Fines and Flames

By Cassandra Hamm

Of all the things to deal with right before a room check, of course I have to put out dragon fire.

“Venus, what did you do?” I gape at the flames eating my dorm room’s floor, then glare at the perpetrator.

Venus, the tiny dragon living under my bed, preens her golden scales without a glance in my direction.

“Did you burn ramen again?” My roommate Matt emerges from the bathroom, coughing. His eyes widen. “Drew, what the he—?”

“Shh! Do you want Nick to come early?”

I snatch a water bottle from Matt’s desk, pry open the lid, and unleash its contents. Steam billows from the floor with a loud hiss. I cough, waving a hand in front of my face. Black water spreads slowly from the mess of melted carpet fibers.

Our Resident Assistant is coming for room checks in ten minutes. What am I supposed to say? Sorry, the pet dragon I’m not supposed to have tried to burn down the dorm. Not that Venus is a pet. She’s more like an adorable, dangerous parasite who took over my room and my life.

“We’re so getting fined for this,” Matt moans.

I wag my finger at Venus. “Bad dragon.”

She meets my gaze with snooty, burnt-orange eyes, then bares her teeth. I jump back. Dragons and their hormones.

This isn’t the first thing she’s set on fire. Last month, I found my favorite water bottle—decorated with tiny depictions of Mercury—as a molten heap. She was probably jealous of a rival planet.

But the carpet is school property. What if I get suspended? Or, worse, what if they find out about Venus?

“How much do you think they’ll fine us?” I say.

“You mean how much do I think they’ll fine you.” Matt eyes Venus. “She’s your dragon.”

She bites his sock. Matt yelps and shakes his foot, but she hangs on.

Maybe I could delve into Venus’s hoard of spare change to help pay the inevitable fine—though I’d probably lose a finger in the process.

I glance at my phone. Crap, only five minutes before room checks start. And I’m no closer to fixing this mess. I grab some paper towels and start mopping up the water. “Maybe we can cover up the burn.”

Venus finally releases Matt’s foot and drops to the floor. Matt skitters away from her. “With what?”

My eyes flick to my newly-cleaned desk. “Come on!” I toss the paper towels in the trash and grab one corner.

We hoist the desk with our trembling arms, drag it across the carpet, and settle it on the still-soggy spot. Matt grabs the air freshener from under the sink and begins spraying.

“I’m still mad at you,” I tell Venus.

She chirps as if to say, Who, me?

“Now go to your hoard and stay.”

She curls her lip, baring tiny, sharp teeth. With an irritated wing-flap, she skitters under my bed, disappearing behind my comforter.

At least she listens to me sometimes. If anyone sees her, they’ll take her away, and then who knows…

I glance at the spot where my desk used to be and stiffen. Crap. I forgot we used my desk to cover a soda stain two room checks ago.

Knock, knock.

I plant my feet on top of the soda stain right as the door opens. Nick pokes his head in. His spiked orange hair reminds me a little too much of the blaze. Unfortunately, he’s a junior—a.k.a. an upperclassman without senioritis. I could use an RA who doesn’t follow the rules quite so well.

Please stay under the bed, Venus, I silently plead.

“All right, let’s see.” Nick blinks at the desk in the middle of the floor. “Doing some rearranging?”

“Yep!” My voice is too high.

“Seems a little inconvenient.” He raises an eyebrow.

“Just needed a change of scenery.” Will it look super awkward if I stand right here the whole time?

“Yeah,” Matt says. “It gets really boring around here.”

Venus snorts loud enough for us to hear. Nick looks around, so I cough. “Sorry. Allergies.”

“Uh huh.” Nick’s eyes water. “Man, that’s a lot of air freshener. Wait… did you burn something?”

“Oh, yeah. Uh, I burnt…” I trail away.

“Ramen,” Matt says. “I keep telling him to watch the microwave, but does he listen?”

I scowl.

“Be more careful, Drew.” Nick sounds like my dad in lecture-mode. “If your room catches on fire, it could spread to the rest of the floor and burn down the whole building.”

“Sorry.”

Peering inside our microwave, he lets out a tsking noise. I swear I was going to scrub the ravioli sauce stains, but dragon fire comes first.

“You need to do a better job of cleaning, guys. I know it’s your first year, but that’s no excuse for laziness.”

I’m not lazy. I just happen to be the full-time caretaker of a tiny menace.

Nick continues scanning our room, making little comments about the sink, and the trash can we forgot to empty after the accident.

His gaze falls on my feet. Matt and I exchange looks of horror.

“Drew?” he says quietly. “What’s that?”

I reluctantly step off the old stain.

Nick pulls out the dreaded fine slip. “I expected better from you guys.”

Great. There goes my bank account.

“Ow!” Nick hops up and down, holding his shoe. “What was that?”

A tiny golden tail slips back under the bed.

I should be mad that Venus almost gave herself away. Instead, I bite back a grin. “Sorry. You must’ve stepped on something.”

Nick glances at the clean floor, then hands me the slip and limps out of the room, muttering something about freshmen.

I peek under my bed. Venus perches on her coin hoard with what I swear is a smirk. She nudges a quarter with her nose. It rolls toward my hand.

“I don’t forgive you,” I say.

She snorts a tiny flame.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Cassandra Hamm is a psychology nerd, jigsaw puzzler, and hopeless romantic who spends most of her time lost in another world. Her work appears in various anthologies, including Stories that Sing, Bingeworthy, and Sensational from Havok Publishing; Warriors Against the Storm; When Your Beauty is the Beast; and Faces to the Sun. She suspects she may end up as a cat lady (or the owner of a Warrior Clan).

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