Make the Fireflies Dance, page 2
At that moment, I hear the theater’s main door open behind me, and Shyla says, a bit too enthusiastically, “Oh, hey, Ezra! What are you doing here?” She looks at me with barely contained glee, and I groan softly. What is he doing here?
“Oh, um…” He shuffles his feet a bit. “I’m helping my mom?” He says it like a question.
“Oh, right.” Of course. His mom runs Sage & Zest Catering. When I called to see if she would be interested in doing the food for Nana’s eightieth birthday, she was more than happy to help. She even insisted that I only pay for ingredients and not her time on the condition that I could provide wait staff. That’s why I had roped my group from film class into helping. I bet she asked Ezra to come so at least one of the servers would have experience.
“I’ll show you where she’s set up,” I tell him, and he follows me through a door opposite the stairwell.
Inside the small kitchen, I’m hit with the most amazing smells. The countertops are covered with trays of Nana’s favorite foods: lobster rolls and cucumber sandwiches; mini key lime pies; berries and cream with a tiny sprig of fresh mint on top placed in little crystal bowls. Trays of meatballs and stuffed mushrooms sit on the counter, ready to go into the oven. A long table holds flutes of sparkling cider. I didn’t even think about appropriate drinks, and I’m touched that Ezra’s mom remembered Nana is a recovering alcoholic and brought cider rather than champagne.
A petite woman with a mess of wild curls piled on her head squats in front of the oven. When she hears the door close, she turns around, and her face lights up, her teeth bright in contrast to the dark olive skin she shares with her son.
“Oh, Quincy, you look beautiful!” She rushes across the room and pulls me into a bone-crushing hug. I feel a tug of something deep in my stomach as I melt into her. Her hug is almost as familiar to me as if she were my own mother.
“Thanks so much for doing this, Lylah,” I say into her curls. “Everything looks and smells amazing.”
She lets go of me, holding me back at arm’s length. “Not a worry at all, baby girl. I’m so happy you asked me.”
Guilt. That’s the feeling gnawing at my stomach. Lylah’s been like a second mother to me my entire life. My mom’s best friend, she was always around while I was growing up, her and Ezra joining our family for all our important moments. She’s tried to recreate that since Mom’s accident. She reaches out, invites me to dinner, to a movie, just to talk. I know she and Dad still see each other often and that Dad goes to Ezra’s lacrosse games and orchestra concerts. Ezra’s dad left his family when Ezra and I were so young—I don’t even remember him—and Dad happily stepped in to be a father figure to Ezra in his place.
But it’s too hard for me. The few times I’ve joined them, the two families spending time together like we used to, all I can see—all I can feel—is the gaping hole where my mom should be.
“What do you need me to do?” Ezra suddenly blurts out, and Lylah startles like she’d forgotten he was there. She glances at him and then back at me, the surprise at seeing us together showing on her face for only a moment before it’s replaced by complete elation. I guess I’d never thought about how me and Ezra drifting apart affected her too.
In an instant, Lylah shifts into efficiency mode, directing her son to get the food onto the proper serving trays. I used to love hanging out at events she was catering, watching as she led her full crew.
When Ezra’s dad left them, Lylah was a stay-at-home mom with no way to support her small family. It was my mom who suggested she start Sage & Zest Catering, pushing Lylah to come up with a business plan and recipes and then paying for the equipment and start-up supplies to get the company going. That’s how my mom was—always encouraging and generous. She believed it was a waste for her to make so much money if she wasn’t using it to help others. Now, fifteen years later, Sage & Zest Catering is one of the most popular companies in Wilmington, North Carolina.
Once I’ve been assured, twice, that Lylah and Ezra have everything under control, I push the door open to the lobby—and run directly into a body.
“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I say, taking a step back. Looking up, I see who I collided with and freeze when I see Kenyon, a guy from school. “What are you doing here?”
“Wow,” he says. “Nice to see you too, Walker.”
Kenyon moved here in October, partway into senior year, and suddenly he was the new golden boy in Mr. Welles’s class. The rest of us had to work our way up, starting with Basic Video Production to prove our skills before we were allowed into Advanced Film. I was already halfway through writing Maybe, Probably for my senior project when he showed up in class. I put in the hours, and I did the work, and he was able to drop right into class like he’d been there from the start.
“Seriously,” I say, glaring at him, “this is a private event. You can’t be here.”
He grabs his chest dramatically like he’s been shot. “You wound me, Q.”
“Don’t call me Q.”
“Apologies, Miss Walker.”
“Oh, shut up.” I lean around him and see that a couple of early guests have arrived. I don’t have time to deal with Kenyon’s crap. I move to sidestep him, but he shifts to block my way.
“What is your deal? Move!”
He holds his hands up to his shoulders. “Relax. I’m here to help.”
“Right. You want to help.”
“Want isn’t exactly the word I’d use. I was under the impression this was a mandatory event.” At my bewildered expression, he says, “In class today? You told us we all needed to come help since your dad and grandma got us the camera to use for the movie.”
I groan. He’s right. Dad and Nana used their connections at the University to get us a loaned Blackmagic camera for filming, and I used that to rope everyone into coming to help tonight so we didn’t have to pay Lylah’s serving crew.
“Okay, fine, whatever. Go wait for the food to be ready. Ezra can show you what to do.” I gesture to the kitchen door then move around him and back into the lobby.
Hadley chats with some guests while leading them over to the donation table. When I told Nana I wanted to plan her big birthday party, she was adamant about not wanting any gifts. Instead, I put a request on the invitations for donations to the scholarship Nana and Dad set up in Mom’s name. The Desiree Hunt Foundation scholarship pays full tuition to UNCW for a deserving student of Film Studies. I hope to raise enough this year to add a film festival prize that will cover the entry fee for students who can’t afford it.
“Thanks for coming,” I say as I cross the lobby toward a couple. I recognize them from Sunday breakfast with Nana a few weeks back. They live in her condo complex. “My nana will be here soon, and the caterers have appetizers coming out any minute now. We also have popcorn, drinks, and candy over at the concession counter. Feel free to look around”—I gesture at the lobby where, interspersed between the movie posters, we’ve put pictures of Nana’s life—“or if you want to sit and relax, you can head into the theater, where we’ll be showing Beloved of the River at about eight o’clock.”
“Thank you, dear,” the woman says.
“Was your grandmother really in the movie?” her husband asks.
I beam and nod. “She was! It’s not a big role, but it was her first, and it’s what made her fall in love with film.”
The man looks pleased and seems ready to speak again, but then Ezra breezes into the room with a tray of steaming mushrooms on a platter.
“Heard we have guests already,” he says with a smile, crossing to us and offering the tray. “Would you like a stuffed mushroom? They’re hot and delicious.” His eyes flick to me before returning to the couple.
The man declines, but his wife grabs a mushroom, along with the small napkin Ezra offers. Before Ezra walks away, I snag a mushroom for myself and then survey the room. My eyes find Naoise, and I’m about to head her way when I see the door opening for Dad and Nana.
“Happy birthday!” I call and rush over to engulf Nana in a huge hug. Nana is my hero. She’s a cold, sassy old broad, but beneath it all, she has one of the softest, kindest hearts I’ve ever known. She’s always made time for me, even when I was younger and she was still working regularly. When my parents got married, she totally embraced my mom, helping to fill the hole left behind by her own parents, who disowned her when she chased her dream of becoming an actress. She’s the one who helped me convince Mom and Dad to get a cat when I was five… and then kept it herself when it turned out I was allergic. Huge softy.
When Nana was seventeen, she lied about her age so she could get a job at an eighteen-and-over revue, and before long, she was taking on more stage shows. She started out only singing and dancing as part of the chorus, but the more she went on, the more she knew she wanted to act. One night, the producer for Beloved of the River came to the revue looking for girls for some smaller roles, and she insisted he give her a shot. He did, and the rest, as they say, is history.
“Quincy, this is amazing,” Nana says. “Thank you so much.”
I give Dad a quick hug and kiss on the cheek before saying, “There’s a couple people here already, and I’m sure everyone else will show up soon. Ezra and Lylah already have food coming out. The mushrooms are amazing.” I look back at the door, realizing no one else is with them. “Where’s Clark? I thought he was coming with you.”
Dad shrugs. “I thought so too. But he never came by the house.” Sensing my growing annoyance, he quickly adds, “I’m sure he got caught up with his classes and work and will be here in a minute. You know Clark isn’t one to show up early.”
More like he isn’t one to show up at all. Over the past few months, my brother has been coming to family events less and less, but he promised me he’d be here tonight. Whether he follows through remains to be seen.
Before I let my annoyance with Clark ruin my mood, I give Nana another quick hug and direct her and Dad to go look at the pictures we set up. By now, a steady stream of people has arrived to celebrate. I recognize more people from Nana’s condo complex along with several of her colleagues from the UNCW film school. I stand a little straighter and smile welcomingly at them. It never hurts to mingle for a bit. These will be my professors starting in the fall, and I want to make a good impression.
An hour later, I excuse myself from a conversation with Nana’s embroidery circle—the Stitch and Bitch group, as Dad calls them—and make my way to my friends, who stand in a loose circle. “Have y’all seen Clark yet? I want to make sure he’s ready for the family toast and stuff.”
Naoise grimaces. “He’s not here.”
“What? The party started almost an hour ago. Are you sure?”
She nods. “I’ve been watching for him. Ezra told me his mom wants to talk to Clark when he gets here. But he hasn’t come in yet.”
Anger ignites inside me, hot, fast, and intense. This is just like my brother, to skip an important family function. I don’t know what’s up with him these days, but I’m sick of him missing family dinners and failing to visit Dad and me. It’s not like he lives far—he shares an apartment downtown with his friend Eric. It takes barely fifteen minutes to get to our house from his place and less than that to get to the theater. He should be here. He promised he would be here.
“That little—”
“Maybe he’s running late?” Shyla says.
“He said he’d be here before it started. This is more than a little late.” My knuckles whiten around my phone. “I’m calling him.”
I storm off, already pulling up Clark’s name on my phone. It’s too loud in here with all of Nana’s friends talking, and a bunch of people are already mingling in Theater One, waiting for the movie to start, so I head to the opposite side of the lobby toward Theater Two. I pass Tyler talking to Marcus and Donovan, two guys from film class, and I force a tight smile onto my face as I rush by the group and push my way through the door into the quiet theater.
The room is almost entirely black, my phone screen a beacon in the dark. I mash my thumb against the call icon and hold the phone to my ear. Irritation brews with each unanswered ring. Right before the voicemail picks up, filling my ear with Clark’s annoying voice, someone grabs my hand.
I drop my phone with a yelp, watching as it bounces off a theater seat then lands face down on the ground. What little light the screen gave to the dark room is snuffed out.
“Hey, it’s okay,” a soft voice says, and my rapidly beating heart calms with the words. The hand surrounding mine squeezes gently. “Sorry. It’s me.”
Who is me? I dig into the recesses of my mind, trying to place the voice with someone I know, but it’s impossible to connect this deep, soft whisper to anyone familiar. The guy’s thumb slides softly over my inner wrist, sending a ripple of goose bumps up my arm and across my neck.
Tyler? I ask. Or I try to ask. It’s the only thing that makes sense, the lone name my confused brain can conjure up. But all I get out is “Ty—”
Because then the hand pulls gently, urging me a step closer, and the other slides to the back of my neck and tangles in my hair at the same time as lips press to my own, warm and soft.
I open my mouth in surprise, and he pulls back for the briefest moment before kissing me again. The kiss is gentle and slow, the softness of his mouth at odds with the strong passion of the embrace. What. Is. Happening?
The guy lifts me to my toes as he deepens the kiss. When his tongue slides across my lips and explores my own, my heart trills in excitement. Without thinking, I raise my hands and cup one around the back of his neck, my pinky finger feeling soft hair. My other hand flattens onto his chest.
I don’t totally know why but I kiss him back, pulling his lower lip into my mouth and gently nibbling. I saw that in a movie once, and I’m suddenly ridiculously happy I watch so many romantic comedies. Those things are like kissing lessons rolled into ninety minutes of swooning and laughter.
My body is electric with excitement, and my pulse pounds beneath his touch on my back. This is what I’ve been missing. It feels freaking amazing. I could keep kissing forever.
He moves his lips from my mouth and trails them along my jawline to my neck. I let my head fall back, the movement coming naturally as if I’d done this a thousand times before. In this moment, it feels like I have—like this guy and his kisses are as familiar to me as my own reflection in the mirror.
Gentle lips press against my collarbone, and a soft, deep moan rises in my throat. He stills. His lips are on my skin, but he doesn’t move.
“Um,” I say, but no words follow. I mean, what do you say when someone kisses you senseless with no warning, then freezes statue-still? Nothing, that’s what.
He pulls his hand out of my hair and lowers me so I’m standing flat on the ground. Then he lets go of me completely.
“What—” I start at the same time as he says, “I’m sorry,” his voice a choked whisper. He rushes past me, his arm lightly grazing my shoulder as he goes. I hear the theater door whoosh open, light from the lobby spilling in, then fall back, blanketing me in darkness again. I’m all alone.
What on earth just happened?
chapter Three
“WHERE DID YOU GO?” HADLEY ASKS WHEN I EMERGE from the theater a few minutes later. “We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
I hold a hand to my lips, which are still tingling from the kiss. Even after standing in the dark room trying to compose myself, I can’t quite process what happened in there.
“Yo,” Shyla says, snapping her fingers. “Earth to Quincy.”
“Were you able to get a hold of Clark?” Naoise asks. Her question snaps me back to reality as I remember how mad I am at him. I look around the lobby, where only a handful of people now mingle, and shake my head.
“Where is everyone?” I ask.
Hadley cocks her head like she knows I’m holding something back, but she doesn’t press the issue. I’ve been friends with Hadley longer than anyone else—ever since we met in first grade—and she can easily read my later look.
“They all headed to the theater,” Had says. “The movie’s going to start in a bit. That’s why we were looking for you. Your dad said something about toasts?”
“Right,” I say. “Shoot. Yeah, I need to do that. I can’t believe Clark couldn’t even be bothered to—”
Before I can finish my thought, the front door swings open and my older brother strolls in like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
“Where have you been?” I shriek. I cross the lobby to him, and through gritted teeth I say, “The party started an hour ago. Where the hell have you been?”
“Relax, Q,” Clark says, completely unrepentant. My anger spikes even higher. “I’m here now. You said the toasts would be right before the movie, so I came for that.”
“Classic Clark,” I spit out. “Showing up for the bare minimum. Heaven forbid you be with your family for a second longer than you absolutely have to.”
Hurt flashes across his features, but it’s gone almost before I see it. His jaw tightens, the muscles jutting out on the sides of his face.
“Are we going to go wish Nana happy birthday, or are we going to stay out here so you can lecture me all night?” His words roil with sarcasm when he adds, “I’m good either way, but if you’re going to keep on with this tirade, can I at least grab a chair? I’m exhausted.”
I don’t answer but spin around and march toward Theater One. His footsteps sound behind me. My friends stare at me, and I shake my head, silently stopping any questions. Together, we enter the theater, and I do my best to put on a happy, normal expression. Nana hates when we fight, and I don’t want her to know we got into it at her party.
When Nana sees Clark, she pulls him into a tight hug, and he winces a bit at her touch. Jerk. She doesn’t seem to notice, though. I glance around the room, taking in all the guests, wondering if I’ll be able to tell who kissed me with only a look. Kenyon and Donovan lean against the side wall, talking in hushed voices, while Ezra and Marcus huddle in the back row, heads bent together so they can see whatever’s on Marcus’s phone screen. I scan the room for Tyler but can’t find him anywhere.
