It was my third year of Portuguese School, I was twelve years old, and I had it in my hands; the world’s hottest pepper. It looked like a shriveled up plum and little did I know that this fiery fruit was going to give me hell.

One week before this all happened, my brother told me how his friend was giving away the pepper at lunch and challenge people to finish the whole thing. He told me how they would “cough up a lung” and drink cartons of milk because they couldn’t handle the heat. It sounded so enticing; I wanted to eat it and tell everyone else about my experience. How bad could it be, I thought. I’ve tried chili peppers and they weren’t too bad. As long as I have milk I should be just fine… I needed to try it, so I asked him to get me a couple. In one week I’d be eating the world’s hottest pepper.

I decided to share the experience with my best friend at Portuguese School, Kevin, who I had met two years prior. It was a small school of around 30 kids and Kevin was one of the few people I hung out with. The second we first saw each other we completely hit it off. We were five years older than everyone else in our group and we had very similar interests; we both played PC games, had a strong portuguese heritage, and loved to tell stories.

Some of my most cherished and fond memories came from going to Portuguese School with Kevin. Every day before class started and throughout our snack break, we would talk about the crazy things that went on in middle school or compare the highlights of our gaming sessions. Today, however, there was a lot more to discuss than “Jacob and Trevor got into a fight,” or “I dropped a 20-kill game last night.” Once we got settled down, we started to talk.

“Kevin, my brother is getting me two Carolina Reapers. They’re the hottest peppers in the world; you have to try them with me next week,” I said excited.

“Uhh, are you sure you can handle them? You barely weigh a hundred pounds,” he joked, cracking a smile.

“Well, that’s the thing; I need you to bring milk. Water isn’t going to do much but milk will soothe the spices,” I explained to Kevin.

“Why can’t you do it?”

“I’m bringing the peppers. Plus, I’d be at my grandma’s house and I’d have no way to bring it. You’re the only one who can do it,” I argued.

“Alright, fine, I’ll do it,” Kevin said.

“Great! Bring it Thursday. Please, Kevin, do not forget or else we’re screwed.”

The two hour class passed by as slow as always.

Mondays are unpleasant for most, but the fact that I have to go to Portuguese School makes them pure agony. Every Monday and Thursday I would have to spend two hours at my grandma’s and then another two at the school. This is also the main reason why we like to slack off so much and also why Kevin was very “forgetful” and any work he brought home seemed to get stuck in his house like a trapped mouse; nothing ever came back, not the expensive Portuguese textbook, not his multiple homework sheets and never his notebooks. I had a feeling that the milk would be next. I made sure to drill it into his head; without the milk, we wouldn’t do well against the pepper.

Three days later, the big day came. My brother gave me the peppers and I was packed and ready to go. I spent my entire morning thinking about the pepper. When the time came, I strode into the school with a sense of pride. Five minutes later, Kevin entered the classroom empty-handed

“Kevin, where’s the milk?” I asked, certain of his answer.

“I thought it would look weird if I brought milk,” he replied weakly.

I let out a long drawn-out sigh as I scrunched up my face with my hands.

“Why would it look weird, Kevin?” I questioned, dropping hands, but still very annoyed. “It’s just milk. All you do is put it in a canister,” I ranted.

“My dad was in the kitchen and I… I just thought it would look weird. I brought water, though,” he responded, trying to justify his actions.

“Oh my god, Kevin. Water? WATER!? We need milk, not water!” I bickered, a little too loudly for the small room. A few students gave us a couple of weird looks and our conversation fizzled out.

Time seemed to slow. I couldn’t pay attention to our work, and I just wanted to eat it. In the minutes leading up to our imminent fiery fate, I began to get nervous. An entire freeze-dried, Carolina Reaper, I thought. There’s no way I’m gonna make it. Let’s hope my stomach can handle it. The minute hand hit twelve and it was time.

Everyone began talking with their neighbors; some started to play games on their phones, and other went to the bathroom. I, however, whipped out the bag of peppers. Kevin followed suit with his foolish bottle of water as we gathered around  the peppers. They looked like a deflated balloon; inconspicuous and unassuming. With or without milk, we were ready to consume our scorched fate.

“You ready?” I asked Kevin.

“I don’t know, man… let’s just do this,” he answered, his voice full of uncertainty. I opened the bag, took out the two peppers and handed one to Kevin. I felt like a person jumping off a bridge; certain of what’s to come but unsure of my decision.

“At the same time,” I said.

“Alright,”

I counted down: “Three, two, one.” We both opened our mouths and devoured the pruiny morsel. As soon as I bit down, my mouth exploded with immense conflagration. My nostrils cleared up and it felt like taking a swig of lava. All I felt was pain, a blazing fire, and thirst. THIRST! I thought. Why didn’t you bring the milk? I quickly swallowed what was left of the blazing pepper and rushed for the water fountain outside our classroom.

Drinking water in this situation was like putting a bandage on a bullet wound. I guzzled as much water as the little stream could produce, occasionally spitting whatever residue was left to try and clear the ceaseless inferno.

Kevin darted out a second later. He sucked up his measly bottle of water like an athlete on a hot summer day. He waited right next to me as if waiting for a drink. . You don’t deserve this because YOU FORGOT THE MILK! I thought. I stood planted like a concrete barricade. He couldn’t wait any longer and tried to push me off--I didn’t budge. He pleaded with his eyes-- I ignored them. He groaned, motioned with his hands for a drink, and even screamed with his mouth still shut, but I didn’t let up. I deserved the water fountain more than he did. Kevin finally gave up and sprinted for the bathroom. I heard him turn on the faucet and start to chug. He didn’t care that thousands of unsanitary hands were washed there. No, he just cared about the water.

The insistent need for water started to calm a bit but then an immediate wave of nausea enveloped me. My stomach churned and twisted and sloshed and swirled. I crept into the bathroom, hunched over, holding my gut. I opened the bathroom stall and collapsed onto the toilet.

It seemed like hours had passed as I sat there. Twenty minutes later, my dad showed up and I darted out of the building. I sat back down,  still hunched over. The feeling returned midway through our trip and I couldn’t hold back. My entire feast of pepper and water came back up. It looked and smelt like a rotten green stew. When I got home, my brother was forced to clean up the whole mess. I had learned two things that day: never eat the world’s hottest pepper, and never trust Kevin to bring the milk.