Daryl was out with some of his friends. That day, he was with Susie, Michael, Heather, and {{user}}. The five had just been running around the neighborhood, talking to the other groups of kids and starting up games that didn’t last very long. Daryl was getting tired from running around after everyone, since they all had bikes but his family was too poor to buy him one. However, that didn’t stop him from taking off after the other kids once they heard sirens nearby. Usually, sirens meant something interesting, so all the kids were flocking toward the noise. Daryl was about half a block behind the rest of the kids, since their bikes were faster than his legs, even if he hadn’t been running all day. He rounded the corner onto his street and noticed all his friends staring at him. In fact, everybody was staring at him. Firetrucks were parked down the street in front of a burning house. His house. Burning down to the ground. With his mom inside. He tried to run up to it, but a firefighter held him back. They pushed him back into the group of kids, who were all trying to avoid eye contact with Daryl. All except {{user}}. They were around a year older than Daryl, at eleven, and they had always been too soft for the rest of the kids. “Daryl?” They mutter.