Playing With Fire

Chapter 1

Getting caught had never been a possibility to me. I mean, honestly, I was pretty sure I was a pro. But apparently, old Mr. Barney had gotten a bit suspicious and cleaned his glasses. Even after I had thrown back his dumb pack of gum, and promised him I would never do it again, he was still yelling- his meaty face turning red, a vein throbbing on his red forehead. I knew Mr. Barney wasn’t about to ease up anytime soon, so I bolted. Running as quickly as possible and as far away from the convenience store that I frequently loitered around. It got me a few weird stares but I had been sure I had been in the clear. Of course I hadn’t counted that Mr. Barney might actually call the cops on me and that they could have shown up on my front yard. They were waiting for me when I had gotten home, breathless. Mom had been looking at me, her gray eyes filled with disappointment.

                The cops had gone ‘easy on me’ as mom had put it, I was to spend a night in jail and go through the regular procedures as long as I signed up at the Montgomery Youth Center. That brings me to where I am now, outside of a gray unmarked building with chipping paint. I was hesitant to go inside; the youth center didn’t exactly give off a welcoming feeling. Mom pushed me a bit, “Wren.” The single word was stern and firm and conveyed all her threats clearly and efficiently.

                I gathered my courage and headed towards the youth center, inside there was a too-bright lobby; a receptionist dressed in a faded maroon pantsuit had my mom sign us in before motioning the doors to where I was to go to. Mom gave me one last stern look before saying, “I’ll pick you up at eight.” And walking off.

                I walked straight into the doors the receptionist had signaled, knowing there was no chance to back out. The door led into what appeared to be a gymnasium. The gym had laminated light-colored wood floors and faded hoops without the nets. A group of chairs was assembled in a circle and a few kids were already seated, along with a man in a tie and a floral shirt. His attempt to look casual yet authoritive made him look like he had dressed in the dark.  I huddled near the door, inspecting the scene. The man almost immediately caught sight of me and spoke, his words echoing in the vast gym, “Come on in, son, don’t be shy, don’t be shy.”

                At his words I took a few steps further into the gym, all eyes were on me, I might as well face it all.

                “And who might you be?” The man was looking through a group of papers held together with a clipboard.

                “Wren Wells,” I muttered, avoiding the gaze of a half-stoned boy.

                “Very well, Mr. Wells!” the man probably thought he was being clever and I gave him a wry smile. “I’m Mr. Sella, I’m the coordinator tonight!” He seemed excited and I wondered if he thoroughly enjoyed these meetings. Perhaps it was his first time? I wouldn’t think that spending an evening with a bunch of teenage dirt bags would be exactly pleasant. “Take a seat, take a seat.” He seemed to have a habit of repeating things, perhaps he thought it was something that gave off a friendly feel. “We’re just waiting for a few other kids to show up and we’ll get this show on the road.” I half-grimaced at his choice of diction but said nothing, instead I took a seat on a silver chair.

                Soon enough all the delinquents were there and Mr. Sella started speaking. He dealt with introductions quickly, and then he lectured us a bit on how being viable members of society was ten times more rewarding than doing hoodrat activities. Except he didn’t use the word hoodrat and no one seemed enlightened by his little speech.

                The meeting started in the cliché way were we introduced ourselves. Then Mr. Sella started asking certain individuals questions; everyone seemed pretty much cooperative. It seemed that they just wanted out of the dumb meetings and cooperating was the only way. Why make it difficult? They were all getting off scotch-free anyway, might as well go out the easy way.

                “What about you Wren?” Mr. Sella asked, his watery eyes focusing his gaze on me.

                “What?” I had kind of tuned out.

                “Do you feel sorry for your crime?”

                I would hardly call it a crime. I had stolen a pack of gum. Sure, it hadn’t been my first time shoplifting but it was all pointless stuff anyway. “Yeah.” I lied.

                Mr. Sella seemingly satisfied with my bland answer moved on to another kid. I wondered if this program had actually ever made someone see the wrong in their ways.

                It wasn’t long before eight o’clock came around and Mr. Sella dismissed us, telling us the next meeting was in two days’ time.

                I, along with the rest of the dirt bags walked into the lobby, under the strict glare of the receptionist, and outside the youth center. A few kids walked off into the night, pushing and shouting, a lot different from the quiet group inside the gym. I stayed behind, my finger hesitating over my mom’s contact. She was late, but it was only a few minutes and it was okay, another few minutes wouldn’t hurt anything.

                The night was cold, and there was hardly anyone around, I glanced at the time again, seeing it had almost been twenty minutes since we had been released. Deciding to call my mom, I glanced down, scrolling through contacts and pressing her number. It went straight to voice mail.

                “Great job, mom.” I muttered under my breath. I got up from the curb, the house was far away and it was getting progressively colder. I needed to hurry up and get home.

                “Hey, punk, think fast.” A voice growled behind me before my world went black.