TORCH by Yvonne Collins, Sandy Rideout

I have my cell handy.
    What could go wrong?
    I start by balling up sheets of newspaper beside the empty bathtub. It takes ten minutes of concentration to get it to light, which is frustrating when it happens spontaneously outside my “lab.” In fact, it’s by thinking about how and why it happens with Bianca that a tiny flicker finally appears. I spend the next few seconds trying to extinguish the flame with my mind, but when that fails I use the spray bottle.
    I work my way through the pile of newspaper balls, getting faster and more efficient with my starts, all thanks to Bianca. When I think about her slurs against my dad, it literally feels like an internal switch flips, and all I have to do is direct the flame. I’ve never put out one of my own fires, though, so I can’t call up the emotion I need. Obviously, it can be done, because Hux did it, and I will eventually figure it out myself.
    It would be easier to sign up for his fire class and train, but I don’t like his terms. I’m not “seeing” Kai, and I don’t intend to, but Hux isn’t calling all the shots. He has no business trying to run my life. If I’m such a big threat to society, he should be offering information freely and without conditions. He could be a role model and mentor, and instead he’s letting me struggle alone.
    Luckily my hand is dangling over the side of the tub when the first fireball forms. It’s no bigger than a marble, a tiny sparkling orb. Sliding off my hand, it meanders slowly from one side of the tub to the other, before swirling gracefully around the drain and sputtering out in a shower of blue-and-red sparks.
    I recall the exact moment it formed. It felt like completing a thought, and the thought was that I’m pissed at Hux. I let myself feel that again, and sure enough, energy surges down my arm and another fireball forms. Watching it roll around the tub, I remember that Hux’s fireball was tinged with yellow, whereas Dad’s was closer to green. It’s like every Torch has a unique fire fingerprint.
    As my thoughts shift to dad, the fireballs come faster and easier, growing to the size of golf balls. I turn on a steady stream of water and let them roll off the runway, one after the other. Dad’s obviously lied to me my whole life about this ability and covered it well. After my so-called rescue in the pool, he should suspect I have what he called “the gift,” and yet he hasn’t talked to me like he promised. He knows Kai’s a Flood and he’s left me to deal with him without guidance while he flits around watching fires.
    Dad never really was a hands-on parent. That job got handed down to Nate when Mom died. As for Nate, Dad said he didn't have the gift. If that was so, then how could he send Nate to Rosewood, to work alongside a Flood? Kai’s dad may have killed Nate simply because he thought he had the family gift, yet poor Nate was completely unprepared and unarmed.
    I feel an uncomfortable sizzling sensation in my hand and look down to see a fireball the size of a tangerine swirling around in my cupped palm. Startled, I flick my hand. The fireball ricochets off the side of the tub and lands on the bathmat, which ignites instantly. Grabbing the wet towels, I smother the bathmat until the fire is out. Although it was only alight for about thirty seconds, the bathroom vanity is scorched.
    I collapse against the side of the tub, wrap my arms around my shins to stop the shaking, and rest my head on my knees. If this is a gift, I want to return it. I want to rewind my life to a year ago, when I had an older brother and my biggest concern was shaving minutes off my swim speed.
    That’s when the smoke alarm in the kitchen gives a warning beep.
    “Phee?” It’s Graham, outside the bathroom door. “Are you okay? I smell smoke.”
    I clamber to my feet, saying, “I’m fine, Gray, no worries.” I wrap the wrecked bathmat in the wet towels and shove the bundle into the cupboard. Then I grab another one of my