The Lost Boy

man, ” I nodded. “I’ll help you out. I’m cool.” I walked away, telling myself that he was just acting tough.
Nobody ever burns down a school,
I assured myself.
But what if he’s serious? What should I do?
I couldn’t tell Mrs Catanze and especially not the teachers. But no matter what, I would never turn John in. Not because I wanted to be nice, but because of the fear of being brutalized and living through the humiliation afterward.
    I dreaded running into John over the next few days, as he continually renewed his vow that one day soon,
he
was going to teach the teacher a lesson. As the weeks dragged by, I began to think that he was simply showing off to receive attention from anyone who’d listen. At times, whenever a large crowd gathered, I’d brag, too, stating that John and
I
had developed “The Plan” that would show everyone in the school just how tough we were. The more I boasted, the larger the crowds grew. I was amazed at how the kids who had ridiculed me before were now hanging on my every word. After a few days of spinning tales, John’s involvement disappeared, as I found myself stating that I would be the person who would do the deed.
    Weeks passed, and soon I had forgotten about “The Plan” -until one day after school, John had a deep, cold look in his eyes as he ordered me to be back at the school in an hour. I felt a lump creep up my throat. “Okay man, I’ll be back, ” I said, before I could think of an excuse. About an hour later, as I walked back on the school grounds, I prayed that he had chickened out.
    The smell of papers burning filled the hallway. I broke into a run as I followed the smoke and made my way to the classroom module. Seconds later I found John bent over a small hole, as black smoke poured out of a kicked-in air vent. I stood in total disbelief. I never thought he’d actually do it.
    “John!” I yelled.
    John’s head shot up. “Jesus, man. Where ya been? Come on … help me!” I stood behind him, still unsure of myself. “Come on, man, help me! Help me put out the fire!” he cried.
    My brain locked up until I shook my head clear, as smoke continued to escape the open vent. John’s face was seized with terror. After a few seconds, he fell backward. “No way, man! It’s out of control! I’m outta here! Come on, let’s go!” Before I could reply, I saw his shadow disappear down the hall.
    I bent down in front of the vent and turned my head, coughing from the dark smoke. A small, red orange fire began to take form. In a flash I grabbed the can of lighter fluid that John had left and pulled it out from the vent. As I withdrew the can, I squeezed it so hard that a stream of fluid ignited, racing from the can and toward my hand, soaking it with the clear fluid. For a moment I thought the tin can would explode – and my right hand with it.
    I hurled the can behind me and searched for help. Time seemed to stand still until I finally heard the sound of small shoes skipping across the hallway. A little girl stopped a few feet beside me then gawked. “Get help!” I yelled. “Pull the alarm! Pull the alarm!” The girl threw both hands on her tiny mouth. “Come on!” I ordered. “Move your ass!”
    The girl blinked her eyes. “Oh … I’m telling, ” the girl cooed before she broke into a run. A few moments later I heard the clanging sound of the alarm. Using both hands, I scooped up pebbles of gravel and tossed them into the flames. Knowing that fire needed oxygen to grow stronger, I intended to shovel enough gravel to snuff it out.
    When I saw that the mountain-sized pile of gravel smothered the flames, I fell backward to watch the wisps of gray smoke that rose. I wiped the sweat from my face with my blackened hands. My head snapped to the right when I heard someone scream, “Over here! The fire’s over here!” A feeling of fear crept up my spine. A moment later I sprinted down the street as the screeching sounds of fire trucks pierced my ears and a small fleet of trucks raced by. Out of habit, I waved. A fireman strapped to the end of one of the trucks smiled as he waved back.
    The next morning I met John on the corner by his house. We both agreed to deny any involvement in yesterday’s fire, and he again stressed his threat to me. “Besides, ” John said with a wide smile, “you’re a member of the gang now. You’re vice president.”
    I felt on top of the world, until I strolled into the classroom. Every head turned my way as my