Make the Fireflies Dance, page 21
“You told me you’d be going out with other guys. You can kiss them all if you want. But you can’t expect me to sit around waiting for you to date every other guy in school until you’re ready to give me a chance.”
“No, I know—”
“Do you? Because I honestly can’t tell if you’re here because you’re sorry I got hurt, or if you’re sorry that not everyone adores you.”
“That’s not fair,” I say, anger sparking in me. This is so not going how I wanted it to.
Kenyon shrugs. “Are we done?” He moves to shut the door.
“Wait!” I put a hand on the door, stopping its progress, and step a bit closer to him. “I’m sorry,” I say again. “If I could take it all back, I would.”
It hits me then what I need to do. I don’t have time to think it out, to plan the perfect promposal, but this will have to do. Kenyon’s hand is still on the doorknob, and I make myself reach for it before I have time to second-guess myself.
My heart pounds against my rib cage. My throat is growing tight, and I’m suddenly scared I won’t be able to say the words. Kenyon lets me take his hand in mine, a mixture of longing and fear crossing over his face. I look him in the eyes and take a deep breath.
“Go to prom with me,” I say.
Finally, a soft smile breaks on his face, and my heart soars a bit.
“Is that a question or a command?”
I laugh. “Which one means you’ll say yes?”
He tilts his head to the side, and the look in his eyes melts me. How could I ever have imagined that some random dude from Nana’s party would be better than the amazing guy standing in front of me?
But then he stiffens, and his face hardens back into a mask. My breath catches in my throat when he drops my hand.
“I can’t,” he says, and his voice holds none of the warmth I’m used to.
“What? Why?”
He laughs without humor. Tears spring to my eyes. “You really did think I’d wait around for you, didn’t you? Are you really that selfish, Quincy? I already have a date for prom.”
“You do?” My voice is tiny.
He doesn’t answer but moves to close the door again. This time I don’t stop him. “Have a good night,” he says in a formal tone, and the door shuts in my face.
I stand on his porch for a long time, frozen to the spot, staring at the dark wood of his front door. He’s not coming back, that much is obvious, and when I notice a neighbor giving me strange looks from the driveway next door, I force myself to turn and walk down the sidewalk to my waiting car.
I drive around for nearly an hour, numb to my surroundings. I have no idea where I’m going, but I can’t bring myself to go home yet.
When I get to Tara’s Diner, I pull into a spot at the back of the lot. I can’t remember ever coming here without my friends, but the familiarity of the building is like a warm hug.
Inside, it’s busier than normal, and our usual booth is taken. An unfamiliar server tells me to sit wherever, so I make my way toward a small two-person table by the back wall.
“Hey, Quin.”
I turn at the sound of my name, surprised to find Ezra sitting in a booth with a milkshake in front of him. He smiles and waves, so I change course and walk to his table.
I don’t see who he’s with until I’m standing at the edge of the booth, and I startle when I notice her.
“Oh, hey Kira.” I look from her to Ezra. I didn’t know they’d kept in touch after we finished filming.
“Hi,” she says. “How’s it going?”
“Fine,” I lie. She doesn’t need to know about my awful evening.
We make small talk for a few minutes—I fill them in on the screening we’re going to have at Hadley’s right after graduation. They both agree to come, and they seem genuinely excited to see the finished film. I feel the tension and sadness lifting from me as we talk. I’ve been so caught up in Operation Mystery Kisser and trying to make things right with Kenyon that I let myself forget about the good parts of my life. We made a great movie with Maybe, Probably.
“Well,” I say finally, “I should go. Have a good night.” I plod over the rest of the way to my table, slumping onto one of the chairs and sighing deeply.
My server has barely dropped off water and a menu—not that I need one—when Ezra slips into the chair across from me.
“Hey,” I say hesitantly. My eyes flick to his table. Kira’s still sitting there, tapping away on her phone screen with a smile on her face.
“How are you really?” he asks.
“Fine,” I repeat.
“Look,” he says. He leans forward, forearms resting on the table. “I know we’ve not been best friends for a long time, but I still know you, Q. You’re not fine. Not by a long shot. Is it your dad?”
He clearly does still know me, and my chest aches with all the time we’ve lost as friends. Years we’ll never get back because I pushed him away. He tried to be there for me, and I wouldn’t let him. But I can change that this time around.
“Dad’s okay. He’s getting restless, but he’ll be fine.”
“So if you’re not upset about your dad, what is it?”
It only takes a few minutes for me to tell Ezra the story. Condensed down like this, it doesn’t seem nearly as big as it feels. He listens silently, nodding as I talk.
“So, yeah,” I say when I finish. “I basically ruined things with Kenyon.”
“I thought you said he turned you down for prom because he already has a date.” Ezra looks genuinely confused.
“Well, yeah, but that’s just a line, right? He wanted me to go away. I could tell.”
Ezra narrows his eyes. “He really does have a date. He asked Alicia Short in calc last week.”
“He did?”
“Yep. He did it with this big equation on the whiteboard. Got the teacher into it and everything so he could be sure that Alicia was the one to solve it and get—”
I hold a hand up to stop him. “I don’t need all the details.”
“Sorry.”
He asked her last week, and his promposal obviously took some time to work out. How long had he been planning to ask her? Maybe I’d totally misread everything between us. He seemed so hurt when I kissed Donovan, but maybe that was the excuse he needed to stop whatever it was we had going on.
“Hey, Q?”
I snap out of my thoughts and focus back on Ezra.
“I gotta get going,” he says, tilting his head back toward where Kira’s waiting for him, “but can I say something?”
I nod, and he continues, “I need you to promise me something.”
“That sounds ominous.”
“It’s not. Trust me.”
“Can I at least hear what it is before I make promises?”
He shakes his head, a soft smile spreading across his face. I’ve missed this. The teasing banter Ezra and I have always had, the way we knew when to push each other and when to pull back and give space. That part of me that’s aching with regret grows bigger.
“Okay,” I agree. “I promise.”
“Ezra!” Kira calls from their seat, and he turns for a second to assure her he’s coming. She smiles at him, and I can’t help but smile too. They are cute together. I hope this goes further than one date at the diner for the two of them.
He turns back to me. “Don’t push Kenyon away.”
“But he—”
It’s Ezra’s turn to stop me with a hand. “You need to fight for what you want. It might be hard to see him, but don’t give up because it hurts. Okay?”
“I dunno.”
“You promised,” he says, and I can see the challenge in his eye.
“Fine.” I have no idea how I’ll do it, and I have no idea if it’ll work, but I won’t run from this. I’ll take Ezra’s advice and fight for what I want.
And what I want is Kenyon.
chapter Thirty-Seven
TUESDAY MORNING, I’M ALMOST LATE FOR SCHOOL. I forgot my phone in the living room, so I slept right through my regular alarm, not waking up until Nana got to the house to drive Dad to work. I rushed to get ready—barely taking a second to glance in the mirror and clean up yesterday’s makeup from under my eyes—then hurried into the living room. My phone was buried deep in the chair-and-a-half, muffled under Dad’s fuzzy blanket. I grabbed it, gave Dad and Nana both a quick kiss goodbye, and ran out the door.
Now, I rush across the parking lot, trying to smooth the frizziness of my hair as I walk-run. My ballet flats slap the pavement, and the hem of my dress flutters across my thighs with the breeze. A couple of girls I vaguely recognize from the soccer team pass me, giggling and shoving each other. One of them gives me an excited smile as I pass.
“So romantic,” she breathes.
Uh, what?
I keep walking, but now I notice how many people are looking at me. One of the guys from my fourth period US Government class whoops when I step onto the sidewalk.
Shyla and Hadley rush toward me. Behind them, I see Naoise walking briskly the other way. She’s been ignoring my calls and texts since Thursday afternoon, not even answering when I sent her the details about Airlie Gardens. They announced the change of venue over the PA system during first period yesterday, so I know she got the news and passed it on, but she’s still pissed. As much as I’d hoped finding a new place to hold prom would fix things, I can’t blame her. I pushed her into my theme and my venue, and I nearly ruined everything. Still, I could really use my friend right now.
“Who do you think it is?” Hadley asks when they reach me. She loops one arm through mine and does a little skip step next to me.
“Who what is?” I look at her face, the goofy grin she’s giving me, and turn to Shyla, who’s beaming in the same silly way. “What’s going on?”
Shyla turns and waves her arm, drawing my attention to the scrolling marquee. It was a gift from the senior class a few years back, and it runs through the calendar of upcoming events at the school. Hardly anybody even looks at it anymore now that the school is set up with text message announcements.
I glance at Shyla, confused, and she nods at the sign. I read the words as they scroll by, excitement building in me as I do.
ROSES ARE RED,
VIOLETS ARE BLUE,
QUINCY FAITH WALKER,
I WANT TO GO TO PROM WITH YOU.
“Oh my gosh,” I breathe. “But, who…?” I’ve ruined my chances with the one guy I want to go with, and I can’t imagine who else would’ve done this. Or maybe I just don’t want to imagine someone else doing it.
Hadley squeals and throws her arms around me, jumping up and down. Shyla joins our hug. When the shock starts to wear off, their excitement washes through me, and I jump with them. The students still hanging around outside clap and laugh at our display. It’s like we’re in a movie, and it’s everything I could have dreamed of.
A movement over Hadley’s shoulder catches my eye, and I look up in time to see Naoise turn away from us, a sad smile on her face as she slips into the school.
“Who do y’all think it is?” I whisper to my friends in the back of AP English class during second period. Shyla, Hadley, and I are all in Mrs. Anderson’s class; it’s the only one I have with them both. Naoise tried to get the same schedule as us, but second period was the only time the Textiles and Design class met, so she had to take English during fifth instead.
“It’s gotta be Kenyon, right?” Hadley’s face is hopeful.
I shake my head.
“Nah, he asked Alicia,” Shyla says.
“Yeah, thanks for the warning there,” I tell her. She has calc with Ezra and Kenyon and was there for his promposal. I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.
“I didn’t know there was anything to tell,” she says. “You’ve been all about Tyler for so long that I didn’t think you’d care who Kenyon asked to prom.”
Mrs. Anderson shushes us from the front of the room, and we pull our books closer to us. We’re on our last big paper of the semester, and she’s giving us an extra period of free work time. My paper is about the feminist themes in Little Women, but now I’m wondering why I picked such a long book to work with.
A couple minutes later, a piece of folded paper lands on my desk, and I snap my head up. Hadley’s still focused on her copy of East of Eden, but I see a sly smile cross her lips. She nods toward the paper, and I open it.
Maybe it’s Tyler.
I’m surprised by the jolt of excitement that hits me. What if it is Tyler? After he never responded to my outburst about prom—not to mention what ended up being the biggest dud of a date I’ve ever been on—I figured he’d never ask me. And I’ve been okay with that. My crush on Tyler has been going on for so long that I am starting to think I only liked him because that was what I was used to.
But now the idea of him asking me to prom brings back all those fluttery feelings I used to get. Could it be him?
There’s a note taped to my locker before lunch. I dump my books onto the shelf and grab what I’ll need for my afternoon classes, shoving them into my backpack as fast as I can. Pulling the paper off the door, I spin and lean against the cool metal so I can read it.
The time’s almost here
To reveal my face.
Meet me after school
In your favorite place.
My favorite place? My mind flashes to the wide field Mom and I used to park at whenever we needed girl time. It was my favorite place in the world, once upon a time, but I’ve not been there since she died.
There’s another verse, so I read on.
Don’t leave campus,
Or I might turn shy.
Go to your favorite classroom
To meet your dream guy.
This is maybe the cheesiest thing ever, and I love everything about it. I hug the paper to my chest, ignoring the curious looks I get from the other students, then I head toward the cafeteria. I feel like I’m floating, and I can’t help but think that Naoise was wrong. Prom can be just like in the movies.
chapter Thirty-Eight
“EVERYONE READY?” MR. WELLES STANDS IN FRONT OF us holding a huge bowl of popcorn. When we got to class today, all the tables were pushed to the side of the room, and the center was filled with soft chairs, beanbags, and a long couch. I have no idea where this all came from, but he’s obviously very excited about his temporary theater setup.
We’re showcasing our projects today. Our group is the only one that made a feature rather than the required short film, so Mr. Welles had us pick a twenty-minute segment to watch. As a group, we decided Marcus could pick our sample for us, and I have no idea what he chose.
As we all finish settling into our seats, my nerves run haywire. This will be the first time we show Maybe, Probably to anyone, and the first time I see it with Donovan’s scoring. He was working on it until late last night and didn’t have time to send it back to us before class today.
I’m sharing a giant beanbag with Marcus, the two of us pressed side to side as the bag forms a little cocoon around us. Kenyon sits as far from me as possible on the opposite side of the room. He hasn’t looked at me once since I came to his house Sunday night. Alicia Short is perched on the armrest of his chair, and my chest gives a pained twist when I see them laughing with each other. I dig deep into my memory, trying to recall any time he’s shown interest in her, but I come up empty. How did this happen?
“You ready?” Marcus whispers.
“Not really.”
He laughs and nudges my side with his elbow. “Relax. It’s gonna be great.”
Mr. Welles shushes us and turns off the lights. The room’s silent for a moment, the only sounds the crunching of popcorn all around me, and then the projector flickers to life as the first film starts to play.
It’s another group’s film, and I can’t decide if it makes me more or less nervous that our movie isn’t playing first. I do my best to push my nerves down as I settle myself against Marcus’s side and try to enjoy watching the screen.
When their clip ends, we all clap, and I watch as my classmates adjust their positions and grab more snacks. We have a five-minute break, then Mr. Welles pushes play.
My heart leaps into my throat when a close-up of Ezra comes to life on the screen. It’s a profile view, and he’s looking up at something beyond the frame. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows deeply.
Marcus picked the meet-cute between Sebastian and Adalyn, the scenes we filmed in Hadley’s barn. I don’t know if it’s the segment I would’ve picked to showcase, but it’s a good one. It gives a feel for the characters and sets the tone of the film. He did a great job.
When Adalyn gives Sebastian a slice of watermelon, and he thinks it’s for him instead of an offering to coax the parrot down from its high perch, the class breaks into laughter. I can feel the smile on my face, huge and giddy, and my chest about bursts with excitement. I can’t believe we really pulled it off.
My gaze flits to Kenyon, and I will him to look at me. To acknowledge me and all the work we put into Maybe, Probably. I want to know that no matter what happened between us, he can see how good we were together. At least for this. We made something amazing.
But he doesn’t. His eyes remain glued to the screen as the rest of the scene plays out—never once glancing my way—and the fissure in my heart widens with every passing breath. I’ve ruined this, and I’m beginning to think there’s no way to fix it.
After school, I stash my stuff into my locker and head back toward Mr. Welles’s room. I spent last period working on my English paper in the library. I could’ve stayed in Mr. Welles’s room to work, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to focus knowing my prom date would be arriving at any moment. I thought I’d be nervous to find out who the promposal is from, but now that I’m almost to the room, the only thing I feel is excitement.
I can’t wait.
The room seems empty when I get there, but then I notice one of the iMacs at the back of the room is on, a familiar shape behind it clicking away on the mouse.
