THE FIRE SAGA

SPARK 8 - ANTICIPATION

I've done readiness exercises every night since year one of high school. Who will I have to avoid? What hallways have the least traffic? Preparation is mandatory. The only difference is now I know with absolute certainty what happens if my stoic shield falls. ka-BOOM. Obviously, that's the worst case scenario. The last thing I want is to blow up CCHS, even if half the students in my class could stand some fire chasing them into their futures.

The best case scenario would've been Tally and Declan ignoring me entirely. If people don't get suspicious, they won't ask why things have changed. Change leads to curiosity leads to questions. No change means no questions. No questions means no justifications. Not that Tally's in a position requiring justification of anything to anyone. She makes the rules to follow, not the other way around, but the added attention will still increase the risk potential. Treating me like mud was the safest scenario for everyone involved, including myself. Tally badgering me awake botched any save opportunities via avoidance.

My educational focus has never been on the students. It's always been on book learning. I come to school, listen in class, utilize the library, and, at all costs, avoid any social interaction like the poisonous snake it is. Courtesy of Tally, I've been dropped in the center of what can only be described as organized chaos. I'm completely out of my depth.

My outrageous physical alteration is minor compared to the atmospheric shift of instant popularity. A coveted position at Tally's side warrants curiosity, awe, and, most of all, envy from ordinary students. I'd happily trade places with any of them. I was them, only a few days ago, in fact. I want to rewind time very, very badly.

In the popular clique, there are two partitions: lickers and kickers.

The lickers handle my invasion in a way I don't anticipate. While I fully expected them to treat Tally like the queen she perceives herself to be, I didn't expect the faux royalty to rub off on me. The regulars might stare on with hopeful eyes from outside the circle, but definitely not those in the inner sanctum. Suddenly, I'm the most interesting thing in the history of the universe when all I really want is to crawl into that basement of mine, fortify the walls so they're fireproof, and let the inevitable explosion happen. I don't appreciate this unwarranted attention. It's beyond overwhelming and fruitless at its base. These people don't truly want to know me. They're just pretending to because it's conventional.

The kickers handle my invasion more like I anticipate. While none are brave enough to confront Tally over her poor choice for an inductee, it doesn't negate the general snide and lude commentary thrown at me. Sometimes at my face. Mostly at my back. Tally ignores them all effortlessly.

I'm not naïve. Of course people are trash-talking me. That's not my struggle. It probably would've surprised me more if they said nothing. What I didn't expect was how I'd feel when they did it, in what they believed was outside my hearing range. To my face, insults are easy to dismiss. Or, if I had a hankering, I could address them directly. Even whisper-shouts from tagalongs behind me in the halls isn't foreign behavior. Eliciting a response from me is a running contest, but hearing cruel whispers they didn't intend me to hear strikes a different cord. Not for the reason you're thinking. I want them to know I'm ignoring them. Blatant dismissal is my standard defense mechanism. Only, I can't behave that way since I technically shouldn't hear them. Pretending to ignore them doesn't give me the same level of appeasement actively ignoring them does. At this rate, my robot will run out of batteries before the day's end. Maybe even by lunch.

Small bright side: the popular clique aren't singular in their lick and kick trajectory. They love and hate each other just as much as they love and hate me. There's a disheartening lack of authentic connection between any of them. How can anyone be curious, awed, or envious of this? Bigger bright side: it doesn't take me long to realize these partitions aren't as divisive as I initially thought. Perhaps they aren't even partitions, just gangly branches of a giant tree rooted by insecurity.

Problematic hormones are the only thing that happens as anticipated. There's ample ogling and zero shame in cat-calling. I do discover some creative synonyms for female anatomy, so it isn't all for naught. Only when Declan openly threatens the football team captain for touching "his property" does the attempted passerby groping stop. He doesn't get a thank you from me, silently or otherwise. Frankly, I'm not convinced he isn't partially at fault for them getting grabby in the first place. Walking me through the halls, arm slung over my shoulder, invites a specific kind of challenge for alpha personalities. If he'd keep his hands off, they'd stop trying to put their hands on.

Tally appears as I'm depositing my books in my locker at lunch. "Whatcha doin'?" she probes, twirling a blonde strand around her finger.

I eye her warily. "Going to lunch." I've made it this far without the underlying flames reaching the surface, but my robot is now running on backup. It's not looking good.

"Not without me."

"I have to sit with you at lunch now?"

"More like I have to sit with you."

I clench my fists at my sides as sparks light my cheeks.

"Temper. Temper," she mocks. "Where's Declan?"

"Hopefully, taking a flying leap off a cliff somewhere," I mutter.

She barks a laugh. "Hoover need to bring it down a notch, does he?"

"He's been singing The Christmas Song all morning," I complain.

Chestnuts roasting on an open fire, Superego joins in.

"We can get rid of him if you want."

"Wasn't he meant to be a buffer?"

She sighs. "Buffers are boring."

Why is she continually trying to push me over the edge? I thought the whole purpose of this exercise was to keep me from imploding, not encouraging me to. Trouble with a capital T spells Tally.

"Come on, Hot Spot." She grins mischievously. "Let's go see what the wicked lunch grunches are serving up today. I'll bet it's ashtacular."

I groan and head to the lunchroom with Tally, where I'm sure Declan's saving a seat for us. Even if he took a flying leap off that cliff, my hopes would be the only thing crashing. He'd just put on an aeronautics show.