I hadn't done anything wrong. Not really.
But there was nothing I could do about it now. I'd argued and explained until I'd been blue in the face, but none of it had done any good, not even when my grandparents had argued on my behalf.
According to the school administrators, I was just lucky I hadn't been sued for damages or kicked out of school entirely.
Lucky? Not the way I saw it.
Goodbye scholarship. Hello…? Well, I didn't quite know yet.
But I'd have to think of something.
As I trudged along the lonely sidewalk, I reached into the pocket of my jeans and felt around for that godawful lighter. On that fateful day, I'd found it halfway down the hall just before ducking into the girls' restroom to wash my face and stare at my new reflection – the one with singed hair and missing eyebrows.
When I was done staring at the damage, I'd slipped the lighter into my pocket, intending to wave it in Brody's face, just like he'd done to me.
But I didn't – because by then, I was in more than enough trouble already.
And yet, for some inexplicable reason, I'd been carrying the lighter with me ever since. Why, I wasn't quite sure. Maybe I was superstitious. Or maybe I just figured that by holding onto it, I was keeping it away from Brody.
It was ridiculous, I know.
I mean, as if he couldn’t buy another cheap lighter any time he wanted.
As I walked aimlessly down the street, I pulled out the lighter and gave it a tentative flick. The flame flickered to life for only a moment before a sudden breeze snuffed it out – much like my scholarship had been snuffed out by Brody's carelessness.
I gave the lighter another flick, and this time, the flame held.
In my other hand was the printout of my grades. I looked from the lighter to the printout and back again.
A bitter scoff escaped my lips. Maybe I should torch the paper and be done with it. After all, the report card wasn't a keeper, not even literally. All too soon, I'd be getting a final one in the mail.
Just as I'd decided that I wasn't the torching type, I happened to spot Brody's truck parked along the curb of the very next block.
I flicked off the lighter and kept on walking as I eyed the vehicle. It was definitely Brody's. I'd seen him driving it in the school parking lot so many times, I'd recognize it anywhere.
It was a big red, rusty thing with an extended cab and a long dent along the side. From bumper to bumper, the truck was old and ugly. But hey, I wasn't one to judge. At least Brody had a vehicle, which was more than I could say for myself.
Me? I was still taking the bus.
Not today though.
Today, I'd actually done the unthinkable. I'd skipped my final class to leave school early.
I didn't even know where I was going or how I'd be getting back to my grandparent's place. I just knew that I was about to pop – or burst out crying – and the last thing I wanted to do was cry in class.
That class was chemistry, where I'd be sitting in the same classroom as Brody. Or at least, we would've been sitting in the same classroom if only both of us hadn't apparently decided to be somewhere else.
By now, I'd reached the familiar red pickup but saw no sign of its owner. Still, he couldn’t be too far away. The truck's windows were rolled all the way down, as if Brody might return any moment.
Or maybe he always left it open like this.
Either way, it only went to prove how careless he was, even with the little things.
I stopped walking and took a long, silent look around. By now, I'd traveled maybe a dozen blocks away from the school.
The area was pleasant and peaceful, with big, beautiful houses and nicely kept yards.
Was this where Brody lived?
The house nearest to his truck was a two-story bungalow with neatly trimmed hedges and a wide, welcoming porch, complete with an old-fashioned porch swing and pots of red flowers lining the front steps.
Weird.
For some reason, I'd always envisioned Brody living someplace a lot rougher. But hey, it just went to show, huh?
Never judge a book by its cover and all that.
As I stared at the house, a wave of bitterness washed over me. Somewhere nearby, a lawnmower was humming along, and the scent of freshly mowed grass lent a sweetness to the air that might've lightened my mood if only all of my plans hadn't just gone up in smoke – and I meant that literally.
As my thoughts swirled, and my anger burned, I looked once again to Brody's pickup. If I were a different kind of person, I'd light my report card on fire and toss it into his truck, maybe leave a nice burn mark where his ass met the upholstery.
To my surprise, I was actually considering it.
My hands were loose at my sides, and I was still holding the lighter and the printout. The lighter was off, and the printout was fluttering in the breeze.
Was it fate that had carried me here?
I stared long and hard at the truck before finally shaking my head. No. It wasn't fate. It was stupidity. And whatever else I might be, I wasn't stupid, even if I was stupidly angry at everything Brody had cost me.
I sighed. Talk about pathetic.
Even when it came to revenge, here I was, still playing by the rules, for all the good it did me.
I was such a sap.
But then, with sudden inspiration, I raised the lighter and the paper. With one hand, I wadded up the paper into a nice, tight ball and then flicked on the lighter.
I held the wadded paper to the flame and watched as the flame caught. With a bitter laugh, I tossed the flaming wad not into the cab of his truck, but
