Free The Matchmaker's Medium by Laurel King

burn the whole place down.”
    He flipped the top open by snapping his hand back, with a metallic ting! Then he flicked his thumb down the circle-flint thing and a huge flame appeared. It flickered in the wind a little, but it held.
    “Zippos are the best,” he said, “they’re the only lighters that stay lit in the wind. The army guys used ‘em in the war. Dad told me all about it.”
    “That’s so great I forgot to care,” I said, grabbing it out of his hand.
    “Hey!” he said, “Give it back!”
    “Shh! Just let me look in there and shut up !” I said, holding the flame up to the window.
    I could only see a few inches into the shed, mostly just handles of things all over the place, like shovels and rakes. And maybe a table or something.
    “We gotta go in there,” I said, “I can’t see anything.”
    “Okay,” Chris said, reaching for the handle.
    Slam! A car door closing.
    “Hurry up!” I whispered, my shaky hand making the flame jump around, thanks to my heart racing in my chest again.
    “I am!” he turned the old knob a little bit, but then it stopped. “It’s locked!”
    “Well, look for something to open it!”
    He wandered around the side of the shed, finding nothing but a bunch of dry sticks that broke when he tried to pry the door open. I looked at the kid, who was pointing at the other side of the shed.
    “Look over there!” I whisper-yelled, pointing the same way the kid had.
    Chris looked around for a few seconds, then almost tripped on something. He reached down and picked it up, “Yes!” He showed me a long screwdriver that looked as rusty as the shed’s doorknob.
    He put the screwdriver into wood between the door and the shed, pushing and cussing a little under his breath, until I heard a wood-splitting craaaack . “Finally!” he said, pulling the door open.
    Chris stepped into the shed, with me right behind him, holding the Zippo so we could see inside, since the sun was almost down. It was even bigger inside than it looked from the outside, almost big enough for a small car. There were about a million rusty-dusty tools all over the walls, hanging from the ceiling, and piled on the workbench by the window. Leaning against the walls were a bunch of rakes and shovels and even an ancient push-mower like my next door neighbor used.
    “Just some crappy tools and yard stuff,” Chris said, “gimme the lighter.” I handed it to him, and he walked further into the shed. That’s when the kid’s face popped right in front of mine, nearly scaring me to death.
    “Aaah!” I scream-whispered.
    “What?” Chris asked, turning around.
    “Nothing,” I answered. The kid pointed to the back corner of the shed, where it was super dark. “Look over there.” I pointed the same place the kid was pointing.
    Chris walked to the back corner of the shed, shoving stuff with his foot, “Better not step on any rusty nails, or we’ll get test-nuss and Doctor Lindworth will give me a shot. I hate getting—holy crap .”
    “What? What is it?” I asked.
    “Don’t come over here, Amber.”
    “What? Why?”
    “Just don’t .” I never heard him sound so grown up and serious before. My arms got a little goose bumpy from it.
    I heard scraping and rustling, like he was moving something. “Here, hold the Zippo. But don’t look,” he said, handing the lighter to me. I took it from him, held it out, and glanced at the kid. He was really sad, now, looking down at the ground, wiping at his eyes with the back of his hand.
    That’s when I knew.
    I turned away from the kid, really slow, pushed the lighter down toward Chris’s feet, and looked.
    There he was. The kid who brought me here, who was just standing there crying a second ago, was crumpled on the ground. His newspaper bag was on the floor next to him, his eyes staring at nothing, his mouth hanging open a little bit. I dropped the lighter, and the shed went dark. The rest happened really fast.
    I screamed, and Chris fell backward into me.