“What’s that?” asked Jebediah.
A collective whispering curse bounced around the empty room of antique
shelves. Jebediah Wilkins was the number one snitch of the school, but his
actual job is being a hall monitor. We knew we were in deep trouble, more so than the previous times, like the time the boys and I wound every clock for
each time zone, or the time we gave out a few USB drives with certain
images—ones that would have sent us to jail—, like flames and torches; luckily
no one knew who distributed.
“Listen, Jeb, buddy. This is uh…” Nelson didn’t know how to finish that
sentence. I mean, who could have, we have contraband that is worth several
years in prison for adults alone. Nelson Richmond was the instigator in most of
our devious plans, but this one was pure coincidence, a collective mishap.
“It’s a toy. You know how some countries outside are, they make the most
outlandish things for the kids these days.” Michael tried his best to follow up
on Nelson but you know that story could only fool fifth graders, unlike Jeb, the ninth grader. Michael
Vizcarrondo—none of us has actually tried to learn how to say it but he doesn’t
mind, no one does in school; not even the teachers or the principal—is not the
smartest in school but he is the smartest in the group, and seeing how he
fumbled that story was another step into juvey.
The worst part is that the less culpable of us, Howard Levinsky, is
holding the item in question: a lighter. The lighter was small—about middle
finger length—, with a white background and two red roses, the starter felt
rusty but the wheel still functioned, and we figured there wasn’t much fuel
left. We knew the fuel was used up because Howard still had it pressed since
Jeb had caught us and the flame kept dancing with our universal awe, and then
sudden darkness.
“You know fire is forbidden,” sneered Jeb. There was an odd change in
mood, even in darkness we all could perceive it. “Listen, I won’t say anything.
This is my first time seeing fire and I’m sure you guys are the only ones with cojones
to bring that thing to school. I’ll keep quiet this time but I don’t want any of you with pyro materials ever again. I know this can get every one of you
to prison in less than a minute. Now, get out of here, I’ll just say I saw you
skipping class in the bathroom in hall two.” Jeb stopped me and whispered, “I
won’t tell if you put it in Mr. Carmichel’s desk,” and then walked off.
I wish I had doubts that prevented me from doing it but Mr. Carmichel is
one hell of a teacher, like, several layers of illegal that shouldn’t be
permitted in school. One time he told the class about his technical ethnic
background and how he should not be in the states whatsoever. His reasoning:
that he was born mid-flight between Cuba and Florida—usually mentions that he was
born in the Bermuda Triangle—, and the fact that he ripped his passport for
fear of being tracked.
Jeb’s proposal gave me the jitters, my nerves standing on end every few
seconds as I walked to his classroom. Luckily, he was just getting out of a class
and needed a bathroom break so I did my thing and no one was the wiser.
Ten minutes after me planting the evidence, the whole school is in total
lockdown as the police barge in unannounced—but surely invited—grabbing Mr.
Carmichel like a ragdoll as he claims his innocence. From that day on we
promised not to mess with fire regardless of the circumstances.