“So, will you join?”

She flashed her signature insufferable smile at me and it took all of my strength not to cringe. If it weren’t for her glasses, I’m almost positive her brown eyes would’ve punctured their influence into my soul. But I was stronger than that. The pink bow in her hair and her gentle face wouldn’t sway me like it had swayed the others at Buford Academy.

“Sorry, but newspaper stuff really isn’t my thing,” I said, and I made sure that my green eyes inspired nothing but rigidness. “It sounds fun and all, but I have better things to do with my time.”

Having picked up on my dryness, her smile from before fell into a disappointed frown. “Luke, you’re a great writer. I’ve seen--” She hesitated and then cleared her throat. “Mrs. Lee told me about your essays; they’re exceptional! Your flow, your voice, you keep readers engaged and--”

“I told you: not interested. Bother someone else, Opal,” I said. Promptly, I brushed past her, thankful for the gentle tone of the final bell that pulled everyone from their conversations like a magnet. My hand brushed lazily through my messy dark brown hair and I looked around at the flow of students walking down the hall around me. Their excited chatter and joyful shouts created such a din that I was tempted to cover my ears. There was nothing exciting about this place. It was only a small self-absorbed academy fixed in a small, self-absorbed town. There was no reason for such noise, such merry talks about events and future plans. It was just annoying loudness.

“You seem to be annoyed by everything, nowadays, son.” My father said to me that evening at the dinner table. His pudgy fingers drummed seriously on the tiny wooden table and created a succession of hollow thuds. “Are you enjoying school?”

I took in another bite of my TV dinner meal. The steaming heavily processed meat stung my nose, and the salty taste was almost just as unbearable. “It’s fine,” I said through the mouthful of cheap food.

“You ever think about...I dunno, joining a club or somethin’?” He asked again. His blue eyes, sunken deep into his rather chubby face, seemed to be begging with me.

“Honestly, the only thing I want is to be left alone,” I said, the same dryness back in my voice. I pushed away the dinner and adjusted my black thick rimmed glasses. “I get my A’s, I don’t cause any trouble. And I don’t tell you how to spend your time.”

My father frowned as I stood and pushed my chair back up to the rim of the table. “Son, I’m only trying to--”

“I’m going to my room. And it’d be nice if you wouldn’t bother me there, too.” I said, my voice short. Having decided to waste no more time in that tiny apartment kitchen that linked to our equally tiny living room, I walked down the hall to my room. The door slammed behind me and even caused a slight tremble in the floor. I winced as a fleeting concern of a complaint from our neighbors passed through my mind, but I quickly dismissed it. I’d had enough lecturing for one day. Some time alone would do me well.

With a weary sigh, I resigned myself to my bed and left a heavy thud and creaky mattress-spring symphony in my wake. Anything I did seemed to warrant a weak, concerned comment from anyone I encountered. At least in my sleep, the same wouldn’t be possible.

Beep! Beep! Beep! A pause. Beep! Beep! Beep!

Groggily, my eyes peeled themselves open. The gentle red glow of my alarm-clock took a few seconds to focus into anything readable. 4:07 AM. What could be making so much noise at this time of night?

My bed groaned in relief once I’d gotten myself up from it and my glasses fell comfortably back into place upon standing. I stumbled out of my room and looked at the kitchen table. My unfinished dinner was wrapped up in aluminum foil, but beside that, the kitchen was empty. The television in the living room wasn’t on either.

Beep! Beep! Beep!

“The fire alarm,” I murmured.

I rushed to the door and placed my hand on the knob. It was probably just some stupid kids playing a…

“What the--!” I shouted and quickly pulled my hand back. My palm was sizzling with heat and the red marks beneath my fingers sent a chill down my spine. It was only then that I noticed. The air felt thicker, heavy and overbearing. I was sweating, and it wasn’t just due to the growing terror. It was as if the whole room was darker, even under the cloak of night. And that annoying beeping…

My eyes widened and I faltered back away from the door. “Dad...Dad!” I shouted. My legs carried me frantically back to his room. I pounded relentlessly on his door, my voice, gripped with panic, carrying through the thin material. ‘Dad! It’s a fire, the building, a fire! I-It’s not in here yet but we gotta go, we gotta go! Dad!”

He burst through the door moments later, his clothes a mess all about him. He, too, hobbled through the door, the same sleepy look plastered on his face. “A.. fire?” He muttered.

I wasted no more time explaining and grabbed his arm. “We gotta go Dad. Follow me.”

By the time I turned around, the whole world of our tiny apartment had changed. Darkness was all that could be seen. The smoke was thick, and so black. It relentlessly attacked our throats and eyes, leaving us coughing and crying as we stumbled over chairs and tables. Soon enough, the door was upon us. My hand, reluctant to suffer the same singeing again, hesitated to open it.

“Come on!” My father bellowed. He rammed his large body into the poor wooden door. We erupted into a hall of relentless flame. It licked and clawed at us as, hungry for more material to burn. It was blinding, compared to the utter darkness from before. Wall panels fell and men and women screamed as they whisked past us, trying to escape. My father and I decided it best to follow suit.

We ran as quickly as we could through the red smoky hall, the smoke stinging our noses and throats. We coughed and shuffled carefully down the stairs. One wrong step and we could easily plunge into the fire’s eager jowls. I could feel my own hair being singed, my clothes and skin suffering from the biting burns. I wheezed and coughed, my chest feeling tight. One more flight. We were so close to the safety of outside, the freedom of fresh air. A few more steps and then…

We floundered out of the apartment just as a fiery railing crashed down the stairs. It grazed against my arm and sent me shouting in pain. Only the cool early morning air could calm the burn. My whole arm shook and I looked around us, my breath coming out in heavy white puffs. A fire truck wailed into the lot and cameras floated and bobbed all around the complex, gathering footage for early morning reports. Little children cried and held on tightly to their parents. The older folks looked on sadly and silently. Firemen frantically searched and asked around for missing people.

Amid all the chaos, one might think that I, too, would exhibit some form of panic. But...I didn’t, even as paramedics tried to see to my arm. I just stood there and measured the steady rhythm of my breath, felt the blood pulsating through my veins. My heart hammered in its cage. My feet were planted firmly on the ground. I could feel the winter air nipping at my exposed skin. I was alive. The fire had wanted my life, but...here I was. Standing. Breathing. Claiming my life for my own.

My father gently shook my shoulder. “Son? Luke?” He said insistently.

I turned to him. His face was blurry, and I felt a nagging stinging in my eyes. ‘Dad…” I whispered, my voice choked.

He held me as I bawled into his chest.

For the next few weeks, the Red Cross kept us on our feet. They provided vouchers for meals, hotels, and clothes. Some members of Buford Academy even went so far as to raise money for my father and I, to help us rebuild what we’d had in that tiny apartment. It wasn’t easy, but it was doable. And with all of the help, our menu wasn’t as constricted to cheap TV dinner meals.

The day before the apartment was set to be demolished, I wandered back there to see it, one last time. The charred black building could’ve easily been my grave. Yet, there I was, upright and more than ready to take hold of this thing called life. It was mine, after all. I had to do something with it and not just simply exist. If I had died right there in that complex, what would anyone have said about my life?

“Hey! Luke!”

I turned to the voice and blinked, pulled from my thoughts. There Opal stood, a high definition camera held delicately in her hands. She had a green bow in her hair today, and wore a scarf to match. Her smile was soft. I offered a greeting and turned to her, then asked, “What are you doing here?”

“I came to take some pictures of the building before it was torn down. For the paper,” she said, obviously reluctant to share that last bit with me. Then, she continued, “I...was wondering, Luke. You lived through the fire, so it would only be fitting if you, well, wrote a column about your experience. With all of the fundraising going on, it would help the students to understand the need, and--”

I placed a hand on her shoulder and offered a smile.

“When’s the deadline?”