I didn't usually walk past the research facility on my way home from class, but when an explosion lit the sky one Thursday evening, I decided to detour.

Short of a lab rat escaping on Monday, this was the most exciting thing to happen all week.

I walked blindly, ears ringing. My face and bare legs prickled from the blast of heat.

The spots in my vision cleared as I rounded the corner onto Industrial Street. The building loomed against the black sky, eight storeys high with towers and smoke stacks. A barbed wire fence barricaded everything but the front entrance, where a tombstone-like sign read, ACE Research Facility.

Flames licked the sky from several windows in the north tower.

The police were outside, a carnival of blue and red lights. A handful of frightened-looking people stood clustered to the side — probably late-working employees.

I considered pulling out my phone but decided against it. A group of high school students was already filming. Besides, I didn't know what I'd do with the footage or who I'd show it to.

The front doors burst open, and two policemen dragged a handcuffed man from the building.

"They can't keep this away from the public! America has the right to everything inside!"

"Clearly you don't understand the idea of a private research facility," said one of the officers.

Behind them, the flames reached higher, consuming several storeys and creating a building-sized bonfire. I wondered what the cops would do if I pulled out marshmallows and a box of graham crackers. I giggled. The high school students looked over, whispered something to each other, and walked away.

Over my shoulder, a man spoke.

"Well, someone's getting fired for this."

I turned. "Oh, I don't know. I'd say they put the lit in facility."

I found myself facing a young man, about my age. The first thing I noticed about him was his smile. His thin lips curled upwards, pulling back from a perfect row of teeth. His eyebrows arched in a mysterious, almost wicked way, but for the soft eyes beneath them. His green irises glinted in the flames as they travelled from my blond hair, down my V-neck shirt, to my skirt, and then back to my face.

"You all right?" he said. "You weren't inside, were you?"

I tried to speak, but my tongue wouldn't cooperate. His concern for me was adorable.

I turned back to the flaming building. "I was just passing."

"Do you know what happened?"

"Arson. They cuffed someone."

Even without looking at this stranger, I found it hard to speak. He smelled so good. Was that chocolate?

The side of my body nearest him became warmer than the side nearest the flames.

"What were you laughing at?" he said.

"Do you think those flames are toxic?"

"Coming from ACE? Most definitely."

"Too bad. I was wondering what would happen if I tried to roast a marshmallow."

That was the first time I heard him laugh. It was the most beautiful sound. I wanted to save it in a wine bottle, like people did with tiny ships, and I could open that bottle whenever I felt sad and listen to it over and over. I imagined pulling my water bottle from my bag, pressing it to his lips, wrapping my other hand around his throat and squeezing the laughter into the bottle.

He caught me staring.

I smiled. "What's your name, mister?"

"Call me Jay."

"Just Jay?"

He tilted his head, giving me a crooked grin that weakened my knees.

"Well, Mister Jay. Pleased to meet you. I'm Harl—"

A wailing fire truck rounded the corner, drowning my words.

"Harley?" said Jay.

"Harleen."

"Oh. I like Harley."

Harley. I'd never been called that before. I looked past him, then met his green eyes again, feeling my lips quirk but not letting myself smile.

"You can call me Harley."

He broke our gaze, glancing in the direction of the research facility. "I have to go."

I wanted to tell him to wait, but before I could get the word out, he disappeared down the dark street.

Someone stopped behind me. I turned to see a police officer. His forehead glistened; a muscle in his jaw twitched. He rubbed a hand over his throat, as though trying to loosen it.

Textbook anxiety symptoms.

What's got you so worked up, mister?

"Miss, did you see anything?"

"Well, that building is on fire," I said, pointing.

The officer frowned. I glanced to his name badge.

"I was on my way home, Mister O'Brien."

His gaze shifted from my face, to my school bag, to my legs. I pulled my skirt down a little.

"Who was that kid you were with?"

"I don't know."

"Not your boyfriend?"

So many questions. Plus that inflated air of responsibility. Probably the oldest child.

"No," I said shortly, and then added for good measure, "My boyfriend is at home."

He squinted at me. "Did he tell you his name?"

I wondered if I'd made a mistake by hovering around.

"No. He was passing by and asked what happened."

Officer O'Brien glanced down the empty street behind me. "There may still be suspects in the area, miss. Are you able to call your boyfriend to pick you up?"

"I can walk, thank you."

"Miss, I strongly advise you don't walk home—"

I turned away. "I strongly advise you don't underestimate my self-defence."

The cop spoke into his radio. "Nelson, can you give this young lady a ride?"

I stopped, fists clenched.

The radio crackled and a woman's voice said, "Sure thing."

Across the street, the fire truck unravelled its hose, and they began to smother the flames.

An awkward car ride later, the lady cop dropped me off and I let myself into my apartment. Eleven o'clock. I stripped down and flopped on my bed, burying my face in the duvet. I inhaled a mix of perfume and hairspray.

My mind was on the stranger who'd come and gone from my life so quickly — that spark of excitement before the cops doused it. I regretted not making him wait. At least I could have tried to get his number.

Oh, who was I kidding? I'd never asked for a guy's number before.

I picked up my phone and called the only person I ever called.

"Someone's up past her bedtime," said Pam in her deep, calming voice.

"How's Alaska?"

"Seattle."

"Close enough."

"It's fine," she said. "Class is fun. My biochem prof is cute."

"Lucky. My profs are all old. And they're creeps."

"Maybe you should try dressing more modestly."

"I can't help it if people find me vexing."

Pam snorted.

I rolled onto my back and rested my heels against the wall. "I met someone today."

"Someone who's not an old creep?"

I told her about the explosion and the run-in with the handsome stranger.

"What, he was just lingering around the crime site? He sounds like a weirdo, Harleen."

"Harley."

"What?"

"He calls me Harley," I said with a dreamy sigh. "I like it better."

"All right, Harley. When are you seeing him again?"

I said nothing.

"You didn't exchange numbers, did you?"

"I don't know how to ask a boy out!"

She sighed.

We were quiet for a few seconds. Then I said, "Why'd you have to leave, Red?"

"Look, when New York gets a better botany program, I'll come home. For now…"

"Have you made friends?"

"Ha."

"Good," I said. "I was worried I was the only loner."

"Don't ever worry about that."

I listened to the rhythmic thumping coming from my upstairs neighbors, wishing they would shut up and go to sleep already. I satisfied myself by imagining smothering them with a pillow.

"Maybe we should both be trying harder to be social, Red. What'dya say? Ready to branch out over there in the botany department?"

"Sounds exhausting."

"All I know is my ten-second run-in with Mister Handsome was the most action I've had in months."

"Why don't you go to a club?" said Pam. "I'm sure some stranger would love to grind up against you."

I considered. "I do like dancing."

"Then go dance your face off."

Maybe she was right. I needed to do something besides study alone in my apartment every night.

Still, I decided I'd detour past the research facility tomorrow. Maybe he lived around there.

"Go find a different handsome stranger," said Pam, as though reading my thoughts. "One who doesn't hang around a crime site and disappear when the cops arrive."

I pulled a face at the phone. "Nighty night, Red."

"Night… Harley."