Intended or not, Tally’s ditching Declan comment lit a fire in me. I don’t need a boyfriend, fake or otherwise. One faux fight and breakup scene in the parking lot guarantees my temporary solitude. What’s Declan going to do? Throw me into the car? No, he wouldn’t dare, and certainly not with such an enthralled audience. Tally might, but she’s at cheer practice. That small win almost makes up for walking home in my loser attire. Almost.

I arrive home to my father sitting at the table where he always is, reading the paper he always reads. He lifts it higher to prevent eye contact. After my irregular day, the routine is comforting. However, irregularity ensues as on the counter is a plate holding a sandwich. Beside the plate is a cup of steaming hot coffee. He doesn’t cook for me. He doesn’t cater to me. I’ve been on my own in the kitchen since I could speak full sentences. The sudden paternal interest is suspect. Is he trying to coax me into a sit-down? Yeah, no. I’m not sitting down to discuss my day with him. I’m much more interested in shedding the falsified me.

Say thank you, Superego admonishes.

“Thanks,” I mutter, heading upstairs to my room.

Playing popular took a lot out of me. I want to crawl into something cozy. As I’m stripping off the hideous clothes, I briefly entertain lighting them on fire so I won’t have to wear them again.

I take a swig of coffee before setting the mug down on my dresser by the plate. It’s when I open my closet the heat begins. It sparks in my cheeks, as it always does, moving outward in a flash, singing and crackling its way along my limbs. Can I keep from burning the house down? We’ll soon see.

On the shelf above the hanging rack, all my worn-out department store jeans have been replaced with slacks and skirts. There are a few denims, but they scream designer. Nothing remains I would’ve chosen for myself, from the flared to skinny bottoms, artistically ripped for added ridiculousness. My T-shirts are gone, too, every last one of them. They’ve been eaten by flamboyantly colored blouses and sweaters of varying materials: satin, silk, and cashmere. R.I.P. cotton. I will avenge you. I swear it.

“Tally!” I bellow.

Cued by her name, my bed starts to sing. Ring of Fire by Johnny Cash increases in volume from a red device on my bedspread. I want to pick it up and chuck it at the wall, but that won’t be as fun as shoving it somewhere else later, somewhere Tally won’t like.

“What?” I growl into the phone.

“Second drawer down. Left side. Hurry up,” she barks.

I throw the phone back on the bed, imagining her choking on it, but do as I’m told. Spandex sports gear is in the drawer where my lounging pants used to reside. I silently seethe, yet don’t explode. Good job, me.

I pull on a pair of shorts and walk into the bathroom where my hamper is. Tally might’ve been brave enough to chuck my clean clothes, but there’s no way she’d have touched the dirty ones. Score! I pull out a T-shirt I hope smells just bad enough to drive her insane without nauseating me.

Running shoes have been conveniently placed beside my bed. I grumble while lacing them up, then grab the sandwich, take a large bite, and wash it down with the rest of my coffee. It tastes like used charcoal. There’s no way I can finish it. Predictable.

I run downstairs, stash the rest of the sandwich in the trash bin, and load the dishes into the dishwasher. Dad is sitting at the table behind his customary paper wall. Aggressive knocking on the door causes his hands to crinkle the paper, but he doesn’t show any other indication he’s cognizant of anything happening around him. Strategically oblivious is a decorative theme in the Tierney house.

The knocking persists. I consider dodging this whole scene by hastily exiting through the back door. What stops me is potential retribution. If I keep my enemy close, she’s bound to display a weakness I can, and will, exploit. She’s poking the wrong elemental. If she’s going to play with fire, she should expect to get burned.

“That is not one of the tops I left you,” she states sourly as I join her.

“Nope,” I agree, not saying a single word about her robbing me of my entire wardrobe. I’ll get my revenge.

She huffs. “You need to cherish my affection.”

“Is that what it is?” I grouse. “Thank you ever so much, Tally. Your generosity knows no bounds.”

“Better.” She smirks. “Guess what time it is?”

I lift a brow.

“Test time!”

I stare blanks.

“If you do well, it’s only one test,” she assures me as if that’s any consolation. “Ryan thinks we should try you out with exercise, being you get so little of that by choice.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

I sigh. “I avoid any unnecessary exertion. Exercise produces endorphins, and getting all hopped up leads to bad things.”

“That’s what I said, except I used the words hot and bothered.”

I roll my eyes.

“We’re going for a test run to see how it goes. I volunteered to go with you so I wouldn’t miss the big show. Team Explosion! Let’s go!”

With the recent confirmation of my fire-bringing ability, taking chances is dodgy, but the prospect of spontaneously exploding Tally is motivational. “You’re the first person on my invite list.” I do some rushed stretches. “Front row seats are the best.”

She pats my head condescendingly. “Ah, that’s sweet of you, Sparky.”

“Are you ready?” I’ve finished stretching.

“I was ready yesterday.”

We take off running up the street. Her gait is steady. Of course it is. I swear, everything about her annoys me: her pushiness, her popularity, her appearance, and especially her overall prowess. I pretty much hate her.

“I got three texts tonight from boys asking for your number,” Tally informs me, running backward so she can fully appreciate my response.

I want her to trip and fall. She doesn’t. She never misses a step. Insufferable prowess.

“Declan intercepted two,” she continues. “You knocked the wind right out of his sails.”

Glowering at her, I try to ignore her words and focus on my breathing. There’s absolutely no way I can outlast her, but once she realizes inflaming me isn’t happening, she’ll give up.

“The third will be calling you tonight,” she persists. “You should go on a date with him.”

I sputter and nearly trip over my own feet, but course correct before falling completely. She smirks. I give her the finger.

“You really should,” she pressures me.

“I really shouldn’t.”

The last thing I should do is date anyone. It’s bad enough I had to pretend to have a boyfriend that, for the record, I didn’t even keep for twenty-four hours. I don’t want a real one. My emotions are my weakest link. I can’t be trusted to exercise restraint in an intimate position, even if I find a way to channel the excess fire fuel. Besides, the only arm I see on my shoulder belongs to Derry, who I likely won’t see again.

“This is your own fault. You got rid of your buffer. You need a replacement.”

I’d remind her getting rid of Declan was her idea, but that’s too many words to expel in my current state of oxygen deprivation. I can’t exactly argue when I can barely breathe. “What. If. I. Hurt. Him?” I wheeze.

“Puh-lease,” she crows. “He could stand a lesson in etiquette.”

“Then. Why. Go. Out. With. Him?”

“Practice. Practice. Practice.”

I stop after ten minutes, falling into a brisk walk. I’m embarrassingly out of shape. The movement was nice, though, and I’ll pick up my pace once I settle my breathing.

“What’s your trick?” I wonder. “Why don’t you have control problems?”

“You won’t either once you transition. You’ll find it easier to be one with the element.”

“I may not transition,” I remind her.

“You will.” She’s adamant. “It’s only a matter of time.”

“Why is it different after you transition?”

“Right now, your blood replenishes you. Your human blood is where you draw your strength. It’s your life force, if you will.”

She picks up the pace again before I can ask her where she draws her strength. We’re off the lit streets and moving further into the darkness. The reflectors on her running shoes are the only visible light. Following her lead is my only recourse since I have no clue where we are.

“Don’t fret, Road Flare. I just want your precious humans out of harm’s way in case you blow a gasket.”

“You’re supposed to be fixing my faulty thermostat,” I say breathlessly, “not getting me to overheat.”

She shrugs. “Either. Or.”

Tally leads me into a maze carved out of the accumulated snow. Declan’s handiwork. The path is mostly uphill, and the tops of my thighs are burning, but I don’t dare stop. I won’t make it out without her guidance.

The further we progress, the less I obsess over being lost, and the more grateful I am to feel so alive. I put all my momentum into the forward movement. Every stress I’ve been holding, every restrained bit of anger I’ve fought to keep in, all drains out my pores.

I hold everything in. All the time. Letting go hasn’t been an option. Ever. Pushing myself this way is freeing. I don’t have to hold anything back. This is a routine I could come to thoroughly enjoy.

By the time we reach what has to be the end of the course, or at least the halfway point, the fire has chewed my muscles into mush. I collapse to the ground, drawing in breaths too quickly.

Tally rolls her eyes. “You have to cool down.”

“Can’t,” I sputter.

She hauls me up, slinging an arm over her shoulder and supporting my weight. The nurturing act is out of character, but I’m not mentioning that fact, lest she stop helping. She’s right. I need to cool down.

We spend the next fifteen minutes walking circles. Occasionally, we stop, and Tally encourages me to stretch various muscles. Regulating my breathing is the biggest challenge.

“What happens to fire when you steal the air?” she snips. “You’re not doing well.”

“It suffocates.” I cough aggressively.

“The same thing happens with a pre-changed fire elemental who isn’t breathing properly!” she fumes.

“Make up your mind,” I complain. “One minute, you’re trying to kill me. Next, you’re trying to help me.”

“I fail to see how that’s two things,” she clips. “You bombed the test, by the way.”

I groan, and she laughs. “How have they put up with you as long as they have?”

“Lots and lots of practice!” she cheers. “Don’t be jealous. When you go ka-BOOM, you’ll get your chance, too. I can’t wait to see it, Bomb Baby.”

“I’m not transitioning, and if I do, I can only hope you’ll be there to see it, each and every one of you.”

She shifts. Everything smug drains from her face. As I open my mouth to ask what her deal is, she places her hand over it. She’s listening intently, but I can only hear my heart rate steadily increasing. Something’s wrong.

I see a side of Tally I never want to see again, and based on the sheer terror pouring off her, I may get my wish. I may never see anything again.

“Run,” she whispers. “Make every right turn. I’ll meet you there.”

“Meet me where?” My panicked heart punches into my chest like a battering ram.

The spark I continually take great measures to suppress is cinders. Oh, Karma, you fickle anti-friend. The exercise was far too effective at depletion. Whatever’s happening, there’s nothing I can do to help.

“Go. Now!”

I run as fast as my human legs will carry me, having no idea where my steps will lead. Tally’s nowhere in sight when I look back. All I see is darkness, and for the first time in my life, I’m truly scared of the cool nothing that once comforted me.