The fire alarm wailed and no matter how hard she tried she couldn’t hit it with the broom to shut it off. She had set the frying pan on the skillet, and added the oil. She would let that heat up. She added a cup of water and then—a fire ball shot up to the bottom of the cupboards above the oven. The bottom blew off and the contents fell. She was so dead. The girl had added oil to water before, so why would it not work the opposite way?

Flour, sugar, and spices covered the stove and the kitchen floor. And she felt bad about it. She’d only wanted to see what would happen. The smell of burnt plastic and charred cardboard still hung in the air. They would be so mad. She’d probably be sent off to live with someone else. The chicken was still thawed in the microwave. Perfectly edible. But the rest of the kitchen in the tiny apartment was covered in melted, charred and burnt kitchen appliances and utensils.

            The girl knew she’d be shipped off to another home. Now with the title ‘Arsonist’ on her file. Once again it was time to run. Her bags had already been packed. But she wasn’t fast enough. Her current father figure came in the door. “Whoa!” he said. Not angry. Just surprised. “What happened?” He noticed the burnt smell. “Are you okay?”

            She broke down. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to. It just happened. I dunno. The chicken is in the microwave. I’m sorry!”

            He reached up and shut off the alarm. “Hey…don’t cry. You’ll learn. It was a mistake. Did you get burnt?  What happened?”

            “No. I’m fine! The oil was getting hot and then I added the water and…Don’t tell the social workers, please. I’m not an arsonist. Really. It was a mistake, I swear!” She choked it out between sobs.

            “It’s all right. I did the same thing when I was your age. I was working at a fast food restaurant and a friend dared me to spit on the deep fryer. The whole place almost burnt down. Just don’t do it again.” He got the trash can out and started to sweep the floor. “Go wash your face with some cold water and then come back and we’ll fix it all up.”

            Within an hour, the kitchen was back to normal, save for a slight haze of smoke that hung in the air, and the cupboards. But that, he had said, would take him not more than ten minutes to fix.  So they made the chicken together. By the time her current mother figure came home from work, they had made a great dinner that was perfectly edible and not the least bit charred.