Backdraft

The pencil was in his face before he had a chance to bend down and grab it off the floor. He took it. And looked at the boy on the other end of it. "Thanks," said Mark.

"You're welcome." The boy smiled.

All the blood in Mark's heart rushed into his brain, throbbing in waves against the inside of his skull. He smiled. For the first time all school year, he smiled. Then nodded and looked down to the paper on his desk, his eyes flitting to the side to catch a glimpse of the boy's Air Jordans as they walked away. And the blood refused to flow, it just ebbed and ebbed and ebbed and Daniel Riley and Daniel Riley and Daniel Riley Daniel RileyDanielRileyDanielRiley-

The school bell rang and the children got into line and followed their teacher, a small, freckled black woman in an ill-fitting green dress, out to the playground, little groups forming as their feet hit the sand and taking off to this set of monkey bars or that sliding board or some other metal apparatus offering a break from the forced air-conditioned homogeneity of the classroom. Mark took up his usual spot on the far end of the playground, balancing himself on a short beam of wood that helped close in the fun of the other children.

"Hey-"

Mark turned and quickly looked down, sucking a silent breath into his lungs. "Hey-"

"You wanna see something?"

Mark nodded. "What?"

"Come here-" Daniel jumped up on the beam, looked around a few times, and took off, one foot in front of the other, his eyes fixed straight ahead. Mark followed, his legs bloodless, numb, floating Daniel Riley Daniel RileyDanielRileyDanielRiley-

Daniel stopped at the bottom of a small but steep brush-lined dip just past the playground, from which they could see only the tops of the rocking swingsets. He turned around and held out his hand. Mark glanced down, then up into Daniel's blue eyes, the irises of which were outlined by deep black rings, and giggled. Daniel's dimples appeared as Mark took the match box from his hand, his chest heavy with forced breathing, and opened it, spilling the matches into his hand.

Zzet zzet zzet zzet zzet zzet zzet zzet zzet zzet zzet zzet zzet zzet zzet zzet

The brush caught fire on the 17th match, and the two boys ran back up to the playground, pushing each other back and forth with their shoulders and laughing. As they joined the rest of the class marching in single-file back into the red-brick building they would call home during the day for the next 5 years, they looked back and saw the first visible tips of the conflagration shoot above the playground. Mark put up his small hand and Daniel met it with his in the few inches of space between their grinning faces.