A Season for Fireflies (6 page)

“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?

I choke and gag.

People are screaming. Their shrill pitch pierces the water.

It fills me, like the water in my lungs, like the weight of my arms and legs.

The yelling and the heat and the light push me farther to the bottom of the pool. Lower and lower, until there is no more light. Only darkness.

And silence.

THE LIGHT IS CRACKED AND YELLOW.

I need to close my eyes.

Call a fucking ambulance! She's not breathing.

“Penny, can you hear me?”

“I don't think she's responsive.”

“IV stat.”

Beeping. Something's beeping.

White-tiled ceiling.

Where am I?

I want to swallow but I can't.

“Penny. Penny. It's okay.” It's Dad's voice. Dad. Dad is here.

“Get back. Get back.” A female voice. Something hard is in
my throat. Plastic. I'm choking. I'm choking but I'm not underwater. Something blocks my throat.
Dad, help me!

Heat shoots through my arm, through my veins.

A nurse points at me. Red fingernail polish—like blood.

“She's coming out . . .” a deep voice says. The sound is unbalanced. Strong at first then it fades. “Penny? Please stand back.
Stand back.
” The voice moves away from me.

“Penny . . . can you hear me?” Dad's voice.

My eyelashes shield my eyes from the light so it can't come all the way through. I want to see Dad. My right foot is fat and swollen. I want someone to rest ice on my foot.

“Penny, I love you. You're okay. It's Dad.”

I blink away the fractured canary light. Dad drifts into view. The top of his bald head is shiny.

“Penny. I want you to nod if you can hear me,” Dad says.

“Vitals look
good
.” There is the deep voice again, fading away.

It is not Wes's deep voice. Where is Wes? I just saw him. Didn't I?

“Heart rate normal,” Deep Voice says.

“Penny—” Dad.

Clear sound.

“Nod if you—”

Clearish.

“Can hear me . . .”

Like there's a shell over my ear.

I raise my chin a little up and down. My neck is so stiff. My cheeks are tight.

“That's good, Penny Pen,” Dad says. “Real good.”

Someone's squeezing my fingers. I turn my head and when I do, an accordion unfolds in my neck. Mom stands by the bed and holds my fingers in hers.

“M—” I try to push sounds out of my mouth. “M—” Something blocks them.

She wears a pink sweater.

Beyond her, the sunset drips down a high-rise building. Mom is backlit in tangerine. The light bleeds from the glass to her sweater. She rests her hand on my arm and I reach to lay my fingers over hers.

There's a tug on my skin. I squint.

An IV digs into the top of my hand.

Mom sits down next to me, drawing half the weight of the bed toward her. I press down on the sheets. With a
bolt
there is a sharp pain
,
deep in the center of my palm.

I cry out, hunching over. I can't make it stop. It radiates, it needles. My fingers are stuck straight—too straight. I want to curl them but can't.

Like a wrench. Like a vise. The middle of my palm pulses.

Deep Voice is next to me talking very fast, but I don't know what he's saying. Someone applies pressure to my fingers, prying them apart.

“Is that a seizure?” Dad asks. “Is she having a seizure?”

The strong hands keep pushing against my fingers. Pain tears through me. The muscles in my hand pulse, again and again, until—finally—they release.

I collapse back down on the bed. I didn't even know I was
sitting up until the muscles in my back unclench.

Mom wipes some sweat from my forehead. Her fingertips are soft.

“Well, is it?” Dad asks. “Some kind of seizure?”

“No,” Deep Voice says. A doctor? He's wearing a white coat that says
Abrams
, but my vision is blurry and smeared and I lose focus. I blink hard. The doctor bends down to the side of the bed and, after meeting my eyes, he looks to the ceiling.

“Can you switch the light off?” he calls to someone.

The brightness of the room falls to a muted orange light. The name on his coat shifts into focus, and now I can clearly see the dark cursive stitched onto the pocket
.
Neurology Resident.

“Penny.” Dr. Abrams speaks in an even tone. “You're in Providence Memorial. You were struck by lightning two days ago. Your left side was hit. I know it sounds opposite, but where you were hit seems to be affecting your right hand. The spasm you experienced in your right hand is because your brain is sending too many signals to your hand. It should equalize soon.”

He's talking too fast. Struck by lightning? Providence Memorial? Brain signals?

I'm in the hospital?

“Where is she?” a new voice says.

That voice. I know that voice. It's a girl's. I try to place her but I can't.

“You have to let me see her! I was the one who saw her in the pool, damn it!” the girl cries. A jolt of adrenaline rushes through my chest.
How
do I know her?

“I'm sorry, miss, your friend was struck by lightning. She
needs rest, she can't see visitors yet.” My neck creaks. She is my friend. This girl is my friend.

It has to be May, my
best
friend, but it doesn't sound like her. The voice sounds different, higher.

“It's just immediate family today, you can come tomorrow.”

My mind is racing.
Lightning?

“L . . .” is what I get out. Was I in a pool? Whose pool was I in? I try to remember where I was last.
Where
was I last? As the girl walks away, I hear the click of her heels. I want her to come back, but she is gone.

I don't remember what she's talking about. I don't remember anything. I try. My head hurts from trying.

There was a
Much Ado About Nothing
rehearsal; it was a warm day in May and everyone was annoyed about having to wear those heavy costumes when it was so hot. Bettie had called and said I needed to come home right after rehearsal. I must have ignored her and gone swimming in May's pool. That must have been where I got struck.

I should remember what happened. But I can't.

“Penny, did you hear the doctor?” Dad says. “You were struck by lightning.”

“Wh—” I croak. The word “where” is there on the tip of my tongue but it burns in my throat. I keep my eyes on Mom's black bob, instead. It's longer than I remember and reaches past her chin. Did it grow and I haven't noticed? I have been super busy with rehearsals for
Much Ado
. I reach my fingers up again toward her face. My left hand shakes and my arm is too tired.

She thinks I am reaching for water so she hands me the cup and wraps her fingers around mine to help me hold it to my lips. My hand shakes. Water dribbles down my chin. I sip and it is nearly the best thing I have ever had as it trickles down my searing throat. Dad presses a button, lifting the bed so I'm sitting up.

The nurse shuts the door and Dr. Abrams takes my hand in his; he's warm. “I am going to show you something. I know your sight might be a little weak,” he says. Beyond him, the sunset is a smear reflected in the glass high-rise building.

“Penny? Can you hear the doctor? Are you listening?” Mom asks.

Dr. Abrams is tall and has lots of hair that shoots up in white-blond spikes.

“I want you to look at my eyes,” he says. I don't want to look away from Mom's face but the doctor lifts a handheld mirror up and, weirdly, holds it over my forearm so it reflects my skin. I squint.

Then my eyes focus, and I see myself.

Vines.
There is no other word for what I see. Golden branches spread across my skin like tangled brambles. I expect full flower buds to be at the end, but the branches are like ivy that crawls over buildings, except this ivy is copper. The thin designs etch up and down my thigh, along my shin, and stop at the top of my foot. Dr. Abrams runs his index finger down the length of my arm without touching me.

“We think the lightning left your body at your feet. According to your friends who spoke to the EMTs, you were on the
ladder trying to climb out of the pool. It conducted the lightning and blew you back in.”

My heart slams and I hear the powerful beats in my head.

“What—what—” My breath comes out in puffs. I'm too hot. I push off the blanket and the cool air-conditioning feels better on my legs. I clutch the fabric but need to release it immediately because my hands are shaking.

“I know it's overwhelming,” the doctor says. His voice echoes around the room. My ears feel funny. “Penny, I want you to say a sentence. I know it will be hard. But I want you to say a full sentence—
any
sentence.”

“W-Wi—”

I grimace. Say it. Form the words.

“W—will . . .” I exhale. My lips, like my cheeks, feel swollen and hard. “Will I . . . be-be . . . okay?” I finally say.

Mom wipes away a tear. Dad lowers his head and turns away toward the door. Dr. Abrams's eyes wrinkle at the corners when he smiles.

“Your motor skills will return. And that sentence,” the doctor speaks softly, “was a real test. To see where we are at with your speech. It'll only get better as the days go on.”

I'm not sure how he can say that when vines scrawl all over me.

“These are called Lichtenberg figures,” he explains when he sees my gaze go back to the designs. “The leafy, plant-like markings will fade in a few days.”

The branches spread over my forearms, up to my biceps and shoulders. They stop near my neck.

“You're actually quite lucky,” the doctor says. “Some people
have them on their face. But then again, those people don't usually live to tell the tale.”

Another doctor, tall with a shock of red hair, takes photographs of my arms. I blink away the spots of light from the flash, but the bright light burns on the backs of my eyelids.

“Put that away,” Mom snaps at the resident. “It hurts her eyes.”

“W-w-wha-what are they?” I ask.

“Essentially, they're much like bruises,” Dr. Abrams explains. “They generally fade in a few hours, sometimes days. We have seen some cases of them lasting months; we call that tattooing. Either way, they
will
go away.” With a light pat on my hand, the doctor turns to the nurse.

“Let's get a CBC, baseline blood work, then let's get some real food into her,” Dr. Abrams says.

“Mom?” I get out through stutters. “Was that—” I have to take a breath. “M-m-m-May at the door?”

Mom's eyebrows draw together.

“May?” she says, and there's something in her tone that makes me nervous.

I really try hard not to stutter. “May,” I say again to clarify.

Dr. Abrams says something quickly to Mom. He keeps his back to me so the sound is uneven and I can't work out what he's saying.

“No, honey, that was Kylie.” She nods at me and smiles to be encouraging.

Kylie. I don't know a Kylie. Do I?

I must frown because Mom sits down on the edge of the bed.

“Your friend Kylie—” Mom looks to Dad. “What's her last name?”

“Casseni? Castelli? Or something like that,” Dad replies. This conversation is moving too fast.

“But, M-Ma-May,” I say again.

“You and May haven't been friends for a while. Kylie is your best friend now,” Mom explains. “It's been you and Kylie for a year or so now.”

I don't understand. My mouth tastes bitter and I want to grip the blanket again but my hands are too weak. I squeeze my eyes shut. I want my friends to be here. I want Wes, Karen, May, and Panda. Why don't I know what anyone is talking about?

Dad sits down on the other side of the bed next to me. I focus on his glasses. The frames are thick plastic, different from his usual wire rims.

“When did you c—ch-change your glasses?” I ask. Dad looks back at the doctor and then at me. He usually has a glimmer of mischief in his eye, but right now there's nothing.

“Penny, what day is it?” Dad asks. I don't like this. I search my memory. Of course I know what day it is. Tech week was starting on that Saturday so Taft was completely on edge. The doctor said it had been two days since the strike.

“Monday?”

“What month?” Dad asks.

The bed is hard. I don't like the bright light of the sunset in the corner of my eye. I need more space. It's May. I know it's May but I don't want to say it out loud. I don't like the way they're all
staring at me, like there's something wrong.

“Penny, can you answer your dad?” Dr. Abrams says.

“Ma-May,” I say. “Tech w-w-eek.”

“Tech week?” Mom whispers to Dad.

“It's September eighteenth, Penny,” Dr. Abrams says slowly.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a newspaper on the windowsill. I stretch out my hand and Mom gets approval from Dr. Abrams before handing it to me. He nods once and Mom gives me the newspaper. With vibrating fingers, I pull it closer to my eyes.

September 18th, 2016.

I grip the paper and bring it close to my face. The black letters are blurry. I need to squint.

2016. I rub at my eyes with the back of my hand so the IV scratches at my eyebrows.

2016 . . .

2016 . . .

2016 . . .

I can't move. Someone is pressing on my legs to keep me in the bed. I try and try to move.

“We're going to need some help in here!” the red-haired doctor yells.

Why do they need to keep me here? I'm deep in a black cavern and I want to crawl out. I am screaming, the vocal cords strain.

It's been
more
than a year.

Mom brings her face close to mine.

“Penny, it's okay. We'll explain. Everything will make sense.”

Her hard fingers grip my burns shaped like vines. Heat rushes through my veins.

2016.

I don't remember the past year.

I don't remember any of it.