[ WP ] You take the advice on a Dove chocolate wrapper seriously . Maybe too seriously .

I squatted over the toilet and squeezed my eyes shut, praying that the bullies would n't think to open the bathroom stall door. 
 
 Too bad Jason was n't one of those stupid, stereotypical bullies you see on TV. He kicked open the door, yelped in delight, and grabbed the front of my shirt, pulling me out of the stall. `` That's not how you shit, stupid! You got ta take your pants off first!'' 
 
 `` I knew he was one of those smart retards,'' Kyle said. 
 
 `` I'm not retarded,'' I said feebly, and got a punch to the stomach for it. I doubled over. My eyes started to water, from the pain and their laughter. 
 
 `` That's why his mommy packs him such good lunches. Make him feel better about being retarded,'' Jason said. He tore my backpack off my shoulder, and extracted the paper bag. `` Dibs,'' he said, taking a bite out of my turkey sandwich. 
 
 `` What the fuck ever, gim me the chocolate,'' Kyle said, and the little chocolate treat disappeared down his gullet. 
 
 My hands balled into fists, but I knew fighting back would just end badly. The last time I worked up the courage to try, I gave Jason a black eye, but he gave me a broken arm. It just was n't worth it. 
 
 `` Thanks for food, faggot,'' Jason said, and they left, taking the rest of my lunch with them. 
 
 I wiped away the tears and snot dripping from my nose. At my feet was the chocolate wrapper. It was one of those that had a stupid motivational message inside. This one said, `` Do n't settle for a spark... light a fire instead.'' 
 
 `` What's that suppose to even mean?'' I mumbled. `` Light a fire...'' 
 
 An idea popped into existence. I brushed it off at first. It was ridiculous. I turned to wash my face in the sink. The idea came back. `` Light a fire,'' I mumbled again. 
 
 What was stopping me? I still had thirty minutes left for lunch. I had the time. And I had the supplies, too. The only thing I did n't have was the guts. I straightened my glasses. The bridge was covered completely by scotch tape, all thanks to Jason and Kyle. I sniffed. 
 
 The resources officer did n't give me a second-glance as I slunk past him and ran to the school's parking lot. 
 
 Jason's pick-up truck was easy to pick out: bright red, with huge tires and twin Confederate flags mounted on the sides. It was the middle of the day, so there was no one around. Using a pair of scissors, I managed to pry open his gas tank cover. I unscrewed the cap, and rammed in a pencil wrapped up in toilet paper. And for once, my lighter ignited after the first flick. 
 
 I was still running away when the truck exploded. The shock-wave knocked me down, and I scrambled away, a big grin spreading across my face.
