Page 1 of Scorched Hearts
1
ELLE
The sudden uproar of sirens shook firefighter Elena Rodriguez awake from a shallow nap. Her body already knew where to run. Tense like steel armor, her muscles settled into the familiar routine of urgency – she slid down the pole to the ground level of the fire station, seeking out information from one of the captains.
“Pearl Avenue – school fire,” Deputy Chief Ramirez yelled through the speakers.
The crew prepared two fire trucks to be dispatched. Elle settled into her usual driver’s seat, a privilege which she’d earned. In her mind, she prepared for the worst. Even in a city like Phoenix Ridge, bustling with life and modern architecture, schools could be a real fire hazard. Their outdated heating systems and wooden structures often raised goosebumps on Elle’s skin.
In a matter of seconds they were on the road, wailing sirens blazing above their heads, the life corridor stretching ahead. The citizens of this city could never catch a break from emergencies.
Upon reaching the school, a familiar mixture of relief and nauseating irritation rose. Ahead of their trucks lay a picture of a perfectly idle day, kids playing around and laughing on the school grounds, though some were already raising their heads to stare at the annoyed firefighting crew.
A group of alarmed teachers emerged out of the building, their hands nervously flying around in the air. A woman at the front of the group began hastily apologizing.
“Oh, God, I swear I had no idea how to turn the alarm off! Some first grader pressed it and before we knew it, your trucks were here.”
The false alarm call went the way they all did, with a reminder to call the station immediately if there’d been a mistake, the principal’s suggestion that maybe the firefighters could visit the school sometime to talk some responsibility into the kids, and Ramirez saying she would consider sending a bunch of young firefighters over one day.
Eventually, they all got back into the trucks and drove peacefully back to the station. Elle couldn’t help but feel pure relief on the way. As frustrating as a false alarm was, she was always relieved when nobody died.
The rest of the shift passed uneventfully, unless one counted destroying Kaia Montgomery in endless rounds of cereal poker as an attention-worthy detail.
“Kaia, you have the worst hand I’ve ever seen,” Johnson laughed, while sliding another row of cereal loops to her side of the table. Slightly melted, they kept sticking to her palms.
Haley Johnson had only recently joined the crew and kept surprising everyone with her out-of-pocket talents. Apparently, one of them was a penchant for poker.
“Wanna feel it?” Montgomery threatened with a fist.
“Don’t get my hopes up. You’re taken,” Haley Johnson retorted and made the whole company laugh like thunder. Kaia only smirked, resigned, and licked her remaining loops from the table.
While driving home to the melody of her favorite Nirvana album, Elle’s thoughts spun around her date the next day. She had finally asked the cute barmaid from a bar down her street for her number. She’d been frequenting it far more often than necessary in hopes of figuring out whether the charming woman might be single, and on top of that, interested in women.
Elle’s charms had clearly worked, but then, it wasn’t a surprise, really, and Mimi—that was her name—accepted the drinks invitation. Elle wondered for a while whether it might be a faux pas to invite a barmaid to a bar, but she’d always thought the classic first date locations were best. Mimi didn’t seem to mind.
Having effortlessly parked her car, Elle stood next to it for a moment, contemplating a cigarette. The evening embraced her with a light, humid breeze, and she gave in. The lighter clicked deliciously, and her first drag in a few days tasted to Elle like heaven. Swaying gently, she stood contemplating until the neighbor’s car parked right next to hers. She waved.
Mrs. Dumas got out of the car, clearly in a bad mood. She and Elle weren’t on the best terms.
“I thought firefighters were supposed to be a good example to citizens.” She loudly shut the door to her Mercedes.
Elle took a long drag, then said, exhaling smoke, said, “We’re supposed to fight fires.”
Mrs. Dumas scoffed, unfastening her sleeping son from the back.
“I live here with small children. Your smoking disturbs their health.”
“No more than the pollution produced by your car… Besides, I’m four yards away from you. They’ll be fine.”
Mrs. Dumas was now leading the sleepy child up their excessively long steps, her eyes full of disdain.
“And to think my taxes are paying you for all--” she gestured vaguely at Elle’s house, “—this! For just sitting around and once in a blue moon extinguishing something. Incredible.”
Elle waited until the door closed behind them and laughed. God forbid people who work with their hands deserve a space in this neighborhood. Having finished her cigarette, she cast the butt on Mrs. Dumas’s yard and went inside.
Elle sat in her car, impatiently checking her watch. Its leather strap was ill-fitted, either too tight or too loose, and Elle, being too lazy to pierce a new hole in-between, simply wore it in a way that always fell down her wrist. After checking the time, she had to twist it back up again. Light rain hit the windshield in delicate splatters, clouds rumbled about the sky. She tried remembering whether she’d heard anything about an approaching storm, but nothing came to mind.
There were still ten minutes left until 6 p.m. Elle hated being early. She felt it made her look too eager. Her tall, toned silhouette suggested a stoic demeanor, and she was trying to lean more into that image, even as it slowly caused her burnout. With each new short-lived fling, she grew more appreciative of her effortless first love, back when she didn’t have to curate her behavior, back when she could just be.