I was halfway to the classroom door when the smell hit me.
Sharp. Chemical. Wrong.
Gasoline.
My brain caught up. P.S. 112 wasn't the target. P.S. 112 was the distraction.
I fumbled for my phone and tried to call 911. My hands were shaking so badly that I could barely hit the numbers. The call connected, a voice on the other end asked what my emergency was, and I stammered out the address, the smell, the potential danger.
"Stay on the line, ma'am. Help is on the way."
I shoved the phone in my pocket, grabbed my bag, and ran for the exit.
The hallway was hazy but not yet filled with smoke. The fire alarm shrieked, but I couldn't see flames. I couldn't feel the heat. Just the sharp, overwhelming smell of gasoline.
Then someone stepped out of the haze.
I could only make out his shape at first, but I knew. Even before I saw his face, I knew.
Tommy.
He was tall now. Thin. Nineteen years old—but he looked older. Hollowed out, like something had been eating him from the inside for years. A gasoline can in one hand. A lighter in the other.
The floor around him glistened wet.
He hadn't lit it yet.
"Ms. Cummins." His voice cracked. "I was hoping you'd still be here."
My heart stopped.
Started again.
"Tommy."
"You remember me." It wasn't a question. There was something bitter underneath it, something that had been fermenting for nearly a decade. "I wasn't sure you would. I was just another kid, right? Another file. Another problem you handed off to someone else."
"I remember you staying after class to help me clean the boards. I remember you wrote a poem about fire for the class anthology. You talked about how it could destroy things, but also keep people warm. I remember you always made sure the classroom fish got fed, even when it wasn't your job."
Something flickered across his face. Pain. Memory. The ghost of the boy who’d once trusted me.
"Do you remember what you said?" He stepped closer. The lighter glinted in the emergency lighting. "When they took me away? Do you remember what you promised?"
‘I'll make sure you're okay.’
I’d said exactly that. And then I'd moved on to the next struggling kid and forgotten about him.
"You ruined my life."
Tommy's voice shook. The lighter trembled in his grip.
"You saw me. You made me trust you. And then you called them, and they took me away, and my mom..." He broke off. Swallowed hard. "My mom died alone. In our apartment. Because I wasn't there. Because you took me away from her."
My stomach dropped.
"Tommy, I didn't know?—"
"Of course you didn't know!" He was crying now, tears cutting tracks through the grime on his face. "You didn't know because you didn't care! You made your phone call and moved on. Went home to your own kid. Forgot I existed."
