Flames rejoice around the kindling, their elegantly dangerous silhouettes leaping from stick to log and back to stick again, bright against the dark of the night.
I hesitated to say it. I was only eleven, but everyone else, likewise entrenched in orange and black and equally pissed about the penalty, was chanting.
A projector screen lit up in the front of the cavernous room, and the teacher told us to pay attention. There was a white tower in the center of the screen. An announcer’s voice droned, counting down by seconds.