I get a glare and an exasperated sigh from my chief, but Owen, who’s leaning against the truck, pushes his back off the vehicle to study my face up close. “But you’re twins, right?”
“Right,” I say.
“If he’s handsome, you’re calling yourself handsome too.”
There are days I’m proud that I qualified as a firefighter, then there are other days when I spend time with someone like Owen and realise that wasn’t a difficult feat. I pout my lips and gesture to my face with both hands. “Am I not handsome?”
Owen cocks his head and pauses like I’ve asked him something complex. “I don’t see it.”
“Ouch.” I gasp. “You’ve undone years’ worth of therapy.”
“Have I?”
I groan, but it’s a fond one.
“Turn off the hoses,” my chief says. “And gather up.”
There are five of us here, a standard crew, with Mark back at base in the control room. Owen, Rachel, Justin, and my chief, Glen, are my crew, and I trust them all with my life, including Owen. I just don’t trust Owen to be my phone a friend onMillionaire.
“We’re going to draw straws,” Glen says as he rips open the Velcro securing his top pocket. He pulls out five sticks, four the same length, one shorter, his preferred way to delegate the unpleasant jobs. He arranges them in his closed fist while the rest of us take a collective groan and line up like we’re about to face a firing squad.
“Are you going to tell us what the forfeit is?” Rachel asks.
“Nope,” Glen replies, then holds out his hand towards the youngest member of our crew, Owen, who rubs his chin as he eyes the sticks. He reminds me of a studious poker player, one who seems to believe by squinting at his cards he can change them into a better hand. He plucks out a stick, then fists the air at the length. Rachel goes next, snatching a stick with a sigh before smiling bright enough to dazzle me with the single diamond she has on her canine. Justin pulls next, then moonwalks a circle around us like the cocky bastard he is.
It’s between me and Glen. I’m picking, and whatever is left will seal out fate. I pinch a stick between my thumb and forefinger, but don’t remove it from Glen’s hand. The skin beneath his eye twitches. I change my mind and pull out the other stick. It’s short, only two inches long compared to everyone else’s four.
Glen shows me the last stick to prove he’s no cheat.
“Go on, then,” I say as we all give our sticks back. “Put me out of my misery.”
“You’re to do a fire safety talk.”
Rachel tips her head back far enough while laughing that her helmet falls off and hits the ground with a crack. I slam down the visor on my helmet, mainly so I can yell profanities the public won’t hear, which I do, alooongstream of them. Glen, Justin, and Owen all wince and clutch their ears. Bluetooth connects our helmets, and they get to hear my colourful language.
“Jesus, Ryker,” Glen mumbles.
“I believe I used the word Christ in there somewhere, not Jesus . . .”
Rachel turns to look at the school. “Has he got to do it here?”
“Yes,” Glen replies. “The caretaker saw a group of kids riding away from the scene.”
“Just like Samson saw them riding away from the barn.”
Glen nods. “We suspect it’s the same group.”
“At least it’s only the one talk,” I say, glancing back at the school.
Glen grimaces, and wisely takes off his helmet before replying, “Actually, it’s all the schools in the local area.”
His words set Rachel off laughing again, and she flings her arm across Justin’s shoulders. “Oh, Ryker . . .”
“Although likely,” Glen starts. “We can’t be certain the arsonists came fromthisschool, and it’ll benefit the community if you go to each school and remind students how dangerous and unpredictable fire can be. We don’t want anyone else to be inspired by the videos those students took at the fence—we don’t want to trigger mass arson.”
“It’s not all bad,” Owen says. “You might get a free meal.”
I turn to him. “A free school meal?”
