Free Ballads of Suburbia by Stephanie Kuehnert

get to that, tell me how big the damned boat was!”
    The girl pulled two tracts from a cardboard box and shook them in front of us. “If you read these, you’ll learn about faith. Faith will settle all of your doubts.”
    â€œGimme those!” Maya grabbed the box and sprinted down the hill, her shoulder-length scarlet hair streaking through the air behind her. The stunned girl backed away, dropping the two tracts she had in her hand. I picked them up, laughing at the title, “Rock and Roll: A Tool of the Devil,” and tore down the hill after Maya.
    She stood in the center of Scoville, dumping the box of tracts into a messy pile. I tossed the two I had on top. We stared at the pile, trying to figure out what to do next. In a flash of inspiration, I picked up a handful of booklets and lit them on fire.
    â€œYes!” Maya exclaimed, and began to flick lit matches at my growing inferno.
    The sparks caught everyone’s attention. Harlan snatched the box from the hands of the man who was lecturing him and Shelly, and ran over to add more fuel. Others quickly joined suit. A metalhead who Stacey had thought was “soooo cute” doused the fire with Zippo fluid, and the flames leapt high, suckingdown the soaked paper like a fourteen-year-old with a stolen bottle of booze. Soon there were twenty of us whooping and cackling and joyfully slamming into one another as we danced around the flames like a pagan tribe, or maybe more like a circle pit at a punk show.
    The God freaks ran toward one another for safety from what surely was a sign of Armageddon. When their bus sped away, a cheer arose, but the celebration was short-lived. The bus had been blocking the ever-present eye of Youth Officer Robbins, stationed in a squad car across the street. He dropped his coffee out the window and screamed into his radio.
    Since we were all caught up in the destruction, hardly anyone noticed the cop’s approach, but Maya did. She grabbed my hand, and we retreated back up the hill. As sirens wailed, we strolled innocently into the Write Inn, and then hurried upstairs to Maya’s room.
    Collapsing on Maya’s bed, out of breath, I asked her, “Aren’t you afraid someone will tell the cops we started it?”
    A dark grin spread across her doll face. “Nah, they had way too much fun. No one will ever forget the day you came to the park, Kara.”
    â€œBut you’re the one who started it by taking the tracts from that girl-” I began, ready to add that it wasn’t the first day I’d been to the park.
    â€œNo,” Maya interrupted. “I grabbed the box, but you started the fire. Everyone’s going to love you tomorrow, girl. We are gonna go back, right?” Her eyes gleamed, and I could still see those flickering flames reflected in them.
    Feeling as exhilarated as I had the first time Liam helped me to crowd surf, I matched Maya’s twisted smile, my dark red lipstick giving it my own signature. “Sure, we’ll go back tomorrow. It’s better than TV.”

9.
    T HE DAY AFTER THE FIRE, M AYA sauntered into Scoville like she owned the place. I followed, not feeling nearly as self-assured. We joined the same people from the day before. Harlan gave us both bear hugs, and Shelly smiled widely, but that was to be expected. I was certain the others would continue to ignore us. I couldn’t have been more shocked when moody Christian welcomed us into the fold.
    â€œHey, Firestarter,” he said, tossing a wicked grin my way. “Thanks for the giant ashtray.” He flicked his cigarette butt into the bald patch hemmed in by scorched grass. Beneath a few cigarette butts, the ashes of the tracts mingled with the dirt. I proudly realized that they’d moved into the center of the park to sit around the remnants of my fire.
    Craig reached across the fire pit to hand Maya and me some flyers. “You should come see our band Symbiotic next weekend.