fire and you’re the light he left.”
“Does that mean I’m gonna save the world?” I grinned toothily.
“Colbie, baby, you’ve already saved mine.” She kissed my forehead. “You’re all I need, and someday you’ll find someone who’ll think the same about you. You’re gonna be that person’s superhero.”
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