Celia stands in front of me, hands on hips, blocking my way. For a second, I can’t breathe. I’m convinced she’s on to me, and the five seconds she scowls at me seem the longest of my life. “Going so soon?” she asks, finally. “Why?” I take a deep breath, and brace myself. I know what I have to do. Just act natural. I’ll be out of here before she suspects a thing. “You know… I have things to do, and I’m very tired, and all that,” I yawn forcefully at her, pretending I don’t see the fire building in her eyes. “I just think it’d be better if I go now.” “Can’t you stay at least ten more minutes?” she phrases it like a question, but her tone is hard. I consider it for a moment, but decide against it. Even if it’s not going to set off for quite a few hours, I don’t want to stay in this place one minute longer. “We’ll meet up later,” Though I know, of course, that isn’t true. Celia takes a deep breath, but her eyes are piercing when she looks back at me. “The whole reason I asked you to come over and everything - was to catch up with you. We haven’t hung in so long, Brooks. And now you’re leaving after, what, thirty minutes? Come on. I miss you.” I think about everything. How I’ve changed, but Celia hasn’t. “I’m sorry,” I reach my hand out and put it on her shoulder. I’ve always been much taller than her. Today, it’s almost a relief. Because while Celia may talk and scowl like she’s somehow big, I know I’m always going to be stronger than her. I can do this. Celia stares right at me. Her brownish grey eyes are angry. Controlling. Like always. She doesn’t move my hand, but she moves away just the slightest bit. “The world has changed and you know it. These new groups of arsonists - they’re setting fires and killing hundreds. We have to value the little things. And honestly, I don’t think you’re doing that. You’ve changed as well. And… I don’t like the new you, Brooks.” I stop to look at her for a second. I remember the first time we met - it was the first day of kindergarten. Celia had no one to play with. She had went straight up to everyone and asked if they would play with her, in that same demanding tone she still uses now. She didn’t seem to know what ‘please’ or ‘thank you’ or even what genuinely ‘asking’ meant. She just wanted them to listen to her and to listen to her now. She had asked everyone but me. I was standing in the corner, too scared to ask anyone like she had. She just plopped down on the ground, alone. Her eyes were red and she had looked rather pitiful. I had went and sat down next to her. “I can play with you,” I whispered. That’s when I saw her smile. A small hopeful ineffable smile. A smile that could’ve come been a ray from the sun itself, with the way it lit up her eyes and made her dimples flash. And then she proceeded to command me to play tag with her, while changing the rules every other minutes so she would always win and I would always lose. I look at Celia again. Her eyebrows are still furrowed in an impatient glare, as she waits for me to decide. I long for those days just as much as she does. But it seems like so many of my memories of her are like that. I was the follower, she was the leader. And while it’s nice to see the world as black and white, when I started pushing out of my fragile little shell, it felt like the more she tried to hold me back in. Like she strives on my weakness. “Are you staying?” she asks. She’s tapping her foot impatiently. I always hated it when she did that. It made me feel like I was never enough for her. But nowadays, I don’t feel like she’s enough for me. “No,” I snarl. I know I’m supposed to act natural, so Celia never suspects what I did before it goes off. Once she’s gone, I’ll prove my worth, and be with the people I truly belong with. I leave calmly. I don’t look back but I know Celia’s frozen in place. I’d love to say everything I’ve held back over the years, the massive amount of words and emotions tucked and compressed inside a bottle and hidden in the unseen corners of my heart. After-all, this will be the last time I see her. But there is no need to make a scene out of it. There’ll be a much bigger one when my plan unfolds. *** Celia held back the rush of warmth in her eyes. It was always easy to swallow the lump in her throat and hold the tears back with her anger. Her anger was her shield. A shield that could hide pain, hide vulnerability. When Brooks left, that’s when the anger left her like a deflated balloon. All that remained was sorrow. Celia’s mind flashed back to a long ago memory. They were kids. It was a new school. She remembered what her mother told her when she was worried about making friends, she had laughed and said, “Just go up to them and say ‘Be my friend’, sweetie. It’s that easy,” But it hadn’t been. She was lonely and sad and painfully aware that she was different from everybody else. The only person she hadn’t asked was a stony-faced girl standing in the corner, watching Celia like she was some sort of alien. It turned out she had been the one to show her a bit of kindness. She had inspired Celia in many ways - to be a little bit kinder, a little less angry, a little more better each day. But Brooks had changed so, so much. She seemed uncaring to everyone else. She had isolated herself. Shut herself off to the world. And now this? Celia held the phone up to her ear. She knew they were waiting right outside; she had only needed to stall Brooks for a couple of minutes. “She’s one of them,” her voice shook, and she didn’t try to hide it. “One of the arsonists.” “You’re certain?” The crackly unidentifiable voice said. Brooks was an arsonist all while Celia worked undercover in a team to stop the arsonists. Irony could be cruel. “Certain,” Celia closed her eyes. “I saw her put the active bomb under my bed. She’s just outside the house.” The initiation ceremony. End someone you once cared about. End them with fire. Celia had suspected it for a long time, but the final halting moment came tonight. She could still see the look in Brooks’s eyes even as she seemingly tried to comfort Celia; no regret, no guilt. “That’ll be easy. I’ll get her on the way out. Then we’ll handle the bomb.” Celia dropped the line and headed outside, but in the opposite direction from a friend - someone Celia might’ve even once considered a sister - who had been lost. In more ways than one. Brooks had chosen fire and Celia had chosen ice. And those two don’t mix.