THE STUDENT COUNCIL

After three sleepless nights of vigil from her third-story perch, Amy knew that Monday night would be her last. In fact, it was no longer even Monday. Labor Day ended fifteen minutes ago. First period was scheduled to begin in less than eight hours.

Had Noah Ragsdale lost his nerve or come to his senses? Either excuse was plausible. Blowing up some toilet plumbing was serious, but could be dismissed as a boyhood prank. Stealing and destroying a car had been a more serious matter. Still, boys would be boys - all part of growing up. Destroying a public facility and displacing six hundred students was another thing altogether. A crime like that would make the culprit an outcast for life.

It could also destroy an entire family. Noah’s father had always been the Westins’ family doctor, the kindest man around. He changed after his son totaled that stolen car. The goodness was still there, but his face took on a permanent frown as he struggled to answer a parent’s ultimate question: Where did I go wrong? Knowing that their child burned down a school would probably kill both his father and mother.

Tears sprouted in Amy’s eyes. She hadn’t considered the doctor and his wife. If Noah set the fire, there would be no mystery about who did it. He’d be the first suspect. If the police didn’t catch him right away, his own mouth would get him arrested soon enough. He would brag because that was his nature. Hell, he was already bragging last Friday!

Having children was such a gamble, a roll of the dice. Like Forest Gump’s chocolates in a box, all babies looked wonderful in a nursery. Unfortunately, there was no way to know what lurked beneath the sweet surface. She would think long and hard before having children of her own.

Amy shifted uneasily in the chair, realizing her time had come. She needed to take care of the high school herself. Like a football coach in a pre-game speech, she tried to fire up her team of one. She repeated all the benefits to herself, now adding protection of the Ragsdale family to the list. She had nudged Noah in a bad direction, no question. Even though he may have chosen such a path for himself, she would have carried some guilt. Now she could undo her mischief. He would never be able to follow through with his threat if she beat him to the punch.

Another new thought was holding her back. She had more to lose now - ever since the drive to Fred’s farm. She had opened only four of the mason jars in the basement. Three were a year old and the other dated back seven. She had poured the contents of each into separate bags. Although she shared a small amount with Leo Sykes, she held most of it in reserve for her friends, some treats to dole out over time. Paul had been the first to light the product. According to him, even the aged stuff was the most potent he ever smoked. The newer bud seemed too good to be true. When he asked where she acquired it, she said it was a gift from her sister. By her accounting, the Waltz stash might retail for close to a million dollars. If she played safe – as safely as she could - and sold it through Leo Sykes, she might collect half that amount. The money was considerable, but not an answer to her family’s problems. That was the bottom line.

Amy rose from her chair and lifted the black, hooded sweatshirt from her bed. She would be a ninja. After slipping it over her head, she stepped into the bathroom. Staring in the mirror, she assessed the determination in her eyes. It was there. She could do this.

After moving silently to the garage, she bolted a baby trailer to the rear wheel of her bike. Her mother had once used it to carry her daughters. Now it was needed to haul gasoline.

A plastic syphon hose was coiled over nails on the wall. Amy used it to draw gas from the cars for the lawnmower. She placed the hose in her father’s tank first. She would take over two gallons from each car in one plastic container. A second Jerry Jug already held another five. She sucked, then spit. Her lips would tingle for a few minutes. The fuel taste would remain in her mouth for half an hour. It was hard to avoid.

With the two red jugs jammed into the trailer, she wedged in a gallon can of kerosene too. For breaking windows, she added a crowbar. Opening the plastic trash can, she withdrew a section of the Sunday newspaper. She could wad pages into balls, light them, and toss them through broken windows to ignite the gas. Lastly, she took the butane lighter from the patio. She zipped up the trailer cover and rode off to face her fate.

The sky was dark with clouds, only a few stars visible. She pedaled resolutely for a block, until she reached the Noble house. What would William think of her now? What would he say? Would he somehow find humor in what was about to unfold? Tears started filling her eyes again. By the time she passed Google’s house, they were streaking down her face. She wasn’t the person her friends believed her to be. She wasn’t necessarily the person she wanted to be. She was the person she had to be.

The first five blocks were mostly level. The final three were steeply uphill. With the added weight of her load, she strained to move forward, continually downshifting, pedaling faster and faster. She was audibly weeping now, her body shuttering. Suddenly she was terrified of getting caught. Her father might have a heart attack.

She tried to console herself with all her rationale: the school was outdated; insurance would pay; her parents’ marriage would survive; and she would remain with her friends in Oil City. Nonetheless, those factors never would have been enough. Not enough to risk everything by doing the job herself. A far greater force powered her legs and pushed her onward. The destruction of the school was only the beginning of a story she now imagined, not the end. She was still drafting it all in her mind, but this was merely Chapter One. She had to get past it.

With the high school straight ahead, less than half a block away, Amy squeezed the grips on her handlebars. She jerked them to the left, turned around, and headed back down the hill, back toward the safety of her home. The lights at the school had just gone out. Noah got there first.

Sixteen-year-old Noah Ragsdale had been doing reconnaissance for several days. He wanted everything to go perfectly. With his fourteen-year-old brother Miller under his command, the strike would go quickly and efficiently.

A house across the street from the school was undergoing a paint job. Workers had left several ladders in the yard. A twelve-footer provided easy access to the flat school roof.

With Miller holding the ladder secure, Noah climbed up with a five-gallon jug of gas. He repeated the effort twice more. Fifteen gallons figured to be enough. His mystery friend hadn’t mentioned the roof, but he was being thorough. An attack from both above and below would be foolproof. He wanted to light the sky.

He began the long process of pouring half-gallon puddles at fifteen-foot intervals, above the classrooms, cafeteria, library, and administrative offices. When headlights aimed toward the school, he dropped to his stomach and pulled a walkie-talkie from his belt. “Miller! Come in!”

“Yeah, Noah.”

“Get down! Incoming!”

“Should I leave the ladder up?”

“Just get down and don’t move.”

The car turned right and disappeared down the street. At one in the morning, Noah didn’t anticipate much traffic. “All clear.”

He continued to work deliberately, careful not to spill any gas on his clothing. There was no reason to rush. Not until the fire started.

When the roof was fully prepped, the boys returned the ladder to the neighboring yard. No sense leaving evidence that might show their fingerprints. Then, facing each other like a pair of gunfighters, they drew claw hammers from their belts and grinned. With each taking a side of the building, they gently popped most of the basement windows. Not a single car drove past.

They calmly walked back to Noah’s car, like two buddies out for an evening stroll. When Noah opened the trunk, Miller covered the light with his hands. Noah removed the remaining six containers of fuel, each with two gallons, and set them on the ground. The final item was a cardboard box holding eight empty beer bottles and oily rags.

“Miller, fill each of the bottles halfway. I’ll be right back. If anybody comes by, say you ran out of gas, that you’re putting more in the tank.” Noah headed back toward the high school with two containers in each hand.

When he returned, Miller was stuffing a rag into the neck of the last bottle. “Well, this is it,” the older brother said. “Time for some payback! I’ll take the other full jug for the utility room, and the box with five bottles. You toss the rest of the gas into the last room.” Noah pointed to the far end of the school. “Use one of your bottles to start that. Throw the other two on the roof. Spread them out. Start as soon as I light my first one.”

After climbing through the utility room window and dropping to the floor, Noah moved a table beneath the window to allow an easy escape. After closing the water valve, he shut off the power. The school’s interior and exterior night lights went out.

Once outside again, he opened the last jug and dropped it through the window. Taking one of the beer bottles, he lit the rag and tossed it inside. After a moment’s delay, a fireball came out the window, followed by enough of an explosion to wake house pets and get them barking. Noah wanted to run for the car, but hurried to his next target.

After igniting the supply and janitorial rooms, Noah saw flames jumping across the roof, spreading quickly. Miller was doing well, hurrying toward him at a trot.

The younger brother dropped his last bottle, but recovered it from the grass and flicked his lighter. His shirt sleeve ignited and fire jumped to a leg of his jeans. He dropped the bottle and started running wildly in the direction of the car, tripping over his droopy pants.

“Drop and roll!” Noah hollered, rushing after him. “Roll on the ground!”

Miller was screaming, not listening. Noah pulled up the waist of his own pants, trying to gain speed. By the time he tackled his brother, he was nearly at the car. He rolled him twice and the fire was out. “See, all you have to do is roll.”

Miller was crying, in horrible pain. He’d been on fire for six or seven seconds. Noah knew he needed immediate attention - a doctor like his father. He heard a siren. Miller would have help soon! Better to leave him than try to move him.

Noah left his brother writhing on the grass and jumped behind the wheel of his car. The boys had a contingency plan. A tent and two sleeping bags were stowed in the back seat. The bag of groceries would last a week, even longer now that Noah was alone. Their idea, in case they had to run, was to hide out in the Allegheny National Forest. No one would find them there.

Noah listened to his brother’s cries and moans. “Fuck it!” he said out loud. “No man left behind!” Besides, he wasn’t that anxious to go camping alone. There were black bears running around out there. “Screw everything!”

Noah took one of the sleeping bags from the car and covered Miller. People in shock needed to stay warm. He sat on the ground next to him, smelled the burned clothing and flesh, and shared his younger brother’s agony. The damn school! Why did they make him cut off his hair?