I didn’t stop walking until I found myself around the back of the gas station, out of sight of the school field and all the people there. Then I leaned back against the stone wall of the convenience store and shut my eyes, tears finally escaping.

What the hell just happened? What was that? And what do I do now?

That was the question wasn’t it? What the heck did I do with myself now? The school would be calling for my arrest, very likely, and the idea of going home and relying on Dad to help me was ridiculous. The only thing Dad would do about the situation was blacken both my eyes and scream at me for awhile. I sucked in a deep breath and opened my eyes again, staring down at my hand, turning it over to examine the fingers. What had happened to me? There had been a tingling feeling and then…fire. Fire that didn’t burn me. How had I done it?

Something in me wondered if I could do it again if I wanted. If I could call up orange flames to encase my arm any time I wanted, like some kind of weird super power. But another part of me was sick about the whole thing, terrified that something horrible was happening to me. That next time, it would burn me.

Where did I go now? Did I go back home and try to pretend that nothing had even happened? No, that didn’t work. Even if I pretended that nothing had happened, the police would show up at my door and then…

No. I can’t go back home.

So…I would run. My fingers curled into fists again, and for a moment my hands tingled and it sent a stab of panic through me. When I glanced down in terror I realized it was only because my hands were white and shaking, I was digging my nails into my palms, clenching them into fists so hard it hurt.

Run, my brain kept repeating, run now.

Run where?

Staring straight ahead I got my answer. The highway ran right behind the gas station, and there was the rusty shriek of breaks as one of the old city buses rumbled to a halt in front of the bus stop. I would get on a bus and go somewhere. Anywhere, as long as it was the hell away from here. Dad had relatives in Sidney, just a half hour ride from here. A sister he didn’t talk to. Maybe she would be sympathetic. What would I tell her? Obviously I couldn't show up and say, “Hey Aunt Mary, I just burned down my school and the police are looking for me. Can I crash on your couch for a few weeks?”

No, I’d have to make something up. Maybe I could say I’d been framed. That someone else set the fire and pinned it on me. That might work.

I jammed my hand into my sweatshirt pocket, feeling my stomach sink. I had a couple bucks in my pockets, since I was addicted to the stupid coke machine in the school hallway, I nearly always had change. It would get me a bus ride, but if Aunt Mary didn’t take me in, or I couldn’t track her down, I was screwed. My wallet was in my knapsack back in my locker. It had five bucks in it that I’d stolen from Dad, that wouldn’t have got me much, maybe a hot lunch, but I still felt lost without my knapsack.

My sneakers sounded loud on the pavement as I hurried to catch up with the last of the bus stop crowd, luckily an old lady with a cane was getting on at glacier speed, so the bus had to wait. Finally she was on, settling in the handicap seat at the front, and I hopped the stairs and shoved my coins in the slot, noticing the sideways glance the bus driver shot me.

What the hell is his problem?

Could he smell smoke on me, sense something weird about me? Was the news already out and people knew that Jessica Parker had set the high school on fire?

No, I was being paranoid.

The bus lurched forward while I was still halfway down the aisle, and my hand shot up and grabbed one of the swinging plastic cords to keep myself from falling over. I glanced up at it, imagining my skin growing hot, melting the plastic. Setting the bus on fire.

Yanking my hand back I staggered down the rest of the aisle and slumped into an empty seat at the very back. A long, lanky teenage boy in a black band t-shirt stared unashamedly at me, the glare of the bus lights made red spots of acne stand out harshly against his pale skin. I ignored him the best I could, tipping my face forward so that my long brown hair obscured my face.

It was my imagination. No one was really looking at me any more than usual. Nobody knew what had happened, it was too soon to know. It was still happening.

The thought that it was still happening, that the school was still burning, made my stomach plunge yet again. What if someone got badly hurt? What if someone died? It would be my fault. What if I saw it on the news later? Horrible visions were going through my head now, headlines about kindergarten kids trapped in the classrooms, or a teacher going back in for something and being trapped. I couldn’t help it, tears started burning my eyes, and I blinked furiously, determined not to start crying on the bus.

When I looked up the pimple-faced teenage boy was still staring at me, and I gave him my best grimace. His eyes widened slightly and he glanced away out the window.

Good, you can just stop staring at me, you little freak.

Freak? A small, cruel voice answered me in my head, that boy there is a freak? Why, because he has some acne? What about you? What about the fact that part of your body burst into flames and didn’t burn? What about the fact that you burnt your school down and then ran away?

I tried to push the thoughts down, staring out the window at the houses crawling by. Why couldn’t I have grabbed my bag before I ran, or remembered to pick up the walkman? At least that would have given me something to do other than stare out the window and wonder if the boy next to me was staring again.

The landscape was slowly changing, the houses growing farther apart. They were bigger now, with high arching windows and freshly painted trim. The lawns were green and fenced with white picket. Nothing like my neighborhood, with its towering apartment buildings and peeling paint. I’d been to Sidney a few times when I was younger. There hadn’t been much need to go, there wasn’t much in the little seaside town beside bookstores and coffee shops, but Dad had taken me a couple times to get ice cream down by the water, when things had been better.

It had been years ago, and I didn’t really recognize the landscape. We had to be close though, it felt like the ride was taking forever. We were passing a clump of buildings now, and a yellow, glowing sign rose up out of the background. The golden arches. My stomach rumbled angrily, and I shifted in my seat. What was I going to do about food? I had nothing left, only a few cents. And I wasn’t sure exactly where my aunt lived. It might take me awhile to find her.

Another couple of minutes went by, and finally I could see a wide green field, and behind that, a spread of small buildings, restaurants and shop fronts. That had to be it. In spite of my worry about food it was still a relief to see it. I hadn’t gotten on the wrong bus in my panic or anything.

The bus shuddered slightly as it rounded the bend of the merge lane, barging its way between two cars as it passed the wooden sign that said “Welcome to Sidney”.

Resting my forehead on the glass pane I peered out at the little town as it went slowly by. I counted two grocery stores, and then, as I had suspected, a number of quaint bookstores and coffee shops. A colorful toy store, a tea shop, an old fashioned post office. Finally the bus turned left and came to a stop in front of a covered bus shelter. The doors whooshed open and I hauled myself out of the seat, ignoring the pimple-faced boy as I did so, sure he would be staring at my ass as I departed.

Whatever, let him stare.

I used the middle door, relieved when my feet hit the sidewalk. The bus took off almost immediately, a cloud of warm air sending my hair flying in my face. Now the sidewalk was empty, and I found myself standing alone in the sheltered bus stop, with only the neon scrawl of graffiti and an empty starbucks coffee cup for company.

What now?  I had no idea where in Sidney my aunt lived.

It was a small town though, so people had to know one another, right? I would just got to the local coffee shop and ask someone if they knew her. Everyone would know everyone, right?

At least, I hoped that was the case.

I marched down the sidewalk, renewed confidence in my step. Nobody would know me here, they wouldn’t be looking for me here, at least, not yet.  The first place that caught my eye was a little shop made of red bricks with a sign in the shape of a coffee cup. I ducked inside, shoving my hands into my sweatshirt pockets and found myself standing at the tail end of a line of six or more people. The inside was packed with tables and chairs and filled with soft jazz music and the quiet murmur of conversation.

It would be better to skip the line, since I wasn’t buying anything. Unfortunatly.

When I came around to stand at the side of the counter the aroma of freshly baked cinnamon buns hit me, and my stomach gave a loud growl of protest. I jammed my hands deeper into my pockets and glared at the back of the clerk behind the counter, who was busy pouring coffee for a customer.

“Excuse me, I have a question.”

Irritation was written clearly on his face when he turned around, as if he couldn’t believe that I’d dared jump line to ask him a question, “What?”

Reminding myself to remain civil until after I had my answer, I said evenly, “Would you happen to know if a Mary Parker lives somewhere around here?”

The blank look he gave me was enough of an answer, and I said, “No, huh? Okay, well thanks,” and spun away, mouthing under my breath, “for nothing, jerk.”

The bell over the door jangled cheerfully as I pushed my way outside, nearly running into a couple of tourists who were taking pictures of the coffee cup sign. Continuing down the sidewalk I ducked into the post office. If anyone would know where my aunt would be, it would probably be a postal worker. For some reason it just made sense to me, maybe that wasn’t the case, but it was worth a try. Maybe she got her mail there.

There was no line up in front of the long wooden desk, so I stepped up, and the clerk peered over his glasses at me with interest, “Yes, young lady?”

I hated it when people called me that.

“Do you know a Mary Parker that lives here in Sidney?”

He blinked at me and puckered his lips just a little, apparently thinking, and for just a second I imagined him as an owl, with his round glasses and narrow mouth.

“That’s a remarkably common name,” he said.

“Yes, well…so I guess that’s a no?”

“I’m afraid I don’t know anyone by that name, she may live here, but I don’t recall ever meeting her.”

“Well, thanks,” I started to turn away, but he called after me.

“Would you like a phone book?”

A mixture of relief and annoyance shot through me, and I turned back with a groan, “I can’t believe I didn’t think of that!”

Owl man smiled at me, reaching under the desk for the phone book and plunking it onto the table with a ceremonious gesture, “There you are, young lady.”

I forgave him for the “young lady” bit this time, giving his a grateful smile and flipping through the pages to the “P” section. The smile faded quickly when I saw how many “Parkers” there were in Sidney. Pages and pages of them.

What do I do? Call them all?

Owl man must have see my face drop, because he leaned forward and peered at the page I was looking at, “Too many Parkers?”

“There are like, six pages of them,” I slumped forward and dropped my head into my hand, “how am I going to find her?”

“Do you know her husband’s name? Or maybe her first initial is there.”

“She’s not married,” I said, but I was already scanning the pages for ‘Parker. M’.

There was a Parker N, but that was no help. A few Parker F’s and a Parker Y, and that was it.

I slammed the book shut, shaking my head, “well, thanks for lending me the book. Looks like I’ll have to keep asking around.”

“Maybe she’s not listed,” Owl man shrugged, “well, good luck.”

“Thanks.”

Once I was back out on the sidewalk I just sort of wandered back down the main street, unsure of where exactly I was going, heading towards the water. It was starting to get dark, and the sidewalks were clear for the most part, only a few couples strolling around holding hands. I noticed that they were all wearing winter jackets, scarves and hats. I could see my breath rising up in clouds around me, but for some reason I wasn’t cold. I wasn’t even getting goosebumps on my arms.

Weird.

The ocean in the near distance was just one big, black mass in the fading light, and the overhead lamps that lined the long dock out onto the water cast halos of yellow light down onto the wooden boards. I wasn’t sure where I was going now, I was just walking. Way at the end of the pier there was a little restaurant, the windows glowing with cheerful yellow light. Maybe someone there would know my aunt. Wishfully I pictured walking in there and seeing her at one of the tables. I’d say “oh, I was just looking for you! That’s crazy!” and she would laugh and ask if I wanted to stay with her for a few weeks.

Hah, and while I’m wishing, I’d like a pony….

Naw, screw a pony, I’d give my left leg for a baloney sandwich and a cup of strong black coffee at this point.

I had my head down as I walked, and the sound of clumping boots on the wooden boards and deep laughter made me look up abruptly. There were two tall forms in the darkness staggering down the pier. They must have been standing still until now, because I certainly hadn’t spotted them. I watched as they walked under one of the tall, arching lamps on the side. The dim halo of light illuminated two men, both obviously well into their sixth or seventh beer and staggering home from the restaurant at the end of the pier. They were both tall and boxy. The taller one’s face was bright red under his ball cap, and they were both weaving this way and that as they moved, feet catching on the boards every now and then, laughing uproariously at one another.

Us woman have a sort of built in alarm system around guys, and situations when we’re alone and in the dark, that alarm system is hyper vigilant. And as I stood there, watching the men stagger towards me, all the little alarms were going off in my brain. My body was telling me to get the hell out of there.

I was frozen for a moment, already halfway down the pier. Should I run back down it? Slip to one side and hope they staggered by unaware? Maybe I was being overly cautious.

Then suddenly it was too late, one of the men – the one with the baseball cap – looked up and spotted me. A huge grin split his red face, “Hey, hey darling. You going for a drink?”

Something told me to pretend to be brave. Don’t show any fear and just treat them like normal. They’re just two drunk guys, I’d dealt with that before. It was no big deal.

“Gotta get something to eat,” I tried to keep my voice cheerful, but I felt my body tense as I began to walk by them.

            The guy in the ball cap lurched in front of me, a huge grin on his face, “You hungry? I’ll give you something to eat, love.” He shot his companion a look and they both dissolved into laughter.

My smile was gone now, “I’m good thanks,” I started to move around them, and my heart shot up into my throat when the guy stepped sideways in front of me again.

“Aw, come on. I was only joking. You should come party with us.”

“Jared, come on,” his companion shoved his hands into his pockets, starting to look annoyed, “let’s go, it’s freezing out here.”

“Yeah, it is,” Jared pulled on the bill of his hat, lifting it up to peer down at me with bleary eyes, “I can warm you up. Why don’t you come with us?”

“I’m good, thanks,” I tried to walk around him again, but this time his hand darted out and grabbed my wrist, “Relax, girly…”

There was a stab of shock and panic in my chest, and instantly my arm was alive with pins and needles, the prickling sensation traveling like lightening down my shoulder and into my hand. I squeezed my eyes shut, stomach lurching. Suddenly the pressure on my wrist was gone, heavy stamping on the wooden pier, and someone was yelling frantically.

“Shit! Oh, shit!”

In spite of the terror I managed to open my eyes a crack. The dark form of Jared was lit by the orange glow of flames that climbed the sleeve of his black jacket. He was screaming now, deep, hoarse cries of pain, and his buddy was running towards him, waving his arms. I turned, panic seizing my chest so completely that my breath was coming in gasps, and ran back down the pier. Behind me the screaming suddenly ceased, and there was a loud splash in the darkness.

He's jumped off the pier! What if he drowns? Oh my god, I didn't mean to...

When I glanced back over my shoulder the dock was dark again. There was a lone figure peering over the railing, yelling something down into the water. I faced forward again, gasping and sobbing, tears blurring the yellow glow of the streetlights. I had to get away. What if they came after me after he hauled his friend out of the water? My only option was to get  to the opposite side of town as quickly as possible. Find somewhere to hide.

But where?