A Firecracker Wish

To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters feature in the book. Cover models are not intended to illustrate specific people and the content does not refer to models’ actual acts, identity, history, beliefs or behavior. No characters depicted in this e-book are intended to represent real people. Models are used for illustrative purposes only. Book Cover Designed By: Allen T. St. Clair ©2023 The Lion Fish Press Published By: The Lion Fish Press 539 W. Commerce St #227 Dallas, TX 75208 Written By: Ace Jamerson www.acejamerson.com © Copyright 2023, Ace Jamerson All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the copyright owner. AUTHORS’ NOTE: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. None of this is real. E-book ISBN 978-1-951860-41-7 Paperback ISBN 978-1-951860-42-4 Ace Jamerson would like their readers to know that this book has the following TW/CWs:Mental Health IssuesSuicide Attempt/Ideation (non-graphic)Eating Disorder/AnorexiaBullyingEmotional Family TraumaHomophobic Language Dedicated To: For those who struggle to find their true selves, be kind to yourself—YOU matter. You’ll get there eventually and it will be everything you dreamed of; maybe more. Contents: Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Epilogue: 3.5 years later Acknowledgements About The Author Morgan High’s student chatter was drowned out by the echoes of Hawthorne Heights’ “Just Another Ghost’’ in my headphones while I mindlessly shuffled down the hall. I’d taken to wearing my headphones everywhere except in actual classrooms since it wasn’t like people talked to me anyway. Gazing straight ahead, my fingers tapped the beat against my thigh as I mentally prepared myself for the upcoming history quiz. All it took was a split second and my vision exploded into a greenish-gray halo of misery. What the fuck just happened? I was stunned and instantly nauseated by my pulsating eye and the crimson blood that gushed from my nose. Floundering helplessly, I slammed into the royal blue lockers lining the hallway, then tried to catch my breath before drooping weakly against them. Peering through the haze at the passing students, I anxiously attempted to stem the flow of blood from my nose with my hoodie sleeve, wondering if anyone had seen what happened. Or if they would come to my aid. But everyone was oblivious. Lost in their own worlds, or worse, had chosen to ignore the bloody violence that had occurred right in front of them. My fellow students’ non-reaction was typical. No one had ever paid me any significant attention. Why would they start now? Well, almost no one, that is. “What the actual hell, Daryl?” I yelled as I yanked my headphones off, then shoved my sleeve back to my bloody nose. Was I supposed to tilt my head back or forward? I wished I had paid better attention in health class. “Stop provoking me,” Daryl’s deep voice rumbled. He scowled darkly as his tall, muscular body crowded my personal space. The popular, star athlete’s wavy, dark hair was perfectly gelled as always. His designer jeans ripped stylishly, sneakers just the right brand—but where was his entourage? Usually, he had a few teammates following him around doing his bidding. He was alone this time. As he glared at me with muddy, brown eyes, I noticed a spot of bright, scarlet blood on the tan skin of his elbow—a telltale sign he had been the culprit. Angrily straightening up, and even though I barely came up to his shoulder, I narrowed my eyes and hissed, “How am I provoking you?” “It’s enough that you exist.” He smirked, then crossed his arms over his wide chest before he raised a brow like he was daring me to argue with his vicious logic. My eyes widened even as I slumped and curled my shoulders inward and hung my head in defeat. The fight drained from me, twisting itself around my feet as it always did in perpetual frustration. Being constantly reminded of my unworthiness had gotten old, and I had given up defending myself. As I swiped at the blood dripping onto my headphones, I wondered why Daryl even paid attention to me. Everyone else ignored me, yet several times a week he found me to let me know I was the epitome of toxic waste. Daryl tilted his head and tapped his finger against his dimpled chin before sneering, “If you could ever stop being such a revolting, pathetic, useless, barely-human piece of tainted homo trash, maybe you wouldn’t deserve to be hit anymore. Why would anyone like you or want to be around you? You’re fucking worthless.” He kicked a dirty tissue at me to punctuate his insult, then looked over his shoulder to make sure no one had heard him. He did this all the time, and no one ever heard him. I was an anti-social, awkward, C- average art student. Daryl was class president, popular, and a talented three-sport athlete whose mother was on the school board. Apparently, he could do no wrong at our school, while