The Burn Journals Read Free Page A

and kind of half smiles at me as he walks out. Mrs. Robins is still sitting behind her desk and she calls out for me to come in. She's wearing a red dress that I can't stop staring at.
    She says, “Do you know why you're here?”
    I say, “I don't know. I'm not sure.”
    “Do you want to take a guess?”
    “Um, the thing in gym?”
    “Yes, the arson in second-period gym on Friday. Do you know anything about that?”
    “No. I don't know anything about that.”
    “Did you see what happened?”
    “No, I didn't see what happened.”
    “Do you know who did it?”
    “No, I don't know who did it.”
    “Brent, if you know anything or if you were somehow involved, it would be much better for you to say so now. It would be much better. So, do you know anything?”
    “No. I don't know anything.”
    She stares at me for a few seconds. “Okay, you can go.” I get up and walk out of the office.
    She knows that I did it.
             
    When seventh period is finally over, I run to my locker and put all my books inside. I won't need them anymore. I grab my lock-picking set and a spare Ace of Spades that I have lying around.
    At the end of the hallway, I can see Stephen talking to Megan, the girl we both have a crush on. I walk up to them and say hi. She smiles at me and I try to smile back. He looks a little suspicious.
    I don't really want to say anything, I don't want to tell them what I'm going to do. I hand him the Ace of Spades and say, “Good-bye,” and I walk away. I hope they'll be happy together.
    I see my friend Jake at his locker and give him the lock-picking set. “Use them wisely,” I say, and head toward the bus.
    Laura walks with me down D hall. She says, “Hey, I heard you set that fire in gym class.”
    “Yeah.”
    “What are you going to do?”
    “I'm going to set myself on fire.” She stops at her locker, and I keep walking.
             
    On the bus ride home, I sit by myself. I lean my head against the cold glass window and try not to think about all the stupid things I've done, all the bad things I've done, and all the pain I've caused everyone.
             
    My brother is playing basketball outside the house when I get home. He's shooting free throws.
    I rebound the ball for him and throw it back. I don't want to take any shots. I tell him the whole story, about what I did and what they're going to do to me. I don't tell him what I'm going to do to myself.
    When I'm done talking, he says, “That sucks,” and I go inside the house. I don't have to write a note anymore. Craig knows everything.
    I walk out to the shed to get the gas can. I bring it inside to the bathroom at the top of the stairs because that's the room with the most locks. I go back downstairs and get the matches from the kitchen.
             
    I take off all my clothes and put on the pair of red boxers with glow-in-the-dark lips that my mom bought for me at the mall last weekend. I bring my bathrobe into the shower and I pour the gasoline all over it. The gas can is only about a quarter full, but it seems like enough.
    I step into the bathtub and I put the bathrobe over my shoulders. It's wet and heavy, but there's something kind of comforting about the smell, like going on a long car trip. I hold the box of matches out in front of me in my left hand.
    I take out a strike-anywhere match and hold it against the box.
    Should I do it?
    Yes. Do it.
    I strike the match, but it doesn't light. Try again.
    I light the match. Nothing happens. I bring it closer to my wrist and then it goes up, all over me, eating through me everywhere. I can't breathe. I'm screaming, “Craig! Craig!”
    I fall down. I'm going to die. I'm going to find out what death is like. I'm going to know. But nothing's happening.
    This hurts too much. I need to stop it. I need to get up. I stand. I don't know how I stand, but I do, and I turn on the shower. I'm breathing water and smoke. I unlock the door and open it. My hand is all black. I