ABSTRACT

The short story of a girl who lacks the courage to

confess her feelings to a boy she likes, but ends up
winning at love.

Wild Fire

GUILTY CRAVING
It was around lunch when his face finally took shape. His expression was pensive, half thoughtful and
half impatient—all trouble. Yes, her work was just right, those eyes. Raising up to his fine, inquisitive
brows, inches away from the dark cascade of his messy dark hair.

She held the paper inches away towards the light to observe her work. It wasn’t easy, working without
his presence in front of her, but then, she could never sketch with him around. Since she had arrived to
the school—no, since she had first seen him—she’d had to be careful to always keep him at a distance.

Every day now she tried to gather the courage to approach him, and every day was getting more difficult
than one before. It was why she had taken to making a sketch of him at every opportunity. Her
cowardice may prove to be the end of her someday.

She bent over the clear drawing of him again, sighing as she used her pinky to wipe away the smudge at
the edge of his pouty lips. He was beautiful in his own way, and no amount of sketches would be able to
capture it perfectly. This lifeless paper, this sham, was the only way to have him with her.

Then, straightening up in her wooden stool, she felt it. The unmistakable brush of heat on the side of her
shoulder.

Him.

His mere proximity gave her the most unique feeling, like the pleasant heat that came after a warm cup
of coffee, or the static rush of electricity that sparked within the veins during a game: he was here. She
replicated his portrait on the bound pages on her lap, but she could not evade him.

Speak of the devil. She stood and turned, the sketches left behind on the wooden stool. And there he
was, leaning against the wall with the same curious look she had drawn so many times. His coal-black
hair was left to pool over his eyes. There was heat, burning in his cheeks. Was he angry? Embarrassed?
She yearned to know, but could not bring herself to ask.

There it was, that sensation again. “Why are you here?” her words came out hasher than she intended,
and she regretted it immediately, not wishing to push him away.

“I needed to grab a book,” he answered, moving toward a bookshelf. “I thought the library was empty
but then—“he paused, staring in her direction—“I noticed you were sitting alone. You were working on
something?”

“It’s nothing important—“ She broke off. She shouldn’t lie. She had never intended for him to know
about her obsession. Telling him would only make things worse. Already, she had let her guard down,
hoping no one would catch her.

He drew nearer, his eyes falling on her sketchbook. “You were drawing me?”

His shocked tone reminded her how lacking they were in communication. Even after all the time they
spent together in the same school, he had not yet begun to glimpse the truth of her attraction.

This was good—or at least, it was for the better. For the past several months, since the emotions she felt
for him had spawned, she’d been struggling to pull away from him.
Now, she looked back at her sketch, not ashamed at being caught at drawing him. A violent chill spread
through her as she realized that his discovery—the exposure of her feelings—could destroy her. She
should have been more careful. Heartbreak always started like this.

“Sorry, but I…I have to go.” She said, before running away, leaving the sketches behind. She could
always make more.

Grace barged into the brightly-lit chemistry laboratory twenty minutes later than she should have. Her
scrawny-looking teacher with prominent cheekbones and a small textbook clamped under a small bicep
was already teaching—which meant Grace was already late.

“So remember, saturated solutions contain only single covalent bonds between two carbon atoms,” The
teacher says sternly to a cluster of students all standing with their backs to Grace. “Remember the basics
and no one fails the test.

Grace rushed to get behind the group. She was still trying to figure out whether she’d be able to evade
her crush forever, whether the new shaven-headed teacher standing before them was a man or woman,
whether there was anyone she could discuss her problems with, and whether she’d be able to pass her
midterms at this point: Chemistry has always been tough for Grace, and so far, she wasn’t doing her
grades in Mr. /Ms. Gabe’s class any favors.

“Sorry, but could you…uh…repeat that?” she asked the teacher. “Was it solutions—?

“Well, look who finally decided to show up,” the teacher said dryly, then continued, articulating
leisurely: “Hydrocarbons. If you’re going to study organic chemistry, are the organic compounds
containing carbon and hydrogen atoms only.” Woman, Grace concluded, studying the teacher. No man
would be malefic enough to talk like that in a banal tone of voice.

“Understood.” Grace felt her face flush. “Hydrocarbons.”

She sneaked a peak at the other students standing in a semi-circle around her. At her former primary
school, Clover Prep, the orientation on the first day was where she’d met her best friend, Cammie
Rogers. On the assembly where all the other students had practically been huddled together, it would
have been just fine if Grace and Cammie were the only weird kids. But it didn’t really take long for the
girls to realize they had the same fixation on the same movies—especially where Timothee` Chamalet
was concerned.

“Those of you who’ve understood the ropes can leave the laboratory after you jot down your notes.”
The teacher gestured to the large whiteboard at the front of the lab. “You”—she pointed at Grace—“see
me after class.”

The rest of the students shuffled towards the exit as Grace watched, baffled, as the other students filed
out of the classroom.

The teacher look down at her textbook, making mental notes for the next topic to teach. “You can start
off by cleaning this place as punishment for your tardiness. Other students will be here to join you. You
can leave when you’re done.”
“We’re here,” as if in cue, Grace’s best friend, Cammie and three others seemed to barge into the
classroom breathing heavily, and covered in sweat as though they had just run a marathon.

Behind Cammie were George, Sally, and Finn, crouched over on their knees from racing over to the lab.

First years, Grace thought.

And leaning up against the frame of the door—she almost hadn’t noticed—was her crush, Bash Everly.

He was wearing a black gothic hoodie that had been rolled up at the sleeves exposing mildly muscular
arms. Grace took in the sight of his messy dark hair, which looked like it hadn’t been brushed down after
sleep...which made her think of how Bash would look like when he was sleeping…which made her blush
so intensely that by the time her eyes made their way down from his tousled hair to his eyes, she was
thoroughly humiliated.

By then he was staring at her.

“I guess that’s everyone,” Ms. Gabe said, using her bony fingers to massage her forehead. “Now, I’m
sure you all remember whatever contemptible transgression you committed to find yourself here. You
can think about that for the next hour while you work. Pair up. You know what to do. When I come back,
this place better be spotless.” She gave one final look at everyone and left.

“Okay, who wants to pair up with me?” to Graces disappointment, all of the other students looked at
their feet. But then, after a long minute, someone finally pipes up.

“I do.”

Bash. He stood almost a foot taller than everyone, who moved aside as he pushed past them and
walked towards Grace. His eyes were glued to her as he moved forward, moving with ease in his school
garb. Part of her wanted to avert her eyes, because it was embarrassing the way Bash was staring at her
in front of everyone. But for some reason, she couldn’t break his gaze—until Cammie stepped between
them.

“Dibs!” she yelled. “I called dibs.”

“No, you did not.” Bash said.

“Yes I did, you just didn’t hear me from your weird perch back there.” The words hurried out of Cammie.
“She’s mine.”

“Well I—“Bash started to respond.

Cammie tilted her head expectantly. Grace gulped. Was he going to say he wanted her, too? Couldn’t
they just forget about it? Serve detention in a group of three?

“Bash wordlessly shook his head. “I get to be your partner next time, okay?” he said to her, like it was a
promise he’d asked her to keep.

The other kids hopped off stools they’d been sitting on and trooped towards the supply shed. Grace
followed, clinging on to Cammie, who wordlessly handed her a rag.

“So, do you want the test tubes and beakers or the boards?”
There was no mention of earlier events, or of Grace’s sketches, and somehow Grace didn’t feel like she
should bring anything up with Bash right now. Instead, she glanced around trying to figure out what to
do without letting her gaze fall on Bash.

“I’ll take the boards.” Grace said to Cammie with a sigh.

“Good choice.” Cammie began to line up several tube things and beakers on a table. They might have
looked good before, back when they were just bought. But now they just look old and dirty, covered in
gunk and dried chemicals.

“Scrubby-scrub-scrub,” Cammie said, almost singing. “I like to pretend I’m giving them a little nice bath.”
With that, she began to use a wet sponge to clean their insides.

Determined to leave as soon as possible, Grace began to work her rag across the surface of the first
board. She tried to wipe away all the marker stains.

Thirty minutes later, her arms were killing her. She definitely wasn’t prepared for this kind of messy
labor. This was brutal. Especially when all she’d really done was get to class late. She was trying not to
make quick judgments here, but clearing dried ink from boards that have never been cleaned properly in
years? Yeah, Grace really hated her life right now.

Then a tease of sunlight filtered through the windows, and suddenly there was color in the laboratory.
Grace felt instantly better. She could see a couple feet in front of her. She could see Bash…working side
by side with Sally Jenkins, the first year.

Grace’s heart sank. The airy feeling disappeared.

She glanced at Cammie who shot her a look of sympathy but kept working.

“Hey,” Grace whispered softly.

Cammie put a finger to her lips and gestured for Grace to stand next to her.

With as much subtlety as she could muster, Grace moved to stand close to Cammie. Once she was fairly
certain that no one would be able to eavesdrop on their conversation, she whispered, “So… Bash is
dating Sally?”

Cammie snorted. “No way, they’re totally just friends.” she said quickly, then paused. “Why do you
ask?”

Grace pointed at the two of them, doing no work whatsoever to assist the others in cleaning the place.
They were standing close to each other, leaning on their brooms and having a conversation Grace really
wished she could hear. “They look like a couple to me.”

“This is detention,” Cammie said flatly. “You have to pair up. Do you think George and Finn the jester are
dating?” she pointed at George and Finn. They seemed to be arguing about who gets to mop the floor.
“Detention partners does not equal real-life partners.”

Cammie snickered. “What the heck did you do to get in here anyway?”

Grace shrugged, feeling embarrassed, “I got to class later than I should have.”
Cammie yawned, much less bothered by the story than Grace was. “Welp, I’m done with my work. I’ll
see you tomorrow Grace,” she said, throwing down her rag. Grace opened her moth to protest, but
Cammie had already taken off.

Perfect, Grace thought.

Alone again, Grace looked up at her work. Even though she’d already cleared up all the ink stains, the
boards still looked dirty. The whole thing felt pointless. She doubted anyone would notice the difference
anyway. She also doubted that any of the others were still working.

Her eyes just happened to fall on Bash, who was working. He was very diligently using a wire brush to
scrub the inside of a test-tube. He’d even taken off his hoodie, and Grace could see his muscles straining
as he went at it. She sighed—and she couldn’t help it—leaned her arm against a table to watch him.

She needed to get a handle on this Bash thing. He’d caught her sketching him for a day, and already, she
could feel herself slipping into an odd and unfamiliar place.

Grace wouldn’t really describe herself as a loner. After all, she frequently hung out with Cammie, taught
poetry to third graders, made flower wreaths for the Literary Society of Female writers, took care of pets
that belonged to her nosy neighbors, and tended to bedding plants for the elderly couple that lived close
to the edge of her neighborhood.

But today, as she sat alone at a table in the cafeteria she began to have second thoughts. Grace glanced
around the tables looking for one person in particular. Bash. She’d feel more at ease knowing where he
was so she can go about her lunch pretending she didn’t see him. But so far, no sightings…

“You’re eating vegetarian today, huh?” Cammie said, practically skipping over to where Grace sat.
“Conservative parents or your own meager attempt at rebellion?”

“Uh, neither, I just don’t—

“Feel comfortable eating meat in public.” Cammie steered Grace’s shoulder ninety degrees so that she
was facing Bash, sitting with his friends at a table across the room. Grace let out a shaky breath. There
he was. “Now, does that go for all meat?” Cammie sang loudly. “Like you would not sink your teeth into
him?”

Grace playfully shoved Cammie and tried to hide her face with her fingers. Cammie was cracking up, but
Grace knew that she was blushing madly, which would be painfully obvious in this florescent lighting.

“Not so loud, he totally heard you.” Grace whispered.

Part of Grace felt glad to be joking about boys with a friend.

She still felt unglued by the things that had happened yesterday when she’d seen Bash. That attraction
toward him—she still didn’t understand where it came from, and yet here it was again. She made
herself tear her eyes away from his brown hair, to the smooth lines of his jaw. She refused to be caught
staring.
“Whatever,” Cammie scoffed. “He’s so focused on that pizza, he wouldn’t hear the call of Satan.” She
gestured at Bash, who did look intensely focused on chewing his pizza. Scratch that, he looked like
someone pretending to be intensely focused on chewing his pizza.

Grace stared across the table at Bash’s friend, Sally. She was looking straight at her. When she caught
her eye, she waggled her eyebrows in a way that Grace couldn’t make sense of but that still creeped her
out a little.

Grace turned back to Cammie. “Why is everyone at this school so weird?”

“I’m going to choose not to take offense to that,” Cammie said, picking up her tray. “And I’m going to
head over to my next class. See ya later Grace.”

“Yeah, see you later.” Grace whispered softly, but by then Cammie was already out the door.

Grace meandered down the brightly-lit hallway toward the library, dragging her blue duffel bag with the
broken strap in her wake.

She just wanted to lose herself in the silence of the halls and her senseless thoughts. The walls here
were the color of a dusty blackboard—and the whole place was strangely quiet, save for the dull hum of
the working air-conditioners.

Her attraction was just normal, she told herself. She didn’t have an actual crush. As per usual she
justified her emotions with logic. She assured herself it was a biological response. Studies have shown
that during adolescence, hormones surge through our bodies, affecting both our physical growth and
emotional development. These hormones, specifically testosterone and estrogen, are responsible for
the development of secondary sexual characteristics, as well as the sexual attraction towards others.
Testosterone, for example is linked to aggression and competitiveness, as well as physical attraction.
Estrogen, on the other hand, is associated with emotional sensitivity and nurturing behavior. In her case,
the hormones were likely contributing to her attraction towards boys.

So it wasn’t a crush. Just attraction…right?

Before she knew it, Grace was already standing at the entrance to her destination. She pushed through
the wood-grained library doors and exhaled.

A nice warm feeling overcame Grace as she looked around the library. She’d always loved the faintly
sweet musty way that only a roomful of books smelled. She took comfort in the soft occasional sound of
turning pages. The library here had always been her escape, and Grace felt almost overwhelmed with
relief as she basked in the serenity of her safe space.

The walls were a deep mahogany and the ceilings were high. There were long wooden tables lit by
bright fluorescent lamps, and aisles of books that went farther than the eye could see. The sound of her
converse sneakers were hushed by a thick red carpet as Grace wandered past the entryway.
A few students were studying, none that Grace knew by name. As she meandered deeper, the librarian,
an elderly woman with kind eyes, looked up from her desk and offered a gentle smile. Grace
reciprocated, feeling an unspoken understanding that in this haven of literature, words held the power
to transform.

Grace, her mind filled with silent thoughts, tiptoed towards the secluded corner of the library where she
had always found solace. It was her secret spot, hidden behind towering shelves of ancient manuscripts,
a haven she had claimed for moments of solitary reflection.

As she approached, she noticed a person’s shadow creeping out from the hidden alcove. Confusion
etched her face as she rounded the corner, only to find a lone figure in the cozy reading nook—her
sanctuary now shared.

It was Bash.

He was facing the window, his back to her, leaning over a desk that said STUDY AREA in bold black
letters. The sleeves of his green button up were pushed up around his elbows, and his dark hair glowed
under the lights. His shoulders were hunched over, and yet again, Grace had an instinct to wrap her
arms around them. She shook the thought from her head and stood on tiptoe to get a better look at
him. From here, she couldn’t be certain, but he looked like he was drawing something.

As she watched the slight movement of his body as he sketched, Grace’s insides felt like they were
burning, like she’d swallowed something hot, and she couldn’t figure out why.

As quietly as she could, Grace tried to peer over his shoulder at his sketchpad. For just a second, her
mind blanked. She saw the curve of her own bare neck sketched in pencil on the page. They’d met here
before, in the same situation. Except this time, the roles were reversed. Bash was drawing her in almost
perfect detail. Grace had never seen anything that made her quite so flushed.

“I’ve been waiting for you.” he said. He closed his sketchbook and was looking at her solemnly. His full
lips were set in a straight line and his gray eyes looked dull. He didn’t look pensive, for a change; he
looked exhausted.

“I came here to get away,” she said, adjusting the broken strap of her duffel bag on her left arm. She
could feel her heart racing. What reason could he have for coming here? “I didn’t think anyone would be
here. Why did you wait?”

Bash gave her a tired smile. “I think we both know why I’m here. We’re due for a proper conversation,
don’t you think?”

Grace felt a lump rising in her throat. She’d finally calmed her racing heart, but Bash was making it all
too hard. “I—.” Grace could hear the words get stuck in her throat. She wasn’t ready for this.

“It doesn’t matter what I say.” She managed to spit out, “Even if I were to confess my feelings… you
would never fall for a girl as stupid as me—“

“Shut up,” Bash said, but he said it softly and so tenderly that Grace surprised both of them by obeying.

“I don’t think you are stupid.” He closed his eyes. “I think you are the smartest person I know. And the
kindest. And”—he swallowed, opening his eyes to look at her—“the most beautiful.”
“Excuse me?”

He looked out the window. “I’m just…so tired of this.” He said. He sounded tired.

“Of what?”

He looked over at her, with a pensive expression on his face, as if he had discovered something new.
This was the Bash she knew, though she couldn’t explain how. This was the Bash she… loved.

“You can show me.” She whispered.

He shook his head. But they were already so close to each other. And his lips were close to hers. And his
eyes were so alluring. It was almost as if he wanted her to show him first.

Her body quaked with nerves as she stood on her tiptoes and leaned towards him. She put her hand on
his cheek and he blinked, but he didn’t move. She moved slowly, so slowly, as if she were scared to
startle him, every second feeling petrified herself. And then, when they were close enough that her eyes
were almost crossing, she closed them and pressed her lips against his.

The softest, feather light touch of their lips was all that connected them, but Grace felt a fire course
through her, and she knew she needed more of—all of—Bash. It would be too much to ask of him to
need her the same way, to fold her in his arms like he’d done so many times in her dreams, to return her
wishful kiss with one more powerful.

But he did.

His muscled arms circled her waist. He drew her to him, and she could feel the clean line of their two
bodies connecting—legs tangled up in legs, hips pressed into hips, chests heaving in time with each
other. Bash backed her up against the wall, pinning her closer to him until she couldn’t move, until he
had her exactly where she wanted to be. All of this without once breaking the passionate lock of their
lips.

Then he started to really kiss her, softly at first, making subtle, lovely pecking noises in her ear. Then
long and sweet and tenderly, along her jawline and down her neck, making her moan and tilt back her
head. He tugged lightly on her hair and she opened her eyes to glimpse, for a second, the sky outside
the window. She felt closer to heaven than she ever had before.

At last, Bash returned to her lips, kissing her with such intensity—sucking her bottom lip, then edging his
soft tongue just past her teeth. She opened her mouth wider, desperate to let more of him in, finally
unafraid to show how much she yearned for him. To match of his kisses with her own.

She could, at that moment, have died for him.

He pulled away and stared down at her, as if he wanted her to say something. She smiled up at him and
pecked him softly on the lips, letting hers linger on his. She knew no words, no better way to
communicate what she was feeling, what she wanted.

They didn’t have to say anything else. Their feelings were already known.