the worst school day ever

“Mom, I’m fine.” I step out the door, shouldering my bag.

“You had a heart attack three days ago, you expect me not to be worried?” Mom comes up right behind me, crossing her arms. She sounds angry, although I can hear the warbling concern behind her voice. Sighing, I turn.

“Mom, I’m really fine. It’s okay.” I kiss her lightly on her cheek. “Bye!”

The school day passes uneventfully—barely.

It starts in second period. Mr Phil asks me:

“Haven, are you better?”

During break, about four separate girls passing by my table ask how I’m doing. By the time the fifth one comes by, I’m growling.

“I’m fine.”

“They’re just worried.” Liz reasons as she spears a misshapen meat ball on her fork and tosses it into her mouth.

“Can’t they see I’m fine? I’m not even limping!” I tap my spoon against the rim of my bowl irritably. Since young, I was never much of a sucker for human empathy. To put it simply, I’m not a romantic. Give me candles and I call it a fire hazard. Give me flowers and I get an allergic reaction. Give me love letters and I’ll mark your English. I believe in “it’s the thought that counts”, but I also can’t stand bad grammar.

Liz shakes her head wearily and stabs at another ball.

“I bet you won’t be saying that if Dominic was the one who asked you.” She nudges me and giggles.

I go red. I’ve had a crush on Dominic for months, but I’ve been trying to tamp it down. Not a romantic, remember?

“Funny, Liz. People are going to think you’re such a slop.” I sip my coffee to hide the smirk on my face. Confused, Liz’s eyes dart around, wondering why I’d said that. Her eyes widen. A long streak of dark meatball sauce has implanted itself very inconveniently on Liz’s pastel dress.

“Dammit,” she mutters, just as the bell rings.

“I got Chem next. Resan will kill me if I’m a second late. Meet you at the gates after school?” I toss the plastic cutlery into the bin behind me. Liz waves me off dismissively.

Chemistry goes about as well as a chicken in a washing machine.

“And now switch your Bunsen burners on.” Resan, our Chemistry teacher who probably should have retired eight years ago, is a seventy-something bald wheezer who spends class time showing off his senior citizen card. He pushes his glasses up his nose and stares right at me.

“Now, Haven.” I snap out of my dreams and realise everyone already has their burners going and I’m the only one who hasn’t. My fingers fumble for the gas tap. My ears flame. I’m not used to being noticed by teachers.

The tip of the burner bursts into flame. The smell of the gas in the air is suffocating. I gag and cover my nose with a hand.

There’s a burning smell. Acrid, sharp, sour. And then there’s heat. My head feels like it’s on fire.

It takes me a while to realise that it is.

The tips of my hair are flaming. Burnt ends fall to the ground in brittle twigs. I gasp. The fire eats its way up. Panic freezes me for a second. I can’t move, can’t breathe. There’s a crushing weight on my chest. For a moment, I am cemented by shock.

Then, instinctively, my hand flies up to meet the fire.

_____________________

our hero? impulsively being stupid and hurting herself by accident ALREADY? more likely than u think. will haven burn her hand off or will she survive. more news at 11

meanwhile u know the drill,

kofi:

https://ko-fi.com/faeriewrites