“David?” I stopped, wondering what I had been expecting in the first place. And wanting to turn back.
He stepped behind me and closed the door, grabbing a bottle off the shelf.
“Remember how I told you I was building a rocket that would go back in time? Well, I figured out how to make one that would destroy the school.”
I saw, for the first time, fireworks, cleverly woven into the pile of papers. He noticed that I noticed.
“I got a package from my uncle. He bought them in North Carolina where they’re legal, all kinds.” He was circling his pile, examining it. Then, opening the bottle carefully, he started sprinkling liquid onto the papers and the books.
“This is my invention,” he boasted, holding up the bottle. “Rocket fuel. Out of stuff I found in my garage.” He continued sprinkling, getting closer to me. “Guaranteed to close the school down.” He started moving superquickly around the pile. “Just like we wanted.”
I shook my head adamantly. “David, this is a bad idea. A real bad idea,” I told him.
“Don’t be such a baby, Crash.”
“Kids could get hurt.” I tried to reason with him.
“Only the stupid kids,” he said, preoccupied with his plan, but then looking at me like it was clear in his mind at that minute that I was one of the stupid kids.
He moved toward me, and I stepped back toward the janitor’s desk in the corner and managed to separate myself from him by the mound of papers. Problem was, I was against the wall, and he was blocking the doorway. Then, in another instant, he took out this lighter, and he was flicking it again and again, thumbing the top until he got a flame that was the size of his own fingers. He moved his hand to the pile.
I shrank back as the flame made contact with the paper.
And then the fire, in a whoooosh, as everything went up.
By the way, all of this took, like, less than two seconds, so when you’re reading this, picture it in slow motion, then play it back in your mind, only speed it up. Get the picture?
I checked the doorway, thought I could make it, but then the fireworks started going off. And this massive mound of popping flames blocked the door from where I was standing. David Burnett was on the other side. He would be able to get out, but I would not. Not easily. Not safely.
Except I started to think like this was the game and I was really Crash. I could run left, but there were rockets firing left. I could run right—bombs were going off right, but there was room. Except when the next bomb went off, the fire exploded higher, to the ceiling, spreading farther to the right.
So left would be easier, safer. But there was also David Burnett. He was standing to the left on the other side of the mound, and he was huge and fat and solid, and he looked like he didn’t want me leaving for some odd reason. If I hit him, I would bounce back into the flames. Game over.
Or maybe I could jump the pile, hope to get over it, and another jump out the door. There were places the fire didn’t extend to at that very second. This might have been my only hope.
Except . . . The room was quickly beginning to fill up with smoke, and it was quickly getting dark in there. Another second passed, and I could hardly even see David Burnett. Another bunch of rockets went off. I was still Crash Bandicoot, but my health meter was dipping down to dangerous levels.
And then . . .
The door flung open, and there was Principal Seidman staring at us. And Dave Burnett quickly pocketed his lighter, like nothing was going on at all, except that Principal Seidman was not a stupid man, and he figured it out right away that we were in a dangerous predicament.
“WHAT ARE YOU BOYS DOING IN HERE?”
Meeting Darth Vader could not have been worse. Except I realized after my first thought that Principal Seidman was actually Obi-Wan in this picture and Burnett was Vader.
“Help” was all I was able to say, mostly cough, at this point.
And then Principal Seidman was gone, but then was back with a long red fire extinguisher, spraying the pile down, and Burnett tried to leave but Seidman wouldn’t let him.
“David Burnett is trying to burn the school down,” I blurted out, no shame in telling on him, although Seidman probably couldn’t hear me over the explosive sounds of the fireworks.
Seidman continued to spray foam at the mound until the fire was finally out, which took a while, because the fire had gotten pretty large by that point. Moving very quickly for an old guy. Kind of like Yoda, now that I think of it.
In that instant, I ran around the pile toward the door, thinking that I would keep going forever, out of the room, out of the basement, out of school, and out of town.
Except Seidman caught me with one hand, still restraining Burnett with the other.
“WHAT DID YOU BOYS DO?”
“It wasn’t me,” I said, struggling to get free. “It was David Burn . . .”
“DO YOU REALIZE HOW DANGEROUS THIS IS?”
“It wasn’t me.” I screamed and struggled.
And David Burnett said absolutely nothing. Just smiled. A weird spooky smile.
Seidman looked at me, then he looked at Burnett. And he seemed to understand everything in a single instant.
“WAIT OUTSIDE, MR. CRASHINSKY,” he said to me in the Darth Vader voice.
I slipped around him and ran. Not just out the door, but down the hall and up the stairs and back to the safety of my class and Mrs. Henderson. On my way out, I heard Burnett talking calmly to Seidman.
“Call him Crash,” I heard him say. “Everyone else does.”
Chapter Three
How the Prescriptions Almost Killed Me
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
I was sitting at the dinner table, trying to eat my chicken nuggets, picking at the broccoli, having to listen to my father go off on me again. I wasn’t much in the mood for eating anyways. Those days I either ate a lot or not at all, depending on the dosage of medication that I was on. Also, being that those particular nuggets were frozen-food nuggets and not the McDonald’s or Burger King ones, I didn’t much care if I didn’t eat.
Especially with my father hate-staring at me constantly from the other side of the table.
I did notice that he wasn’t eating either. He was, however, on his third Scotch. His favorite bottle within arm’s reach, on the serving table, so he could get to it easy in an emergency.
“I already told you. It wasn’t my fault.”
“Then why am I going to the principal’s office tomorrow morning?” Wiping his mouth, which he didn’t have to do since he didn’t eat. “I had to cancel a very important meeting.”
I didn’t actually know exactly what my father did for a living at that time, being that every time he explained it, he used words I didn’t understand. From what I could tell, other people trusted him with their money, but he wasn’t a banker, and it had something to do with hedges and fun, but nothing ever sounded fun about it.
Whatever it was, he was good enough at it to afford to build a customized house, which was huge by normal standards but average for the Westchester neighborhood we lived in. So I didn’t actually know that it was huge.
“You don’t need to go,” I told him, looking at my mother for help. She was also looking at me, but not with the same hate-stare that I was used to from my father. She had her own look, which was like maybe she was going to cry at the very next word if I didn’t say exactly the right thing.
Funny thing about my parents was, he always said these horrible things about me and it never bothered me. But when she looked at me like that, with her lips so tight on her face, I hated myself and actually believed that there was something wrong with me. I had made a promise to myself a million times by then that I would be better for her sake.
Of course, I had no clue how I was going to do that.
“I didn’t do anything,” I practically screamed.
“Then how, exactly, how did you end up in the janitor’s office?”
Welcome to another d
inner at the Crashinsky house, never mind that this was an unusually bad one.
It was always something. As I may have mentioned, this wasn’t the first discussion that would end with both my parents going to visit Seidman the next day. So I pretty much knew how it was going to go down.
My sisters were the real victims during these dinners. By then, Lindsey mostly had nothing to do with me. Occasionally she was nice to me, mostly not, being as she blamed me for making my father all pissed off all the time. She typically ate fast, without looking at anyone, and bolted to her room the second she could.
This night was to be no different in that respect.
“May I please be excused?” she said, rolling her eyes. She was always rolling her eyes. That was a typical Lindsey move.
Jamie, two years younger than me, four years younger than Lindsey, idolized me and would cry virtually every time I had a fight with one of my parents, which meant that she was crying by the end of almost every dinner.
“Take Jamie with you,” my mother told Lindsey. That was not a good sign. They tried their best to shield Jamie from everything that I did, apparently worried that my behavior was somehow contagious.
My sisters were gone; their half-eaten plates remained.
I tried my best to eat. My father did not try at all. His plate was completely untouched.
Another sip from his drink. That meant he was trying to control himself. It was going to be a long night with constant questions.
“Answer me. If you didn’t do anything, what were you doing in the janitor’s office?”
“I already told you.”
“Tell me again.”
“David Burnett said that he wanted to show me something.”
“And so you just went with him to the basement of the school? You had to know that you were not allowed to go there.”
“He said that he had a surprise for me.”
“If David Burnett told you to jump off the roof, would you do it?”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you, Steven. When are you going to learn to follow the rules?” His voice was getting louder and angrier.
“I didn’t do anything wrong.” My voice got louder and angrier.
“Wasn’t it wrong to be in the janitor’s office in the first place?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“And are you saying that you didn’t help David build the bonfire?”
“I already said I didn’t have anything to do with that!” I was screaming. “Mom. Tell him. Principal Seidman told you it wasn’t me.” I looked over to my mom for support. Her lip was quivering. She was not going to get between us this time.
“You could have been killed,” my father said.
“It wasn’t me!” I yelled. “How many times do I have to tell you, David Burnett tried to murder me.”
In the hours after the fire, I had come to that realization. I mean, he was this supergenius kid, so he had to know that I would be stuck in that room when the fire spread. Being as he planned everything out perfectly, from his own personal rocket fuel to the mound of papers stuffed with fireworks, there was absolutely no way that he would have lit the stack with me cornered behind it unless he was trying to kill me. Plus there was a look about him at that instant that was beyond insane, at least that’s how it felt to me, and say what you will about psychic ability, some things you just know. So even if my logic was faulty, I knew from another part of me that the second Burnett had put the flame to the mountain of paper, it wasn’t just about burning down the school. He wanted me dead.
And no matter what I said to anyone, they dismissed this concept, like I was making it up. Because to them, Burnett wasn’t out to get me, it was about the fire. And “we” could have burned the school down. That’s what mattered. This from Principal Seidman, who called me into his office to tell me that he had called my parents; then also from my mom on the way home.
So if my teacher didn’t believe me and the principal didn’t believe me and my mom didn’t believe me, I wasn’t about to convince my father. He was already busy thinking about the punishment phase of our conversation. I could tell from his scrunched-up-forehead look.
“No more PlayStation until summer,” he said now, gloating. “Do you understand?”
I looked at my mom, pleadingly. I had just gotten it back again. The pain of being without Crash Bandicoot was almost as intense as my fear of David Burnett. This could not be happening.
Except my mom’s lips were now in full tremble. She knew all too well what that punishment was going to mean. It was not going to be a quiet night. Lindsey had to study for a test. Jamie wouldn’t be able to sleep.
“No, you can’t take it away!” Now it was me, with the tight lips, fighting tears. I probably screamed this.
“Too late.”
I thought I saw him smile, just a little, which really, really pissed me off. Still, I tried to remain calm, even though my body was rapidly heating up, as it sometimes did whenever I got frustrated or angry.
“No video games. And no TV. At all. For the rest of the year.” And now, after all this, he started to eat. And took another sip of his precious Scotch. Case closed.
Next thing I know, the chicken nuggets are off my plate and bouncing off his face and his chest. Swear to god, I do not remember actually throwing them. I do remember the screaming fit and the crying (I’ll admit this), first me, then my mother, then hearing Lindsey slamming her door and saying that she hated her whole entire family. Oh yeah, and I also remember being dragged up to my room, half carried, half pulled, and flung onto my bed, pretty much with the same force as the chicken nuggets were flung.
My father was way stronger than he looked.
I also remember banging on the door until my fists felt pulverized and screaming about PlayStation over and over again.
And falling asleep on the floor.
“Thanks a lot,” David Burnett said to me, when he finally showed up at school again. “Do you know how much trouble you got me in?”
It was a week later. No one knew what happened to him after the fire incident. Rumors had spread that he had been transferred to another school. And of course, word was out by then that he had tried to burn down the school—and that I had tried to help him.
Kids started calling him Burn, instead of Burnett, in his absence. With a little help from me, as I kind of made up a song about him, to the tune of the Barney “I Love You” song, which I sang to Pete and Evan and they sang to everyone else, a song that practically everyone thought was superfunny.
Dave BURNett. Dave BURNett.
Have you burned the school down yet?
Well, practically everybody, except that kiss-ass Christina Haines, who told me that it was cruel to make fun of a kid who had problems, not knowing that I was the one who made it up in the first place.
Point was, most kids who knew me knew I didn’t have anything to do with the fire, but even my best friends, as in Pete and Evan and Kenny, didn’t believe me when I told them that Burnett had tried to kill me.
In the meantime, my parents met with Principal Seidman, and while they were assured that, in fact, I had nothing to do with the bonfire, they also talked about my academic issues and my recent diagnosis as having ADHD, not just ADD, the H being for hyperactivity, another important component that apparently kept me from listening. While I previously had been on a small dose of Ritalin to see if it would slow me down, now the school was officially recommending that my parents have me more fully tested and better medicated. Which meant another round of doctors and questions about whether I could concentrate, even though I thought was doing well enough, which was why my mother was reluctant to put me on the strong stuff earlier.
Now, a week later, I had already visited the pediatrician and had an appointment with some psychologist guy who wanted me to see some other doctors.
So when Burnett tried to tell me that it was “all my fault,” I was just about ready to totally kick his ass.
Which I would have done, except that my father warned me not to associate with David in any way, which meant not even talking to him.
“I didn’t get you into any trouble,” I said, trying not to talk to him, but talking to him anyways as I spiraled a football back to Pete. It was cold, and my fingers were feeling like ice. I rubbed them for warmth.
Burnett, however, was not even wearing a jacket.
“You told Seidman,” he sneered. “That’s why he showed up. He ruined everything.”
“If ‘everything’ means you not killing me and not burning down the entire school, then yeah. And if I knew what you were trying to do, I would’ve told him. But I didn’t tell him. I didn’t even see him.”
Him: “Then how’d he know?”
Me: “How am I supposed to know?”
Him: “Fucking liar.”
Me: “Whatever.”
Pete threw the ball back to me and it stung my hands, like it was a rock.
Him: “Everyone’s calling me Burn now. Because of you.”
Me: “Not my fault.”
Him: “Is too. You made up that song about me.”
I had to wonder how he found out, as I only sang it to Evan and Pete and they were the ones who made such a big deal about it.
Me: “Whatever.”
Throwing it back. No point in arguing.
Him: “I have to take a new medication. Because of you.”
Me: “Whatever.”
It occurred to me that I was probably going to have to take a new medication. Because of him.
Him: “It’s making me dizzy and sometimes I can’t eat without vomiting. Because of you.”
Me (you guessed it): “Whatever.”
Him: “So I decided. When they told me that I had to come back to this fucked-up place. I decided that you have to die. And one day, I am going to kill you.”
Me: “You already tried to kill me. Remember?”
Why did I even have to remind him of this? Why was I even talking to him?
Him: “Believe me, Crash. If I wanted to kill you then, you would already be dead.”
Crash and Burn Page 4
