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trouble.
    We were outside the AM-PM on Fourth and
Garnett, hanging out in the shade, when I came up with the idea. Me
and Bobby, we went to AM-PM for drinks just like we always do. I
had a Mountain Dew with lots of ice. I like lots of ice in the
summer, crunch it between my teeth like candy. Bobby was sucking
down AM-PM's lame-ass version of a sour berry Slurpee. He stuck out
his tongue every now and then just to gross me out, like a blue
tongue is all that gross. I've seen grosser.
    I'd slipped a lighter in my jeans pocket
when the AM-PM cashier wasn't looking. The lighter was clear orange
plastic, the kind where you can see the fluid inside sloshing all
around. I almost forgot about it until I did that little jump-skip
thing I do over cracks in the sidewalk, and I felt the lighter
poking hard against my hip.
    "Wanna see something cool?" I asked.
    I took the lighter out of my pocket and
showed it to Bobby, and all of a sudden, just like that, I had the
idea.
    Kinda funny when I think about it, how ideas
come to me. I didn't really want the lighter, hadn't planned on
swiping it. It was just so easy to take.
    It's part of the game, to see what I can get
away with. People look at me and expect me to be nice. Bobby says
it's my face, the way I can make it look all sweet and innocent. I
think he's jealous because he can't. People look at Bobby and just
expect him to do something bad.
    Like that stupid AM-PM cashier. She was this
old lady with rotten teeth and frizzy bleached-out hair and a loser
job. She watched Bobby the whole time he was in the store like he
was going to stuff his Slurpee in his shirt instead of pay for it,
or maybe she thought he'd pull a gun on her and rob her. Just
because of how he looks, like he can help it. So I smiled my sweet,
innocent smile and paid for my Mountain Dew, and when she went back
to watching Bobby's every move, I grabbed the lighter off the
display next to the counter. Serves her right. I hope they make her
pay for it.
    Bobby didn't want to do the fire at first.
He's always so scared of getting caught.
    "Roberto, man, c'mon, we gotta do this," I
said, and because I know he hates his real name, I said it again,
drew it out sing-song. "Ro-berrrrr-to."
    He took a swing at me, but I'm faster than
him and I ducked out of the way without spilling any of my drink. I
could have hit him back, but he's my friend so I didn't.
    "Don't call me that," Bobby said. He looked
like he wanted to try to hit me again. "You know I ain't that
fucking name."
    Yeah, I know, but saying it makes Bobby mad
enough to do what I want him to. I know it, and he knows I know it,
but that doesn't change things. Bobby'll do almost anything to
prove he's not Roberto, not some worthless piece of shit like his
old man.
    "Listen," I said. "I been inside already.
There's all sorts of stuff in there that'll burn."
    "Yeah? Then why don't you go do it? You're
the one who's got a hard on about it."
    Hard on. That's funny.
    Bobby sucked down some more of his drink and
pretended to ignore me. But I saw the glint in his eye, and I could
tell he was coming around to the idea. That's one of the reasons he
hangs with me. I come up with all the best ideas.
    We stood there for a while, finishing off
our drinks and watching the traffic on Garnett. Wasting time, but
it was Saturday and we had no place special to be. I didn't want to
go home, not yet. There was nothing to do there anyway. There never
is.
    An eighteen-wheeler roared by, belching
nasty-smelling diesel over its rusted trailer. Garnett has a "No
Trucks" sign, but nobody pays any attention. There's a park across
the street from AM-PM, lots of grass, a couple of basketball
courts, and a playground with swings and a slide and a little-kid
merry-go-round. I guess somebody figured trucks driving by a park
where a bunch of kids hang out wasn't a good thing. Too bad nobody
cares. I flipped the truck driver off even though I knew he
couldn't see me, and Bobby laughed.
    "This is lame," I