I looked out my window. The car was already there, looking just as beat up as always. Anyone could say whatever they wanted about it, but I would have still preferred it to the bus. Before the sound of the car's horn could fill the street, annoying my parents and neighbors, I tapped on the glass of my window. If I got his attention, he normally spared me from yelling an immediate apology.

My clock confirmed my suspicion that I was running late. Way later than normal for me. I looked in the mirror. I could brush my hair in the car. I never wore makeup, so I was good there. Without a second glance, I threw my hairbrush on top of my backpack.

My feet pounded down the steps, going as fast as they could without making me fall over.

"Bye, Mom, Dad."

The answering shouts, each coming from the kitchen followed me out the door. He'd already propped open the back-car door for me to throw my backpack in. It slid across the seat, almost in sync with my opening of the passenger side and ungainly lowering of myself into the car.

"Good morning, Lincoln."

"I feel like I should say good morning back," he said, the corners of his mouth already turned up in a sort of smirk, "but ‘good’ seems like the wrong word to describe... this."

I rolled my eyes, reaching for my hairbrush.

"You know, sometimes I wonder how we're dating," I muttered, already raking my hair to its normal, orderly state.

He didn't say anything. I glanced over at him, his eyes on the road ahead of us. He was smiling. When we were alone, it didn't matter what I said, it made his face split into a grin.

"You think that's funny?" I pouted, crossing my arms dubiously.

"No," he pacified, the chuckle still in his voice, "I don't."

"Liar."

He shifted in his seat, turning on the radio. Power move, Lincoln. Power move.

My hair didn't take long to brush. My fingers were already twisting it into a braid by the time we were in the school zone. I was done by the time we were in the parking lot.

I have no idea how people get in and out of cars so easily. It was this whole long involved process for me, normally including Lincoln pulling me out. I mean, you don't just go up. You must go up and out, which is a totally different thing than just going up or just going out. So yeah, I was going to have my boyfriend fish me out.

"Thanks, babe."

He was about to say something when across the parking lot, our friends were walking towards us in a large, slightly intimidating group.

"Skylar! I forgot to do the history thingy. Can I see your paper?"

Lincoln was instantly behind me with both of our backpacks slung across his shoulder.

"No." He answered for me.

"Dude, be cool. I need this 'else I'm going to fail."

"Sky, don't give it to him," Lincoln announced, sounding firmly rigid in his opinion, "you've already 'helped' him enough."

Caleb, the one who asked me to help him cheat, turned to me. He gave me a pitiful stare.

"Please. If I fail this class, my mama's going to kill me. I might even get held back a grade. Please."

I looked between the two boys. My attention finally shifted to the one staring at me with his little puppy dog eyes. I didn't buy it. "Caleb, why did you forget to do your homework?"

He took a deep breath. "Well, there was this party last night. And you know, I need to keep up my reputation... so..."

"Caleb, you have history 7th period, right?"

"Yeah."

"I'll help you with it at lunch." I decided. "I will not let you copy my paper."

He let out a sigh of relief. My boyfriend looked at me slightly annoyed. Whatever it was, he didn't say anything to me as we mingled with the rest of our group to head into the school building. Why was he so adamant that his best friend wouldn't be given the means to cheat on homework? It wasn't that Lincoln cared much about the ethics of cheating. He didn't.

It wasn't any of my business. I'd keep my nose out of it all. I'd be there if either of them needed me, of course, but I wouldn't meddle.

He passed me my backpack. Our lockers were right next to each other anyway, which was the best I could have hoped for. Inside homeroom, however, was a different story. The teacher had arranged the seating chart so that no one was near anyone they remotely liked. It really was, from the teacher’s perspective, perfection. No one talked to anyone. No one got themselves into too much trouble. What more could she want?

The whole class listened in silence as the announcements crackled onto the loudspeakers.

Sports news, random fundraisers held by random clubs, dances, and things that I didn't really care about at all were performed by freshmen who seemed to think they were funnier than they really were. The only thing that was of any remote interest to me was that our fire drill would be next Wednesday. I would have to remember to bring a jacket or steal one from Lincoln.

The bell rang, and we all stood, adjusting our natural paces to be next to whatever friend you didn't sit by. Me and Lincoln were side by side almost instantaneously.

"I'm guessing you'll want to borrow one of my hoodies for the fire drill," he assumed.

Borrow; that's what I meant.

"You know I do," I grinned at him.

We went our separate ways for our next classes. We didn't share much of a schedule other than homeroom and lunch, which, quite frankly, sucked.

I like school, don't get me wrong there. I just think it was possibly one of the most boring things I've ever committed to. I mean, the classes were all just a collection of a teacher talking in a monotone, giving you pages to read, and worksheets based off those pages. Then, a few homework assignments vaguely based on the classwork are given and you move onto the next class.

The secret to success was really to take as many study halls as you can. Then, you do all the homework while still in the mood of doing things that will have very limited application to the real world.

The school day had a way of going painstakingly slow, but then somehow also fast. It seemed like the present was slow, but then the second you looked back, it was like everything happened in a few, ever enduring seconds.

"Lincoln Carver, please report to the principal's office. That's Lincoln Carver to the principal's office."

What did he do? If I had to wait for detention to be over again before I could catch my ride home, I was going to be ticked off. What on Earth did he do? If it was another act of senseless, but kind of funny vandalism, I was going to question all my life choices while eating ice cream and watching Netflix.

The bell rang again, and this time I took a detour to pass the office on the way to get to my next class. My insides twisted. I could hear the yelling from the other side of the door. I wasn't even the one in trouble, but I wanted to burst out into tears and apologize. The yelling stopped, and a fraction of my unearned guilt abated. I heard Lincoln's voice, muted but undoubtedly his trying to protest. He was going to tell me everything at lunch.

I moved on, settling in my next class. About halfway through, the fire alarm started going off. The drill wasn't supposed to be until next Wednesday.

"Attention students. This is not a drill. I repeat this is not a drill."

Well, that was great. I was in a building that was on fire. The announcement went on about exiting the building in an orderly fashion. It was high school students. Everyone started to clamor for the door. The teacher yelled, forcing everybody into a single file line before he would move out of the way of the door. Stupid teacher.

It worked, though. We were about as orderly as we could be, trouping off for the nearest exit. The lights were all flashing, as though we weren't all freaked out enough. The school was burning down.

I was about to walk out the door of the classroom when I scanned the room.

"Skylar, can you help me go down the stairs?" A girl, Emma, I think her name was, asked. "I normally use the elevator, but I don't think I can do that right now."

Emma was still on crutches. If that were a drill, she'd have been given an advanced notice and ample time to get out of the building before the throng of students. And she'd have been able to use the elevator.

"Yeah," I said, wishing I'd sounded happier about it, "of course."

I helped her out of the chair and through the maze of everyone's belongings. I held the door. We'd taken so long getting out of the classroom that most of our classmates were long gone. Now came the hard part. How was I going to get Emma and her broken leg down the stairs?

We stood on the landing, just in front of the first step down.

"Give me your crutches," I demanded, surprising even myself.

"What," she hissed back, sounding confused.

"You can't go down the stairs with your crutches. Let me hold them."

Emma grudgingly complied. I held the metal in my right hand, holding Emma's arm with the other. We were both going to die.

We made painfully slow progress. Smoke was starting to fill the stairwell. The air burned in my lungs. Emma was smart. With her free hand, she pulled her shirt over her nose. She did the same for me. I still couldn't really take a breath, but now I could breathe a little better.

I heard coughing.

"Sky? Are you still in here?" There was more coughing.

Lincoln. He was in the principal's office. He'd have been one of the first people to get out. He'd come back for me. Man, I was in love with an idiot.

"Here. I'm here."

He rounded the corner, covered in soot, coughing with the sheer effort of moving. Now there were three of us that were going to die.

In moments, Lincoln registered the entire situation. He covered his mouth with his own clothes, instantly moving to pick Emma up. He had her over his shoulder and looked like he was about to pass out. The entire first floor was filled with smoke. He didn't continue down the hall like my first instinct had been to do. I realized then how fatal that instinct would have been.

He moved us into a classroom. I couldn't breathe. It hurt. My other two companions looked like they were about to pass out. I felt about the same. Wasn't the air down lower supposed to be better for breathing? Surprisingly, it was. I moved slightly faster, with my army crawl. Eventually, I was under the windows. I couldn't avoid standing up. It took so much effort to open the heavy metal of the window. And then, there was still the screen to contend with.

The class had been working with scissors. That was a stroke of luck. I pulled one of the cutting implements towards me, stabbing the mesh, over and over. Weaker and weaker. Lincoln slowly moved towards me. He was going to pass out. My hands were so heavy. I clawed at it. It was a hole large enough for a person to go through now. Smoke was billowing out. I couldn't see anything, just feeling them behind me. It hurt to have my eyes open.

I collapsed. I barely recognized the shift in movement as Lincoln pushed Emma, already unconscious, through the window. I felt it as he collapsed next to me. Everything was so hot. Blackness took over until I couldn't even feel myself breathing anymore.

Ashes, ashes, we all fall down.