Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 24135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 24135 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 121(@200wpm)___ 97(@250wpm)___ 80(@300wpm)
“And not just any cancer,” I say, trying to scare the desire to smoke out of them forever. “Lung cancer. Yeah! Smoking is not so cool now, is it?”
“Whoa!” the girl says as she stares at me with wide eyes.
“Yeah,” I say as I cross my arms. “I know. Powerful stuff.”
One of the boys jumps on his bike, looking terrified.
“And do you know what color it turns your teeth?” I say, giving them a firm stare. “Yellow.”
“Oh, shit!” the kid on the bike says.
“Yeah,” I say, nodding aggressively. “Now that you know, would you say that smoking is for losers?”
“Miss librarian lady,” the tall kid shrieks. “You might want to turn around.”
I look over my shoulder and scream. Tall flames are bursting out of the garbage can where I threw the cigarette. The town flag is hanging over it and it catches on fire too.
“Oh no!” I shout as I run into the library to grab the huge fire extinguisher. It’s covered in dust and I desperately hope it works, but Gabby isn’t too good with details like recharging fire extinguishers so I have no idea if anything is going to come out.
I kick the wooden doors open and rush over. Thick gray smoke is pouring into the sky. The burning flag fell on my display table and all the old paperbacks are now on fire too. They’re crackling and popping—the pages turning black and curling as the flames consume them.
“Watch out!” I shout to the gawking kids as I point the fire extinguisher at the burning table and push the lever down. Nothing comes out. Just a sad spurt of dust.
I toss it onto the ground as the flames begin traveling up the old wooden walls of the train station.
“No!” I scream as panic takes over. I can’t burn the freaking library down. This building has been here for two hundred years and I’m going to burn it down after a month?! It’s a freaking National Heritage Site!
I remember the hose on the side of the building that the city landscapers use to water the flowers and with my heart racing, I run over to it. I grab the spray gun and turn the nozzle. Water explodes all over me, drenching me completely and making me choke. I turn it off, tighten the spray gun, turn the water back on, grab the stupid leaky hose, and run back. The four kids are on their bikes, watching in shock.
“Does anyone have a phone?” I shout at them.
“We’re not allowed phones,” the tall kid says.
“Well, that’s just fucking great!” I shout. “Sorry for swearing. I’m very stressed. Go to the fire department and get them to come here. Please.”
They take one last look at the flames that are quickly consuming the wooden wall, turn, and bike away as fast as their little phoneless legs will take them.
I point the hose nozzle at the flames and turn it on. Water sputters out and drenches me even more.
“What the fuck is wrong with this fucking hose?” I scream as I smack it hard.
The flames travel in through the open windows, catching the curtains inside. Everything is so old in there. It’s like a tinder box. If the flames hit those bookshelves, it’s… I don’t even want to think about it.
I focus on what I can control—the hose. I tighten the nozzle with a grunt until it’s not leaking anymore. The water sprays out harder, but it’s still no match for the roaring fire.
All I can do is watch in horror as my dream job literally burns to ashes in front of my tear-filled eyes.
CHAPTER TWO
James
“Ilove Fight Night!” Doug says as I pound the punching bag in the corner of the firehouse.
He’s salivating as he watches me, thinking about all the money he’s gonna make betting on my fights tonight.
I grit my teeth and slam my knuckles into the heavy bag with a grunt, jerking it around on the chain.
I love Fight Night too. Every third Thursday of the month is Fight Night at The Cracked Barrel Saloon, a seedy bar on the edge of town. It’s been too long since I’ve punched someone. I need my adrenaline fix and I’m going to get it tonight.
“You coming, right?” Doug says to Mason who’s wiping down the hood of the firetruck.
“Will I get to see James getting punched in the face?” Mason asks with a grin.
“Nope,” I say as I shift on my feet, my eyes locked on the bag. “But you’ll see this.” I let out a fierce combo, punching the bag six times in a flash and then finishing it off with a hard kick.
“I kind of want to see you getting punched in the face though,” Mason says with a sad look.
“I’m going early to get a table beside the cage,” Doug says.