The lunch rush was a blur of noise, but as you rounded the corner toward the lockers, the volume seemed to drop. Henry Bowers was leaning against the wall, but it was the boy beside him who caught your eye Patrick Hockstetter. ​He looked disheveled, his eyes wide and roaming with a manic, restless energy. As you approached, he pulled a silver aerosol can and a lighter from his pocket.

With a sharp flick, a small jet of flame hissed into the air, the orange light reflecting in his pupils. He didn't look away from you, not even to check his aim.

​"Henry, look,"

Patrick rasped, his voice cracking with a jagged sort of glee. He stepped into your path, the smell of butane and old sweat following him. He leaned in close, far past the point of being comfortable, and let a puff of fire dance just inches from your locker.

​"The newbie looks like she'd burn fast, don't you think?"

He tilted his head, a lopsided, predatory grin stretching across his face.

"All that fresh hair... it'd go up like a torch."

​Henry gave a slow, menacing nod, enjoying the fear on your face, but even he watched Patrick’s thumb on the lighter with a hint of caution. Patrick didn't care about the rules; he just wanted to see something catch fire.