Trapped in School (Watty Awards 2012 Nominee)

Chapter Twenty-Four: Burning Books

Lunch consisted of sandwhichs and what I liked to call “snow milk.” Lucas, fearful that our milk would spoil since the fridge wasn’t running, insisted that we stick the milk between the window and piles of snow outside. It was actually a pretty smart idea, not that I would admit it. Instead I teased Lucas about our snow milk for no real reason.

“So,” I began, taking a bite of my sandwhich and chewing thoughtfully “What’s the plan for the rest of the day? Are we going to go back to the office and try to find the landline again, or would you rather sit around here and watch the snow melt?” Lucas chuckled, taking a sip of his milk that was as white as his teeth. Damn. How did his teeth stay so white? Mine were slightly yellowed, partially from my English heritage, and partially from my tea obsession, which also probably came from my English heritage.

Focus Nat!

“I don’t think the snows really melting, dispite what we like to think,” stated Lucas “But I was thinking we could light a fire in here and hang out for a little while before we venture back out into the school. It’s getting really cold.”

“That sounds boring,” I replied bluntly. Lucas rolled his eyes.

“It’s the best I could come up with. Unless of course you would perfer for me to do a tap dance,” he said.

“That would be nice,” I giggled. He smiled back, taking a final bite of his sandwhich with a glint in his grey-blue eyes.

After eating, Lucas requested I “fufill my housewife duties and clean up” while he searched for some matches. This earned him a slap on the arm, a free Natalie-glare, and a dishtowel in his hands. I rummaged through our emergency supplies with the backround noise of Lucas sarcastically singing “It’s a Hard Knock Life,” while he scrubbed the dishes.

“Now what,” I said, tossing the matches on the counter and smirking. Lucas shut off the water, wiping his wet hands on his jeans. He picked up the box of matches off the counter and held them up to his face.

“Now we find some crappy books and burn them,” he said. I gasped.

“Lucas! We can’t burn books!” I yelled. It was nerd blasphemy to even suggest such a thing. Burning books was right next to kicking puppies on my list of horrible things. But Lucas didn’t seem to get this concept as he scoffed, walking around me to the little bookshelf right next to the windows. He pulled out a book and tilted the cover towards the dim light coming from the window.

“Here’s a good one to burn: The Kite Runner. What do you think?” Lucas said. I was still standing at the counted, my hands balled at my sides.

“We’re not burning that!” I replied. My face was beginning to grow hot, not out of embaressment, but from the fact that Lucas seemed to have shut off his ears to anything I had to say. We couldn’t burn books! If anything else other then the moral matters, the school was sure to kill us.

“Why not? It’s so cliché, and the overt symbolism is almost as bad as Lord of the Flies. But then again, that applies to all literature written after the eighties,” mused Lucas, now giving the book in his hands a second glance. I crossed my arms over my chest and gave a sigh. But Lucas, unable to take a hint, set the book aside and plucked another one off the shelf.

“Ah, here’s a good one; The Old Man and the Sea. One hundred pages about a fish and nothing else. Burn pile,” said Lucas, dropping the book. But before that book even hit the floor, I was there, my heart pounding in my chest and my eyes narrowed. I snatched the book off the ground.

“Are you an idiot? This novella is a classic, one of the few that actually deserved a Nobel Prize,” I said. I hugged the book to my chest protectively. Much to my surprise, Lucas laughed and pecked me on the lips.

“Well someone is protective of her Hemingway. Okay, have it your way, but if I find Across the River and Into the Trees it’s definitely going into the burn pile,” he said. I rolled my eyes.

“I won’t argue that one, trust me, I’m not that hardcore Hemingway,” I replied.

The burn pile ended up consisting of five books; The Kite Runner by

Khaled Hosseini, The Mysterious Stranger by Mark Twain, Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov, Beloved by Toni Morrison, and Twilight by Stephanie Sparkle Meyers. Oh wait, that’s not her real name? It should be.

I ended up being the herioc savoir of The Old Man and the Sea by Ernest Hemingway as well as Lord Jim by Joseph Conrad. Lucas and I could agree though that The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain and Call of the Wild by Jack London deserved to be left out of our burn pile.

By the time we were done organizing our piles, I realized that Lucas had, in his own way, persuaded me into burning books. Once this realization hit me, I decided to go all Call of the Wild myself and followed my first instinct in tackling Lucas. He gasped as I pinned him to the ground.

“You tricked me!” I said. Lucas blinked a few times, still getting over the intial shock of getting tackled, then let a slow smile spread across his face.

“Did I?” he said mock innocently. I had pinned him at his wrists, not his shoulders, which I found to be a very bad idea as it still left him enough wriggle room to reach up and kiss me on the lips yet again. This had the result of turning me into a pile of mush. Lucas took advantage of this quickly, snaking out from underneath me and standing up. I let out a whine of protest and stood up as well, only to be grabbed at the waist and slung over Lucas’s shoulder.

“Lucas!” I screamed. I tried getting off, but Lucas had too tight a hold on me. He laughed and carried me across the room to the couch. I landed with a thump on the piece of furniture, but before I could yell at him, Lucas tossed a blanket atop my head and walked away. I yanked the blanket off me and glared.

“You’re a jerk!” I spat. All I got in response was a laugh and then silence. Soon I heard a crackling noise and saw the little spot on the wall in front of me light up with an orange light. I turned around to find Lucas had lit the fire only a few feet from the couch. Without a word he walked up next to me, ruffling my hair when I looked up at him and proceeding to take the arm of the couch in both hands and push. I let out a squeak as the couch did a 180 with me still on it.

“And there you go princess,” Lucas said, plopping down next to me “We’ve got ourselves a fire.”

A/N-- Hey everyone! So I'd like to address a few things today.

1. I'm going on a short hiatus. Just a week, because it's show week of my play. I may/may not find time to update, but please don't expect every day. Once the show is over, I promise I will try to make my updates nice and quick. Thanks for being patient.

2. I get a lot of wonderful comments, as well as some very helpful criticisms. But some of the comments I have recieved lately have not been so helpful, but hurtful. A lot of readers have complained that my chapters are too short or my updates take too long. I'm sorry you guys are aggravated by this, but that is just how my story is.

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