Chapter Two

He still remembered their faces. Not the way they were up until that night- happy, peaceful, sometimes demanding but always loving- but the way they were when he last saw them. He couldn't even picture their faces without burns and blood and ash anymore. That was all they were.

Scars.

Scars that he would carry with him for the rest of his life.

He was twelve then, and soon after that night he was placed in a group home, because his real estate tycoon grandfather was dead and his aunt had not been heard from in seven years. Not that the law would see her as a capable guardian anyway.

The strength that he found that night in the fire would not be forgotten. He needed it to survive in a world of scars that he would later grow accustomed to. His disregard of logic wouldn't be forgotten either.

He was sixteen now.
Years of putting his mouth where it didn't belong had gotten him into numerous brawls in his group "home", too many to count. He had realized soon that there would always be bad guys in his life, like the chest-shaving water polo players in Newport. But Chino was different. There were no principals,
or teachers, or figures of authority that really cared. It was every man, or in this case, kid, for himself.

There was only one rule.

Don't get caught.

He forgot about that one.

Too late. Again.

He also soon realized that "Seth Cohen retaliatory zingers" would not be enough to save him here. And neither would a close call by the English teacher.
When someone was in trouble, everyone turned their heads.

No heros in Chino.

He needed something more to feel safe, to feel better about sleeping at night and not getting his head bashed into the wall. Again.
That's where the stupidity came in. It was a simple plan, easy to follow through. He just had to take a knife at dinner and slide it into his pocket. It worked.
Then, one day, he said a little too much.
Nick, a guy who had always had it out for the dork in the corner who just couldn't keep his damn mouth shut, decided to have a little fun.
It was an interesting verbal sparring match, with plenty of cracks about each other's mothers and such, when suddenly, it got a little messier.
You see, no one really talked to Seth, at least not nicely anyway,

but he always listened.

Maybe a little too much.

Who would've thought that he had heard things that Nick didn't want to hear? Things that he didn't want anyone to hear? Things that could get him sent to a place no one in Chino wanted to see.

A little place called juvie.

Within seconds, Nick slammed into Seth and pushed him solidly to the ground, going instantly for the neck. And there it was. The smoke was back,
filling Seth's lungs, leaving him gasping for breath. He had to breathe. How to escape? How to escape! His brain was going crazy. Then he remembered.

The knife.

Using as much strength as possible, Seth sprang to Nick's arms, attempting to tear them from their grasp on his throat. If only he was that strong.
With all of Nick's attention drawn to Seth's throat, his hands were left free. Trying to look as inconspicuous as possible, he reached for the knife, which he kept in his sock. His fingers soon touched cold metal and, quickly understanding the fact that he had little air left in his lungs in order to follow through with various functions needed to survive, he grasped it firmly in his hands, and plunged it into Nick's arm. Shock immediately covered both faces,
followed by a cry of pain from one, and a gaspof air from the other. Blood was soon covering the floor around the two boys, and no words were spoken.
Then came the authorities. No need to ask who caused the scene. The knife was still in Seth's hand. All the evidence they needed. And then Seth knew.
He knew where he was going.

A little place called juvie.