When I saw his pasty face, all I could think of was:
Can you imagine—to just go home when someone tells you to? Some people are soft all the way through, like a stick of butter.
That’s what I mean about accomplices. Wise up. No one is ever careful enough.
How did the fire go?
He said it in this nasty way that I’m sure you would have expected (now that you have gotten to know him a little), as if it were my fault that he ran off like a pussy when Jan told him to.
I shoved the pamphlets in my bag.
I didn’t go.
You didn’t go?
Listen, I’m too busy for that shit. It’s pretty immature anyway. Are you going to keep doing it? That guy seems like an asshole.
Yeah, I know he is. I grew up with him.
Lana came up just then and it was perfect.
She looked at Stephan with a bit of a sneer.
Hey, Lana, he said.
She looked at me, looked at him in mock horror, put her hand up to block the sight of him and asked me if he was gone yet.
I whispered, no, he’s still here.
Damn it to hell, Stephan, she said. Know when you’re wanted. Know when you’re not wanted. It’s a crucial skill.
He looked at me like I was going to stick up for him. No way!
He shrugged.
Later, Lucia, he said and walked off.
Lana pretended to throw up on the carpet.
So, he’s into you, huh. That’s too bad.
Why?
Because I would never let you hang out with that guy. Do you hang out with him? You don’t do you?
No.
Is he your boyfriend? Do you lie under him on his family couch? Do you have a visceral sense of how much he weighs when he’s on top of you?
Ugh, Lana, stop.
I would rather we both date my cousin. Matter of fact—reason I’m standing here. We’ve got something on for tonight. You’re coming. No choice.
She stalked off down the hall. I realized she was wearing pajamas and slippers. What a badass.
MEANING
A question I ask myself: what does it mean to make a pamphlet like that?
I am just starting my career as an arsonist, so you could say that it is my first entry in the field of arson, as a theorist. Right now I am a theoretical arsonist. Soon, I will be a theoretical and practical arsonist. Whatever Jan says about me being in the club now, I think it’s nonsense. Both sides of the coin—I don’t want any favors. If I am in the club it’s because I started a fire. And I haven’t done that.
That means, now the thing to do is for me
to set a really big fire.
The question is, what will I burn down, and how will I get away with it.
I have to make my plans.
First thing to do was: steal some sheets of paper from the art room. I guess steal is a bit of an exaggeration. The art teacher is a sweetheart with me—I don’t have to steal the paper. She just gives it to me.
Paper.
Pencil.
Straightedge.
Drawing board (to be returned).
Compass (to be returned).
For those of you who haven’t got the first idea about how to do a thing right—this is the way. You get some paper and you plan the whole business, right from the get-go. You don’t expect that things will happen perfectly—of course not. But, you end up better situated than some jackass who never thinks ahead. Or, you should. I guess there’s no guarantee even of that.
By the way, they found the guy who started the music room fire. It was the fat guy, Ray, who I heard mention the Sonar Club that first time, the guy from detention. I know because I had to go to the office to get permission to leave school early to visit my mom, and he was there with his family. He was wearing a suit, like graduation or something. That’s when I knew—Ray is gone for good.
If they make you put on a suit, it’s because they are going to do something horrible to you. I guarantee it.
THE HOME
I won’t go through my whole prediction rag this time. This visit was kind of a catastrophe. I went to the Home. I was sitting at the fish pond with my mom and she had an accident. It seemed like she did, because she made a weird expression, so I checked, and yes, an accident. I had to get some help. Which meant going to the nurses’ station. When I got to the nurses’ station he was there and he came over.
I had to tell him that my mom had an accident, and would he come clean it up.
Can you imagine?
Well, he did it. My good old mom got a towel bath from the orderly who, well, you remember.
I don’t think it mattered to her. I think it happens pretty regularly. I tried to help him out, but he said he has his routine for doing it—and it wouldn’t take long. He said I could walk around and he’d be done in about ten minutes. I guess he didn’t want me to watch him do it, which is a little weird, since it is fairly high value—I mean evolutionarily speaking, if you see that a guy can do tasks like that, it probably makes you think he would be a good mate. But, I don’t think he thinks like that. He probably thinks: I don’t want her to watch me clean shit off her mother’s leg. Which makes sense, too.
I came back and things were good as new. My mom was in her chair again. He was sitting there doing nothing. I guess he was waiting for me.
I asked him what his name was, which is something I didn’t know. He told me. I told him my name. He said he knew it already, Lucia, it wasn’t the kind of name you forget.
I told him you can forget anything.
AUNT
My aunt said she wasn’t sure about the part where people get burned in their homes just for being wealthy. I said, there’s no other way. They could have stopped at any time. She said, I know, but I’m still not sure about that part. In any case, I will be dead soon, and then the world will be yours to do with as you will.
Don’t talk like that.
I like the rest, though, she said. I think maybe it is too formal. It should be simpler—like a person speaking to herself under her breath.
I said, the next one will be better.
PILLS
Lana said it was Ree’s birthday and we were going to go get her from her brother’s shop where she works. We drove over, and I got to ride in the front of the car for the first time.
It’s not mine, really, she told me. It’s my brother’s but he’s in jail. He would kill me, actually wring my neck if he knew I had it.
What is your brother in jail for?