ONE:
Lighter, Lighter, Pants on Fire
High schoolers were utterly obnoxious.
Now I don’t like to believe in stereotypes - they are the downfall of society and all that shit - but in this new school, there are many teenagers that prove them to be correct; That follow the stupid tropes.
These teenagers are mostly the grade nines. (Niners, as the older grades like to call us).
Maybe they’re still running high on the fumes of being the oldest in elementary. Maybe they’re thinking their choices are relevant now that they’re with the big kids. Hell, maybe they think they get to be more independent since they graduated two of the five schools you can. I guess the reason why we ride on a high horses is different to each person.
I ride the not so popular horse; one that’s done with all the cliche shit.
I want to chill, graduate to the best of my abilities, and be true to all.
It’s 2018; people should stop conforming to old-timey societal standards.
The air of the school halls is stunk up with too much perfume and too much cologne. Girls in packs squeal when they see people they used to know; Guys give hard hugs to hide how soft they are. Others, who don’t want to interact or are too scared to, hurry down the hall with downcasted heads.
When I walk down the halls, I do not scurry.
I hold my head high and strain my shoulders against the crushing expectations of society. My bag full of textbooks would knock them down before they could me.
First-day orientation was boring, not to mention irrelevant. Older grades were exempt from starting on the fifth to help the Niners find their way around without pressure. We played name games, did a scavenger hunt finding the subject halls, were lined up according to number and alphabetization; and were reminded time and time again of how smoking of any kind would not be tolerated on school grounds.
The solution to that was simple. Smoke on the properties around the school; Like a forest that’s protected by the government.
I say this now. Don’t be like me and smoke when you’re underage. Find better ways than doing illegal shit to help you cope.
And don’t smoke weed when your brain isn’t done developing. Don’t be like Jam, who has a joint clasped between his lips knowing fully well how it will mess with the chemicals in his brain.
“Okay, okay,” he says, probably not even realizing he repeated the word. “And then I yawned as loud as I could - a real big one - and I looked this dude straight in the eye; And he just smiled and said, tired?”
His laughter bounced off the trees as he remembered the hysterical scene that transpired during the last week of summer break. His shoulders bounced as his chest stretched and compressed from each breath. His head bounced from his shoulders bouncing.
His joint was clasped between his lips, ember lit; it made the scar on his laughing lines glow.
The air that smelled like skunk was much more pleasing than the chemical perfumes that crowded the halls of the school.
There were two more people here, both clad in greasy sweatshirts. They had been here before Jam and I and were so high they struggled to light the joint clasped between each other’s lips. Their fingers quivered violently, probably from the brownies they had earlier. I was worried they would burn themselves with their clumsy hands.
Jam clapped me on my shoulder, forcing my body forward, still dying over his tale. I sent him a tight smile, making sure to keep the other two’s movements in my peripheral vision.
“It must’ve been hard to keep walking after that.” I commented, taking a glance at the time on my phone. My stomach was contently heavy; but even still I wished lunch break was longer. I still needed to switch out my books and binders. Sighing, I slipped my vape out of my jeans and rapidly pushed the button.
It turned on, coloured light contrasting black casing, and I inhaled. Cucumber and Honeydew grazed the back of my throat and H20 nicotine swirled in my chest. Delicious.
The bliss was cut short as a spiking feeling licked my jeans. It crawled my calf with tiny ant legs, and bit into my skin with serrated shark teeth.
Flinging myself backwards, I tried to blindly get as far away from the thing that caused my pain as possible. It flashed in my eyes as bright as the alarms in my head. Red, yellow, orange; burning; Helios.
“SON OF A BITCH.” I cried, dropping my vape. My hands twitched swatting at the flames, pain clouding my actions. The flames persisted for a couple more nips before they went out, leaving me in smouldering jeans.
“Oh my god,” Jam said, killing himself laughing. I looked up at the other two, glaring when I saw their slow blinks and empty fingers. Their lighter was on the floor. I picked it up and then snatched their joints from their mouths.
“You two,” I pointed from one to another, “are done for the day.”
Their worlds seemed to end as they watched me drop the joints and crush them beneath the soles of my shoes. The ground made a sizzle and the wet leaves protested when I swivelled my foot.
“You’re done for the day,” The one in gray jeans slurred back. His friend started sobbing, muttering about a fire fairy that did it; before mourning the joints.
“They were so young,” he cried, throwing his hands up. “You murderer!”
“My jeans were young and you burned them,” I threw back, grabbing my bag and vape off the leafy floor before brushing them clean. “Now we’re even.”
He cried louder, annoying my ears. Screw him - I wouldn’t feel bad. These were my favourite skinny jeans. The joints in Jam’s bag could replace what he lost. My jeans would never go back to the way they were, and now I’d smell like a forest fire when I got back to the school.
“You’ll rue the day you did this!” he wailed.
“You now rue the day you almost made me a torch,” Throwing my bag over my shoulder, I trekked down the path to the school; my fingers running over the shining casing of the lighter. “And I’m keeping your lighter.”
He shouted, now angry, but I paid him no mind as I held the gold thing between my fingers. It had numbers engraved on it - proving it to be precious metal - and a symbol as well. Not a dragon or a marijuana leaf like I expected, but something else; Kind of like a kite - one of the diamond ones - where one half was longer than the other; and the sticks holding it together looked like a chicken's foot (toes at the top leg at the bottom). The casing was also really hot. Like temperature hot. Like, burn your finger at contact hot.
“Seriously,” I said, dropping the thing and cradling my second burn of the day. “Oh hot fingers in a bad way.”
That drop, was how the lighter made contact with the floor.
And somehow burst into flames.
Flames that engulfed my form and drowned out Jam’s cries when he actually processed the danger.
What a great fourth day a school.
I really like your writing on this one - I think it’s your best so far. However, I’m not quite sure what the whole point is. Nonetheless, lots of nice narrative voice and style.