Page 1 of When It Burns

CHAPTER ONE

CAROLINE

Was it even really a Monday at Springside High without a little bit of chaos?

My internal question is answered promptly by the repeated screech of the fire alarm and the announcement over the loudspeaker that this is a school-approved fire drill. It isn’t even 8 AM, but here I stand, classroom roll in hand and attempting to shuffle all thirty-two of my high school juniors outside in less than ninety seconds. It is too early for this, and I am not even caffeinated yet. I was just in the middle of making my morning cup of coffee when the fire alarm started going off. Our principal mentioned the fire department would be dropping by when they had a spare moment today to do a state-required drill, but I didn’t think it would be this early.

“Okay everyone, leave your stuff. Hopefully, it will only be a moment. Let’s move quickly,” I tell my class. A series of groans erupt from the room, and one of the boys points at the window. “Miss Caroline, you do realize it’s raining right?”

I look out the window and sure enough, a steady drizzle has just started. Great. Getting teenagers to do anything at 7:47 in the morning requires an act of Congress, never mind making them walk outside in the rain. “You’re right, Wesley. Let’s go.”

I quickly turn off the light before leading my class down the hall. We make our way outside and stand in the misting rain. I hurry to read the roll, hoping to make my way down it before it becomes too smudged to read. “Olivia, Jack, Michael, Ty.” I continue down to make sure everyone is accounted for, before turning around to face the building. It’s a warm and humid late August morning—pretty much the norm for South Alabama. Typically by the time I call roll, we've been cleared to go back inside. Of course, that wasn’t in the cards for me this morning.

My students huddle under umbrellas and the hoods of their rain jackets for a few minutes before I see other teachers beginning to take their classes inside. “Come on guys,” I yell to my class before leading them back into the side entrance and down the hallway to my room.

When I turn the corner, I see one of the firefighters standing in front of my door. I don’t recognize him, which is weird considering I thought I knew all the firefighters in Springside. Clearly, this guy is new to town. A man like this would have been the talk of the town, and now I’m trying to figure out how I know nothing about him.

As we make our way closer, I look at him––all six feet of him—along with his chiseled biceps and tousled brown hair. I catch myself momentarily drooling over how sexy he is until I realize he seems to be deep in thought. He glowers at my door as he bites the corner of his lip, and I can’t help but wonder what it would feel like to have his lips on mine.

“Are you Miss Tyler?” the man asks as I near my classroom. He stares at me with the biggest scowl I have ever seen and looks as though he is more frustrated with the events of this morning than I am.

“Yeah, but you can call me Caroline,” I say politely, trying to diffuse whatever tension was floating in the air around us.

“Miss Tyler, I just need to know, are you incompetent or just plain irresponsible?” he asks, glaring at me with such contempt you would think I had kicked his puppy.

“Mr. —” I stop, reminding him that he hasn’t even introduced himself. I have no idea what I have done to earn the wrath of this man. My kids stand behind me unsure of how to handle this situation. I make eye contact with a few of them trying to show them that I'm fine and this is nothing to get upset over.

“It’s Chief Johnson,” he barks at me gruffly. “I am the new fire chief in town.”

“Mr. Johnson, it’s lovely to meet you also,” I say, deliberately ignoring his title. “What happens to be the problem this morning?”

“I said it’s CHIEF Johnson, Miss Tyler! The problem is that you left a damn candle burning in your classroom. FEMA just released the latest statistics that said over 23,600 fires were started last year thanks to candles just like the one in your room. There were 165 fatalities last year alone. So I will ask you again, are you incompetent or just irresponsible?” the angry man in front of me asks as I can feel my students shift at my back.

“Well Mr Johnson,” I say as I watch his face contort in frustration that I have once again ignored his proper title. “Around here, we earn our titles so the rank on your badge doesn’t mean a whole lot to me. Secondly, I would like to remind you that you are in a school. Your language isn’t appropriate,” I scold him, and to his credit, he does look a bit embarrassed.

“IT’S CHIEF JOHNSON!” he yells, ignoring my other point. “And you also left your door wide open during the fire drill. A closed door can make the difference between life and death in a fire.”

“Listen, Chief Johnny, I truly apologize for my candle. I usually light it in my room in the morning while I get everything set up for the day before students come in. Something has to combat the Axe body spray and Victoria’s Secret lotion, right? And I swear I pulled the door closed. I put in a maintenance request last week for that handle. I don’t think it’s catching right,” I say while maintaining eye contact.

He continues to scowl at me and is clearly trying to intimidate me.

My students behind me laugh awkwardly at my comment about their body spray and one or two try to come to my rescue. The mysterious new fireman straightens and looks down at them, silencing their retorts.Wow, tough crowd, I think to myself.

“Miss Tyler, get your damn candles off school property. If I come back and find any wax in that room we are going to have problems. I would expect a teacher to have the common sense to understand with all the paper on your desk that a candle can get out of control fast. So as for my original question, I'm inclined to believe you are more on the irresponsible side. It is a miracle this place hasn’t burned to the ground after all the crap the old chief allowed. He clearly lost his mind and was willing to put everyone at risk. And get your door fixed. Do you know how reckless it is to have a door that doesn’t lock properly in a school?” Once again the man continues his tirade oblivious to the fact that his previous statement was fighting words.

Our old fire chief, Huey, retired last month and was absolutely beloved by everyone in Springside. He volunteered with the youth basketball and baseball leagues, oversaw the town softball tournament, and created a program to partner local fire and police employees with teenagers interested in careers in public service. Out of the thirty-two sixteen-year-olds I have standing behind me, I'm willing to bet Huey had a part in coaching or mentoring at least half of them.

Sure enough, when I glance behind me, I see several enraged faces and a group of kids beginning to whisper about this new hotshot fire chief. I know I need to get the situation under control quickly to prevent any of my students feeling the need to defend ol’ Huey’s honor.

Have I mentioned I still haven’t had my coffee yet? Sighing, I decide to swallow my pride in the effort to diffuse the situation.

“Chief Johnson, I sincerely apologize for my candle this morning. I understand that it’s against policy and it won’t happen again. As for my door, I will call the maintenance department again this morning. I promise you won’t have any other issues from me.”

I look him in the eye, trying to convey to him that we are done here. But he continues to sneer at me in disgust before walking off and throwing a disgruntled “I better not,” over his shoulder.

I turn around to my students who are glaring after the new chief in anger and simultaneously trying to shake the water off themselves. I remember at that moment that I probably resemble a drowned rat. Sure enough, I wipe under my eyes and see my mascara has run down my face. Great. Happy Monday to me I guess.

* * *

---