Make the Fireflies Dance, page 3
Dad calls for the guests to settle into their seats, and we give our toasts. Dad talks about how lucky he was as a child, saying people think it’s unfair to be raised without a father, but he never noticed because his mom was so incredible that he never felt the hole his dad left behind.
I can’t help but watch Ezra’s reaction to Dad’s speech. I knew Nana was a single parent and that Dad never knew his father, but I never made the connection between his childhood and Ezra’s until now. I wonder if Dad has always taken such an active part in Ezra’s life because he knows what it’s like to be a kid without a father.
Clark is, as always, incredibly charming. He jokes and teases, making cracks about Nana’s age and her stubbornness. At the end, though, he grows somber.
“She’s my biggest supporter,” he says, “my secret keeper, my advice-giver. Nana, you’re my best friend. Happy birthday.”
A lump rises in my throat, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to speak for my own turn. I can’t believe it. Clark—my big brother, my protector, my onetime best friend—is back with us in this moment. Not the hard, cynical Clark-clone who skips family functions and doesn’t care who he hurts. The Clark who spoke so passionately and kindly about Nana is the brother I admired fiercely growing up. My heart twists with how much I miss that version of him.
I peer up to find Dad gesturing to me with a Come on, Quincy look on his face. I swallow hard and clear my throat with a nervous chuckle.
“Hi,” I say. “First, I want to thank you all for coming to help celebrate Nana’s birthday with us. You all know how amazing Vivian Walker is. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.” My eyes catch Nana’s, and she smiles.
“Nana, you gave me my love of movies. People always think because Mom was an actor”—I choke up unexpectedly, and I have to take a moment to swallow back my tears—“Sorry. People think I love film so much because of who Mom was, but it was you, Nana. All those weekend mornings curled up with you watching old Lucille Ball movies made me the person I am today. I fell in love with Lucy, and I fell in love with movies, all because of you. You also taught me to be brave. You taught me to stand up for myself. You taught me that my size doesn’t have anything to do with the amount of power I have, that I am as strong as anyone. You taught me that we short women are simply more concentrated awesome than the rest of the world.”
A few chuckles sound around the room. “You taught me to never be embarrassed or ashamed for what I want, to never apologize for my ambition, and to always, always follow my dreams. Thank you, Nana. I want to be just like you when I grow up.”
There’s applause, and Nana stands to pull me into a bone-crushing hug. Over her shoulder, I see Clark. His face is soft and unguarded as he watches us. This is the brother I’ve missed, and I hope this glimpse of the old Clark is the beginning of him coming back to us.
“I’m exhausted,” I say as Shyla and I both dump the contents of our dustpans into the trash. Cleanup is finally done. After the movie—the theater erupted in wild applause when a young Nana first walked on screen—we had cake and sparkling cider, then people stayed to chat and mingle. I barely had a moment to breathe as I was swept from group to group to hear stories about Nana and her wild antics. The last of the guests left shortly before midnight, and I shooed Nana and Dad out the door when they offered to help clean. Clark surprised me by volunteering to stay too.
He pulls the bag from the trash can and ties it up quickly. “I’ll drop this in the dumpster on my way out,” he says. “Need anything else, Q?”
“No, I think we’re done. Thanks so much for staying to help.”
He grunts something that I think may be “You’re welcome” or “No problem” before shooting me a quick smile and pushing his back against the glass door. I watch him disappear into the night.
As soon as he’s gone, Naoise says, “How do I always forget how unbelievably hot your brother is?”
“Ew,” I say.
“I thought you didn’t care about guys like that?” Hadley says.
“I’m asexual, not blind,” Naoise replies, not unkindly. “I can tell he’s super hot. I’m just not attracted to him. Or, well, anyone.”
Shyla nudges her sister with a hip. “Well, if you don’t want him, then I can—”
“Shyla,” I interrupt, “for the love of Lucille Ball, don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
She laughs her deep Shyla laugh, and her face tells me she was only teasing.
I check to make sure all the lights are off, then we walk to the front door and step outside. I’m locking up when Naoise says, “So are you going to tell us what happened tonight, or are we going to have to use our imaginations?”
“I’ll tell,” I say, “but not here. Tara’s Diner?”
“I’ll drive,” Hadley offers, and we follow her to the Bronco and climb in. It wheezes to life, and the speakers blare The Levity Inn’s newest album as we ride to our favorite all-night diner.
When we get there, we head straight to our usual booth. The overnight server waves at us from behind the counter, signaling that she’ll be with us as soon as she’s off the phone.
“Okay, spill,” Shyla says. “What went on tonight?”
Before I can reply, the server’s at our table with a tray of mugs filled with hot cocoa. She sets one in front of each of us and says, “Hey, girls. You need menus tonight?”
“Just the cocoa for me, thanks,” I say. Shyla and Hadley skip food but Naoise orders chicken strips and French fries. She’s basically a bottomless pit.
As soon as the server is out of earshot, my friends lean in, anticipation clear on their faces.
“Well?” Naoise prompts.
My cheeks heat up, and my stomach does this weird little flip-dip. It’s like I can feel him with me still, his hand in my hair, arm wrapped tight around my waist. His lips soft but eager on my own. I can still taste him.
“Ohhhh, it’s gotta be something good,” Shyla says. “Look how red she’s turning!”
“Okay,” I say, and I take a deep drink of my hot cocoa before telling them about my first real kiss.
chapter Four
WHEN I FINISH MY STORY A FEW MINUTES LATER, MY friends stare at me, dumbfounded. Naoise holds a chicken strip halfway to her mouth, apparently forgotten after my revelation.
“So, yeah,” I say. “That was my night.”
“Wait,” Naoise says. “So, this random dude just, like, attacked you?”
“No,” I say. “It wasn’t like that at all.”
“Kinda sounds like it was,” Shyla says.
I sigh. “Really, I promise. He didn’t attack me. He just—this isn’t coming out right. But it was… I dunno. Nice? I felt safe.” I shrug, looking around at my friends, who all watch me with varying levels of belief on their faces.
“Who do you think it was?” Hadley asks.
“I’m not sure.” I twirl a spoon around on the table in front of me. “It was too dark to see anything.”
“Okay, but what did it feel like? What did you hear and smell?”
Shyla snorts. “She’s not a bloodhound, Hads.”
“Shut up, I know! But, like, when you lose one sense, don’t the others get stronger or something?”
“Yeah,” Naoise cuts in. “I’m not sure that’s a thing that happens in only five minutes.”
“Well, I don’t know. It could!”
“It all happened too fast for me to really pay attention to anything like that,” I explain. “I mean, one minute I was preparing to tear Clark a new one, and the next, he was… there.”
“Kissing you silly,” Shyla interjects.
I touch a hand to my lips and nod.
“Okay, let’s think about this rationally,” Naoise says. She pushes her empty plate away and grabs a napkin. She rummages through her bag for a moment before emerging with a purple glitter pen. “Who all was at the party? I bet we can figure it out.”
“There were, like, 150 people there tonight,” I say. “No way we can name them all. Even if I go back to the guest list, I don’t know who all was actually—”
“Slow down, turbo,” she says. “I’m assuming it wasn’t one of your grandma’s old-man friends, right? I mean, he didn’t seem old, did he?”
“Ew. Gross, Neesh!” A shiver runs up my back and not the good kind.
I think back, remembering the strong arm holding me up on my toes, the firmness of his chest under my hand. The softness of his lips and the tiniest bit of stubble that left the most deliciously chafed sensation in its wake.
“No,” I say firmly. “He definitely felt younger.”
“See, I told you that you could notice things without sight!” Hadley says triumphantly.
Naoise is scribbling on the napkin. “Tyler was there, obviously. And Ezra, Marcus, and Donovan were helping with the food.”
“And that Kenyon guy,” Shyla adds. “He was doing food too.”
“Right.” Naoise adds Kenyon’s name to the list. “Okay… am I missing anyone?”
“Clark,” Hadley says. “He was there.”
“He’s my brother! That’s even worse than some old dude.” I pretend to vomit into Shyla’s lap, and she pushes me away with a laugh.
Naoise taps her pen in a rapid staccato. It leaves a tiny speck of glittery purple on the napkin each time it touches the paper. “So that’s five guys. Do you remember anything specific at all? Maybe we can narrow this down a bit and figure out who your mystery kisser is.”
She is living for this, I can tell. Other than fashion design and sewing, there are two things Naoise loves more than anything: mystery and romance. She practically has hearts in her eyes and a magnifying glass in one hand. It confuses a lot of people because they can’t seem to compute how she can be both asexual and incredibly romantic, but I’ve never understood what they don’t get. That’s just Naoise. She’s always been like this.
I register after a beat too long that she asked me a question. I think back, trying to recall anything specific. How tall was he? No idea. Was he wearing cologne? Um, maybe, but not anything I’d ever be able to place. Hair? Shortish, I think, based on what my fingers brushed at the nape of his neck. The only things I know for sure are that he seems strong and that he kisses like his life depends on it.
I tell my friends this and suddenly a thought occurs to me. “But, well… I couldn’t find Tyler afterward.”
“He was probably upstairs getting things ready,” Shyla says. “Didn’t this happen right before the movie started?”
“Yeah, but…”
“And it’s not like he really wanted to hang out with your family and your grandma’s friends. He was there to work, right?” Naoise adds.
My friends all know about my crush. It’s not like I’ve exactly kept it quiet. I’ve basically fantasized about dating Tyler since we first started working together. Hadley thinks it’s cute, but Naoise and Shyla have always been weirdly opposed to the idea. I don’t get it—they have exactly zero reasons to not like him.
“That’s the thing,” I say, trying to figure out how best to explain this thought that’s been brewing. “All the other guys were hanging out in the theater with the rest of the party when I came in.”
“So?” Hadley looks genuinely confused.
“So… they were all in there acting totally normal. They were hanging out and talking and stuff. None of them looked flustered or embarrassed or… or…”
“Or like they just had a mind-blowing make-out session in a dark theater?” Naoise supplies.
“Exactly! Like, wouldn’t whoever it was look awkward or nervous, or something? And none of them did. But maybe Tyler was. I dunno. I didn’t see him again until the movie was over, and then it was only for a few seconds. Maybe he was embarrassed and avoiding me?”
“Maybe,” Naoise concedes, but I can tell by her tone that she’s not convinced.
Across the booth from me, Hadley leans her head against the wall, her eyes drifting closed. I watch as she fights it for a minute before calling it a night. We thank the server and pay our bill, then we help Hadley from the booth and lead her out to the car. Shyla digs the keys from Hadley’s bag and tosses them to me before climbing into the back seat and pulling a seatbelt around an already snoozing Hadley. I coax the Bronco to life and drive us home.
Dad’s still up when we get to the house, perched in his recliner in front of the TV watching some late-night documentary he’s probably seen at least twice before. Dad’s even more of a night owl than I am. I help get Hadley to my room then leave my friends to find pajamas and get ready for bed while I go back to the living room.
I squish into the recliner next to Dad and tuck under his left arm like always. It’s an extra wide one, but even so, if I were much bigger, I wouldn’t be able to fit on here with him.
I can still remember Mom’s tinkling bell laugh when he brought it home.
“What is that thing?” she’d asked him, looking at it like she wasn’t sure if she should laugh again or cry.
“It’s a chair-and-a-half!”
“A chair-and-a-half,” she repeated, deadpan. I looked up from my movie and watched her scrutinize it.
“Yeah,” Dad said, red blotches creeping up his neck the way they did when he was embarrassed. “It’s bigger than a normal chair but not quite big enough to be a love seat. It’s a chair-and-a-half.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“Really,” he insisted. “That’s what the tag read at the store.”
“Okay, so it’s a chair-and-a-half,” Mom said. “But what is it doing in the middle of my living room?”
The thing about our house is, it’s small—barely 1,200 square feet with three bedrooms and one bathroom, so the common areas like the living room didn’t have the space to add a bulky leather chair-and-a-half.
Nana bought the house when she and Dad first moved to Wilmington. She was asked to come teach at UNCW in the brand new film school when it opened, and she jumped at the opportunity to have a permanent position that would allow her to be home with her son more often than she could as a working actor.
At the time, all the houses on the street were small like ours. But our yard backs up to the Intracoastal Waterway, so over time, the neighbors tore down their old houses to build newer, bigger mansions—the kind you see along the water all over Wilmington. Nana thought she would do the same someday, but she actually liked her little house. Then, when Mom got pregnant with me, Nana bought her condo and gave this place to my parents. They moved in with Clark, and I was born here. It may be tiny compared to all the other houses around, but it’s all I’ve ever known, and I love it.
In the end, Dad convinced Mom to try out the recliner, and she snuggled up next to him to watch a movie. By the end of the night, she’d agreed it could stay. It’s been in the same place ever since.
Dad wraps one arm around my shoulders and pulls me to his side. “Good night,” he says. “You did a beautiful job with the party, John.” Dad thinks it’s hilarious to call me John—as in John Quincy Adams? When Mom agreed to name me after his favorite president, I don’t think she realized what she was getting into.
“Thanks, Dad.” I love this spot next to him. We’ve spent countless hours curled up here watching documentaries together. Mom always made him put on something else, saying that if she was going to watch TV, she wanted to be transported to new worlds and take part in daydreams unfolding—not learning about history. But I love documentaries. I’ve watched them with Dad for as long as I can remember.
“What are we learning about tonight?” I ask, trying to make out the chaos on the screen.
“Peter the Great.”
“Oh, is this the one where you learn that his court was basically like a nonstop bachelor party for years?” I knew it looked familiar.
“One and the same,” Dad says. Dad’s forte is US history, but he’ll watch documentaries about anything.
We watch for a few minutes before I move to leave. “Are we still good to use the rehearsal space tomorrow?” I ask him. Dad reserved a space on campus for me to use for auditions rather than the high school auditorium. He also posted fliers around the film school buildings. I’m hoping it’ll bring in some college students to audition and give me the best chance of finding the perfect cast for my film.
“Everything is set,” he says. “Jerry is working the morning shift, so he’ll be there to open the building and get things set up for you, okay?”
“Sounds perfect. Thanks so much for doing this.”
Dad waves off my thanks. He’s been my biggest supporter since day one, encouraging me to follow my dreams and paying for classes and books and more movie tickets than I could possibly count. He’s cheered me on and watched every short film I’ve ever made—even the terrible early ones. Tomorrow’s auditions are for my first full-length feature, a romantic comedy I’m submitting to the Cape Fear Student Film Festival in August. The winner of the festival gets $10,000 for their next project and an internship slot at Screen Gems Studios. I’d be the youngest winner ever, and I want it so bad I can taste it.
“I better get to bed,” I say, working my way out from under Dad’s arm.
“Are you sure you don’t want to see how it ends?” he asks, a joke in his voice.
“Don’t say up too late.” I kiss the top of his head, where his hair is starting to thin, and head to my room.
chapter Five
THE NEXT THING I KNOW, I’M JOLTED AWAKE BY HADLEY trying to climb over me and out of bed.
“Sorry,” she whisper-laughs. “I’m gonna pee my pants.” She makes it off the bed and rushes from the room.
“What time is it?” Shyla croaks from her spot on the floor. Her eyes are barely open. Sunlight cuts across her face from the window opposite her.
