A Season for Fireflies

I wipe some sweat from my forehead as we walk up to the house.

  “I wish we had a band for homecoming. Real musicians and not some stupid DJ,” Kylie says as we head up to the house.

  “Totally agree,” I say. “Or you could DJ!”

  “Now you’re talking!” Kylie grins and loops her arm tightly in mine. “You’re my number one, bitch!”

  I squeeze her arm, which I always note is more muscular than May’s, who has been small her whole life.

  “This house is completely heinous,” I say as we approach the steps.

  Kylie cackles and her angled face shines under the moonlight.

  No matter how many times I’ve been here, I still think Tank’s house is tacky. Pillars abound. Mom would call it “ostentatious” and “trying too hard.”

  “You know Alex is going to ask you to homecoming,” Kylie says. “Are you going to say yes?”

  “If he can keep it in his pants,” I reply, which sends her into laughter again.

  “Tank hasn’t asked me yet,” Kylie groans. With the crystal chandelier hanging over the door, Kylie takes a second to preen in the reflection of the glass.

  “He won’t get a chance to ask you if we never go in,” I say. “I could use a drink, you know.”

  “Miss One and Done?” Kylie says. “You think we don’t notice but it’s obvious.”

  I roll my eyes instead of fighting her on it. “Just because I don’t kill the bottle like you do . . .”

  It surprises me that Kylie notices that I don’t really drink. I thought I hid it pretty well. I usually have one drink and that’s it. There’s no way I’m killing wine bottles like Mom. Either way, Kylie’s been doing this a lot lately; telling me that I’m “holding out on her” or that we’re not close when she’s exactly like that—or she used to be. I’ve tried to blow it off, but these days it’s making its way into all our conversations. She’s told me a lot more about her mom and dad’s divorce lately and how she feels whenever Tank is around. I don’t want to reciprocate—not yet.

  Kylie tosses her hair around in the reflection of the house door before opening it up to the loud noise of the party inside. I notice, even though it wasn’t intentional, that our black dresses are nearly identical. Tonight is probably the last time we’ll be able to wear these minis until next summer.

  “Hot during the day then cold at night. Or then so hot that our faces melt off. This weather is bipolar,” Kylie says.

  “I know, I keep thinking it’s cute boots weather, but it was what? Eighty today?” I ask.

  People love to throw around terms like “bipolar,” “manic,” and “depressed.” They don’t know what it’s like to live with someone who sleeps in a dark room all day and hardly emerges unless she’s drunk. Or what it means when your mother tells you not to touch her things.

  She can have whatever she wants of mine.

  The music is booming and Kylie and I fall into the party just as the best hip-hop song bounces through the sound system. I couldn’t have timed it better myself. Kylie and I swing our hips to the beat. The hallway to the living room is our catwalk.

  “Hello!” I cry out to the crowd when we step into the foyer. I spin in the center of the room with a bottle of vodka in my hands.

  “Penny!” People call my name from different corners of the room. I take a deep breath and recite a monologue from the play Willow Street. It won an Obie, a Laurence Olivier Award, and a Tony last year. No one here knows that, though. They think I’m just being funny. Kylie’s funny sidekick.

  “Well, well.” I bring my hand to my chest. I channel the lead of Carrie Isner, the rich Southern girl who loves elegant parties more than life itself. “Look at all these beautiful people. All the gorgeous smiles and happy faces. Did you ice the cake? Chill the drinks? I have just what you asked for. . . .” I lift the bottle into the air and the applause echoes around me. I bow.

  “You could be famous!” someone calls out from a group of girls that I occasionally sit with at lunch.

  “You’re really good,” a girl named Erica says.

  “Thanks, Erica,” I say with a smile and a casual wave of my hand. She stands a little straighter because I know her name—she thinks she knows me. No one really does. I still read plays when they get a good review in the New York Times and I watch all the award shows. They think I’m just loud, funny Penny, top ten in the class and the party girl at Kylie’s side who never takes anything too seriously.

  We move into the kitchen, I place the bottle on the counter, and Kylie throws an arm over my shoulder. “What is Wes doing here?” she says in my ear.

  I accidentally knock a cup of limes aside. They fall to the floor and I scramble to pick them up. Please don’t let him come in the kitchen. Just give me a minute. I need to act normal.

  “What the hell is he doing here?” I whisper when I stand back up.

  “I think he came with Panda.”

  I’ve seen Panda at parties but haven’t hung out with him one-on-one in a while. He’s good for weed, so he’s always invited. Since I don’t smoke, it hasn’t led to us talking that much.

  When I stand up, I peer through the people dancing and a group of guys playing cards. Tank comes into the house from outside. Wes follows next with Panda but has to hunch a bit because he’s too tall for the doorway. Adrenaline shoots through my chest. I turn my back to the living room and start to make a drink. Kylie is reluctantly called away by Lila and Eve and I’ve just finished making her drink when the scent of salt-and-vinegar potato chips wafts over to me.

  “What’s up, Panda?” I say, but my voice is wobbly. When I face him, I expect to see Wes too but Panda’s alone.

  He pulls at the fabric of his T-shirt, right at the stomach area, as he always does. Today’s T-shirt has a picture of a wolf howling at the moon.

  “The famous Penny Berne screwdriver?” he asks instead, and tips his chin to my drink.

  “Shall I make you a beverage?” I ask, gesturing to the orange juice.

  “Nah,” Panda says. “Coca-Cola.” He lifts his cup. “My mom is on my ass about alcohol.”

  I’m surprised he’s so open talking to me about his family since that incident happened back in May. I was coming home from the track and Panda and his dad were stuck at the long red light at the corner of Green and Main. I recognized the blue Mercedes. He was screaming at Panda. I stopped in the next lane and could hear Panda’s dad through the open sunroof. Panda’s chin was to his chest and when the light turned green, his dad sped forward to the parking lot at the bottom of the hill to school. His dad slammed the door and I sat at the light watching Panda get reamed. His cheeks were bright red and old tears stained his face.

  Jamie, you make my life difficult! Do you ever do anything you say you’re going to do? Why do I pay for that school?!

  It was so weird to hear Panda called by his real name, Jamie, as I never ever hear it except in theater reviews or in official class documents. He’s always just been Panda.

  That day, I knew he was due to set up for Into the Woods rehearsal. His father yanked at the duffel bag in Panda’s hand. He raised his hand high above his head. I swear he was making a fist. I revved the engine, sped to the parking lot, and screeched on the brakes, slamming the car door behind me as I got out.

  “Hey!” I yelled, pointing at Mr. Thomas. He was all out of breath. “You’ll hurt him, Mr. Thomas! Don’t!” Mr. Thomas opened his mouth, but closed it. I think he did it a couple of times before he got into the car, leaving Panda in the parking lot. That made sense, as I am sure he was driving Panda to rehearsal, but I don’t know what could have made him scream at Panda so violently. The Mercedes tires screeched as he sped off. I was all out of breath and flushed when I turned to Panda. He nodded without making eye contact with me. His eyelashes were thick with tears.

  “Panda,” I croaked.

  “You’re a good egg, Berne,” he said. “You’re good.”

  And he walked up the hill toward school without ever bringing it up agai
n—until now.

  Kylie’s laughter rises over the music, bringing me back to the kitchen at Tank’s house. She says something to Tank and presses her hand against his chest. I would like to ask Panda what part he thinks he wants in Midsummer—but I don’t. I never did find out what his dad was yelling at him about that day.

  “That’s a serious shirt for a night such as this,” I say, gesturing to Panda’s T-shirt.

  “Don’t fuck with the wolf,” Panda replies, and sips on his Coke. “I miss you, Berne,” he says.

  I want to ask Panda why I haven’t seen him at parties since last spring, and why he skipped being in an Ocean State Theater Company play this past summer. I follow the play schedule and privately scrutinize who is starring in the summer productions. I didn’t see his name once and I know he’s been in OSTC since he was eight. Just like May and me.

  “How come I didn’t see you in any of my classes?” I ask. We were in three together last year.

  Panda sips on his Coke. “I’m not in senior classes this year.”

  That doesn’t make sense. “Why not? You were in both my AP classes last year.”

  He doesn’t answer because the bass bumps up a bit and members of the basketball team come into the kitchen. Tank leads the way. We both know that the guys on the basketball team can pick on Panda, but they never let it go too far. He gets the good weed and can fix their computers better than any tech guys at school. He scoots out undetected and I get why he wants out of the room. Kylie comes back by my side at the sight of Tank. I don’t know how to be when she needs me to be the one in the spotlight.

  “We heard a girl in here makes a really good screw,” Tank says with his familiar booming voice. I cannot understand why guys have to make fun of a girl in order to interact with her.

  “Yes, I will make you a drink,” I say with a roll of my eyes. “Hand me your cup.”

  Tank hugs me to him with a shoulder squeeze.

  I make some drinks for Tank and the guys and pass them out—the vodka bottle is nearly empty. It doesn’t matter how many anyone thinks I had, even though I hardly ever drink.

  “To Penny!” Tank cries. Seven players on the basketball team stand around me and raise up their red cups.

  “To Penny!” they echo.

  I curtsy.

  “Tank looks so good,” Kylie whispers in my ear. I nudge her with my elbow.

  She bites at her nails.

  “What if it’s just a hookup?” she says.

  Beyond Kylie, out in the living room, I see Wes pass by. I miss my friend so much, it nearly physically aches.

  I angle my body to lean against the wall for a better view. My heart pounds in my throat. I can’t help it—it’s like a magnetic pull now that Wes is in the room. Wes pushes his blond hair out of his eyes and readjusts his knit beanie. A thin leather strap wraps tight around his neck. That’s new. He finally catches me watching him. My stomach dips. He’s in a formfitting gray T-shirt. Sparks erupt in me, deep in the center of my belly—not butterflies, but a fire. I want to touch him, even just to see what his skin feels like now. But I pushed him away, and I can never have him back. That part of my life is over.

  “How do I look?” Kylie flattens out the front of her dress and applies more red lipstick.

  “Great,” I say, but it’s a reflex.

  “God, Penny, act a little bit less interested,” she snaps at me.

  “I am interested. Come on, Ky. You guys kissed today. Tank is yours.”

  “Like it’s so easy?” She sighs. “Go talk to Wes. You stare at him all day.”

  I clench.

  “No, I don’t,” I whisper.

  “Yes. You do. You rejected him, and you regret it.” I hate that she’s raising her voice.

  I check to see if anyone can hear Kylie outside of the kitchen. “Shh,” I say.

  “No!” she cries. “I can’t take it anymore! You think I’m stupid, that I don’t notice.” She points at the center of her chest. “I’m your best friend. I notice!”

  Her words are little barbs tangling up in my head. I don’t know how to move around them, I don’t know how to pull them loose. She’s supposed to be safe—the one I can go to when I don’t want to think about the things that hurt.

  Tank and the guys are pretending not to listen but Kylie isn’t good at subtle.

  “I’m sorry,” she continues. “It’s infuriating. If you would just share something. Like once in a while . . .”

  “I do tell you,” I say weakly. “Everything.”

  She laughs. “Okay, Penny,” she says, and the sarcasm is typical Kylie. “You always want to come to my house, for one,” she says. “You never invite me to yours.”

  My heart beats high in my chest. How could she just say this in front of everyone? Lila and Eve stand by Alex James, trying not to look obvious that they’re listening.

  “My house sucks,” I say before she can list off anything else. “Yours is way better for hanging out. And my mom—”

  “Your mom is in her pajamas all the time. Who cares?” she snaps. Her jaw drops and I can tell she wants to apologize instantly after she says it. But a hot anger rips through me.

  Now everyone knows that my home life is shit.

  “Coming from you this sounds ridiculous, Ky. You blew off Lila and Eve because they are—what were the words you said? Copycats? Or because Eve broadcasted that you like Tank? I’m not the only one who keeps secrets.”

  I turn to walk away, get some air outside, and cool off. I shouldn’t have yelled at her.

  Kylie pulls me back on my shoulder. I yank out of her grasp.

  “Oh, so you’re just going to walk away?”

  “You’re a hypocrite,” I say, and I know how tinny and small it sounds. I’m sweating and there are too many eyes on me.

  “Maybe I am,” Kylie snarls. She sips on her drink. “But I’ve got news for you, Penny Berne. So are you.”

  The music is playing but our conversation might as well be pumped out on a loudspeaker.

  Heat rushes through me.

  I snatch the bottle of vodka from the counter and blow past Wes and Panda, who stand next to the open patio door. With my bottle in hand, I tear past them and move from the patio down the stairs toward the swimming pool below. Kylie, Lila, Eve, and some of the guys on the basketball team follow behind, but I keep going.

  “She’s just drunk!” Lila’s voice echoes behind me. She catches up to me when I get down to the pool. I take a heavy drink from the vodka bottle and pass it to Lila. The bitter taste is surprising—I never drink it straight, it’s always mixed with lots of juice. I hide my grimace by turning away from Lila and Eve. At the pool table and chairs, I kick off my shoes. People are getting out of the water but a couple of girls are still in the hot tub. Thunder crackles in the sky. A trickle of sweat runs down my back. Even the smoke from the cigarettes in the air is warm and sour.

  “What are you doing, Penny?” Kylie says, coming down to the pool. The air around us glows with lightning bugs. “Come on, stop. It’s going to rain soon.”

  “Damn lightning bugs,” I say without answering Kylie, and smack one away with the back of my hand. I keep my eyes on the zigzagging movements of the lightning bugs but they blur around me, from the heat or the vodka or both. Beer bottles and cigarette smoke litter the ground and air. A rap song plays from the house and echoes out into the night.

  I want to be in the pool under the water where I can’t see Kylie or Wes. My back is tight, my neck too. I rub at my eyes.

  A girl I know from bio class is wrapped in a towel and wringing out her hair next to the hot tub, which is now empty. The ground is still warm from the scorching eighty-degree day. I stand at the rim of the pool and curl my toes over the edge. The humidity is so thick that thin wisps of mist hover and twist into the air.

  The bass from the party music reverberates over the water.

  I spin to the crowd on the second-floor landing.

  “Who wants a drink?” I say, and note
that Kylie has her arms crossed over her chest, but I draw in a sharp breath when I see there is sympathy in her eyes. Or maybe it’s not sympathy—maybe it’s pity. I lift the bottle to the sky as a round of cheers echoes from Tank and the guys.

  A signature move for a signature drink.

  I drain the last sips and pass the bottle off to Lila.

  Then I jump.

  The water swallows me whole. I expect people to jump in with me. Any minute, bodies will plunge into the depths of the pool. As I descend the pressure builds and water envelops my body.

  I hug my arms close, but my back pulls up and I float toward the surface. I can’t stay on the bottom of this pool without a fight.

  My body rises and my chest constricts. My lungs are starting to demand air. I break the surface and flip my hair backward. I blink the water out of my eyes and tiny pelts of rain hit my nose.

  “Hey, where is every—”

  A downpour smacks the patio tiles and people scramble up the stairs back to the house. Tank and a couple of the other guys on the terrace above call down to me. Tank shakes his head with a smile. Eve uses her jacket to shield her hair and scurries up to the main patio.

  “Come on!” Lila cries. Her heels clomp as she runs up the first few stairs. People from various landings call my name. I don’t see Kylie.

  My hands cut through the water, stroke after stroke. I’m almost at the ladder. I duck underwater, outstretch my fingers to the smooth metal handle. I lift my right leg and the bottom of my foot touches the deepest step.

  Bright blast.

  Hot light. It’s all I can see.

  Fractured, fragmented, thousands of slices of white-and-blue light.

  The pool water is burning.

  Try to kick, Penny.

  My legs are anchors pulling me to the bottom.

  “Penny! Oh my god! Someone call an ambulance!” Lila shrieks. There’s a rip in her voice.

  The sound bleeds.

  My leg muscles clench and radiate. Every part of me is burning. Someone cool my arms, they’re burning. My legs are burning. I’m in the water but I’m on fire.

  I try to breathe but my chest is frozen.

  What’s happening to me?