Sixty-Two ☼ Phan

Twenty-Four

To think, I was worried about what my mom would say when I got sent home a day early.

Getting arrested is so much worse.

"You don't have to do this, Dan," Phil whispered to me.

I shifted in my handcuffs. The sun had barely risen, and a smell of smoke was present still, even after hours passing. A thin line, it rose all the way into the sky, like a cry for help, dispersing and mixing with the overhead clouds so far that, at one point upward, it was no longer noticeable.

"You really don't," Peej agreed.

"I want to," I told them.

Chris was staring at his feet, seemingly still a little shaken. James was talking to the police with Mr. L, who was, quite frankly, looking generally pissed.

"But you weren't the only one," Peej argued. "We all did it. It's not right for you to take the blame."

"I deserve the blame," I replied truthfully. "Besides, we can't break your perfect record, now, can we?"

He smiled softly, looking away.

I could feel the whole camp watching me. They weren't outside, hadn't been allowed. The only reason Phil, Chris, and Peej had been allowed to stand there was because they were scheduled to be picked up themselves any minute for their day-early suspension. Everybody else was staring through the windows, like it was a tank at the aquarium. There were six police cars parked, lights still flashing. A firetruck, too, next to the main hall, of which was damaged beyond repair. Firemen circled the burnt building, inspecting it, trodding through soot.

"Well, on the bright side, you're no longer the center of attention," I told Phil.

He laughed. "You're right. I only had five police cars come."

I laughed, too. Even if I was probably going to jail, I didn't regret anything. That had been the best fire I'd set yet, it was what made up for all that'd happened at that stupid camp. It was my revenge. My justice. My own Bruce Wayne moment.

James walked back over to us, seeming rather pleased with himself.

"I've got good news and bad news," he said promptly. "Which first?"

"The bad news," I told him.

"The bad news is that your mom is on her way."

I felt my heart stop. Chris, Peej, and Phil all looked at one another.

"But the good news is that Mr. L isn't going to press charges."

"How did you manage that?" I asked.

He smiled devilishly. "Well, despite the fact the kitchen had been destoryed itself, certain files which proclaim that the food hadn't quite been meeting health regulations the past couple of years had miraculously been made into several copies over night."

"You didn't," Chris stated.

"I did," he said proudly.

We stared at him with wide eyes. James never stopped to amaze me. I suddenly lost all fervor of spite towards my dad leftover from the fire. The ashes of my grief had been rebuilt, resurrected, changed into something completely new: a sense of admiration for the man standing in front of me, who knew my dad on an entirely different level, one I never had and, now, never will.

James left once more to talk to Mr. L and my mom pulled up about a half hour later. Birds were chriping obnoxiously, as usual, entirely oblivious to the situation. Her bright, cotton candy blue car parked right next to the police ones, a strange contrast of color. I watched, from where I stood, as she got out and circled around to talk with the policemen.