chapter one

Castor Williams had trouble plowing into his book. There was a faint buzz of chattering that derived from the soccer field, and the playground behind him didn't shy away from clamoring for his attention. Today, Castor had chosen to sit by the bleachers. He could've settled at the library to avoid the noise but usually, yet rather oddly, tranquility was what drove him to this spot. There weren't many people to deal with at the playground and most kids tended to leave him alone anyway.

The irritating babble from the soccer field had begun to die away, replaced now by the monotonous palpitations of a soccer ball being kicked around. It seemed to blend in with the wind pretty fluidly.

Castor chose to surrender his novel, and just focus on the game.

The sky puckered a nice evening view, splattering more color and movement to the soccer players below. So far it looked like the right side was gaining on the left, seeing as they had just consecutively slung their fifth ball into the soccer net. However, there came a loud whistling. The game had paused for a moment, and the players began to scatter to the bleachers.

"Hey Casty, you're in my seat. Scoot on," came a voice Castor knew all too well.

Zade Galagher had just swaggered up to the bleachers with his hornets of friends surrounding Castor. The crowd glowered at Castor like he was the worst bee in the hive, but then again this was expected seeing as Zade was the king bee of the whole fourth-grade class. Almost everyone in Castor's class admired Zade, and it was safe to say that even the fifth graders admired him as well. At this point, it would be pretty foolish to groom a fight. But Castor didn't care. Zade Galagher was in the same breed of bullies as every other bully that preceded him. If it was a fight he wanted, it was a fight he'll get.

"I'd rather not. All the other seats are open though, your highness," said Castor.

This seemed to wipe the smirk off Zade's face. "Get out."

"No, I'm already sitting here. Find another seat."

Suddenly, Zade's eyes began to glimmer like hot coal, and his fingers were getting testy. In a moment's time though, he seemed to glaze it over with a grin.

"Don't worry boys, it's not worth it anyway. I mean-the boy doesn't even have a dad."

A number of snickers ignited amongst the crowd.

Castor found himself on his feet without even thinking about it. Almost as if the wind had decided to pick him up instantaneously,

"Take that back."

"Take what back?" Zade asked.

The horde behind Zade began to chortle wistfully. It was a game most ten-year-olds played, and it was the oldest game in the book. You say something, and then you act like you didn't say anything at all.

Heads from the playground began to swivel around to see what the show was all about. A flock of kids had already congregated at the blacktop to get a better view.

"Take it back or I'll knock you to the ground and pluck your eyeballs out!" Castor shouted. He never thought his heart could run at this pace and even beat this loud.

Zade shoved Castor against the bleachers and grabbed him by his shirt, as tendrils of black hair whipped under Castor's nose.

"I can drill you to the ground before the bleachers even touch your head you freak!"

"Get off me!" Castor bawled.

In an instant, a whip of flame materialized from the ground, and Zade's hands retracted from Castor's shirt as if it was on fire, as he yelped in pain.

"Fire! Fire!" One of the kids shouted.

A snake of fire had already formed on the ground; slithering beneath the bleachers, and all of the kids had scurried away as if they had seen a ghost crystallize in front of them.

"You really are freak Castor!" cried Zade's voice, dying away in the distance. Zade was already at the door when he was replaced by what seemed to be a very stern and bull-nosed principle. Principle Wells came waddling toward Castor with a wad of other teacher scampering behind him.

Castor knew this wasn't gonna be written well in his school letter, but that wasn't what disturbed him. Asides from the fire that came out of nowhere, he thought he had seen a man standing on the soccer field looking at him. He had been wearing a black cloak, and it seemed for that moment as if he was studying him, but when Castor stole a second glance, the wind blew and he disappeared. Castor discovered his mouth was pretty dry and his bones doing some type of dance after the whole ordeal.

"Castor Williams, may I have a word with you please," puffed Principal Wells.

For the rest of the evening, Castor was stuck filling in paperwork for next year's five-week suspension. If today hadn't been his last day of school it would've happened sooner. After that unpleasant business, Castor was then sent to the detention room. There were three other kids there, and they seemed to be mulling their time drooling on their desks. The clock idly hung on the wall, masked by a dull clicking noise. The walls in the classroom closed in on the chipped wooden desks, nurturing a hopeless and unescapable feeling in the students.

"I'll be back with you guys shortly," said Principal Wells. He never came back.

The hours had eventually washed away, and pretty soon every student had vacated the building and flooded the buses to go home. However, the kids in the detention room were slowly plucked away by their parents.

Castor had heard some noises outside the detention room door. The bickering was so loud it almost seemed to bang on the door itself. Castor's mom came through the door looking rather flustered.

"Car. Now," she told Castor.

To Castor's utter surprise, the car ride back home had been moderately silent. It was odd though. Castor's mom didn't even seem to look at him, and it seemed at any moment she would be ready to burst out a volcano of spats at him for not behaving properly at school, but she never did that. In fact, all she ventured out was a simple question.

"What happened?"

They were almost home now, and It seemed the whole car ride had been chugging up to that question. Castor truthfully didn't know. The fire, the cloaked man, and the unsolicited squabble congregated all at once back at the bleachers, and out of nowhere, that it was hard to tell what was truth and what was fiction. But that's not what managed to escape Castor's lips.

"Nothing, I swear. Zade was just being annoying, and I told him to back off. That's it."

"What was the fire all about?" Castor's mom asked. This time she held her gaze at the kid. There was a desperate flicker in her stare; a very small flicker. Castor couldn't help but feel she knew more than she let on.

"I don't know mom. It came out of nowhere."

"Well, you have to know because you're suspended because of it."

Those were the last words that came out of her mouth. Castor sighed as he looked longingly at the window. The truth was he didn't know, and he would take all the suspensions in the world to find out who that man was, and where that fire had come from.