A Season for Fireflies by Rebecca Maizel Page A

think, in the hallway.”
    â€œUgh, I was so mad. They wouldn’t let me in the ICU.”
    â€œI remember,” I say. “I remember that.”
    â€œI was like, my best friend’s in there!”
    Kylie plops down on my bed and leans back on her hands. She is in a black tank top and cut-off shorts. She has on what used to be white Converse sneakers but she’s drawn crazy designs all over them. My name is in block letters on the sides of the right shoe.
    â€œSo what are they?” she asks with a little lift of her voice, and nods to the branches. She is trying to be more casual now that she’s gotten over the shock of the figures, which I appreciate.
    â€œLichtenberg figures. They’re like bruises from where the lightning hit. They’ll fade eventually.” I wonder how many times I am going to have to say this when I get to school. Maybe not so many now that I’m telling Kylie. Her body language makes it obvious that she’s been here, at my house, in my room, before. I try to recall it, but I can’t. Nothing comes up.
    Kylie takes a deep breath. “Look, I’m sorry about what I said at Tank’s party. It’s exhausting when you don’t tell me what’s going on. It’s like you keep all these secrets. . . .” She is talking so fast I have no idea what to say first or how to respond. She takes a big breath. “And I had to try to put it together on my own.”
    Put what together?
    â€œI watched you act all shady. Your mom would be drinking and you would act like it was no big deal. And it started me thinking about how I was acting. And I don’t want to be like that, you know? Closed off?”
    I’m not closed off, I think, and tuck some hair behind my ears. The spot where the IV was is still tender. Kylie thinks we’re friends. She knows about Mom’s drinking. She doesn’t know about my memory yet. I have to tell her something.
    â€œSo when you were being all dodgy, I just snapped.” She exhales really sharply. “Sorry,” she says. “I’ve been wanting to get that out forever.”
    â€œI’m sorry too,” I finally say. “For whatever I did. But . . .” She looks up at me, waiting for me to finish. “I don’t actually know what I did.”
    â€œWhat do you mean?” She grins. “Too drunk to remember the party? Maybe I was wrong about one and done?”
    â€œNo,” I say, and I want to pace but my numb foot makes it hard to talk and walk at the same time. “Not just the party.”
    â€œOh, I bet you can’t remember the night of the strike. They say that can happen after traumatic accidents, right?” Kylie asks.
    Kylie’s eyes follow all of my movements and I don’t want to lie to her.
    â€œIt’s a lot more complicated than that,” I say.
    â€œWhat do you mean?”
    I can’t explain it but I feel like I owe her the truth. “I can’t remember anything from the last year. Since last May, actually.”
    Her grin fades. “What are you talking about?”
    â€œThe lightning . . . it affected my memory.”
    She frowns and it makes her features sharp. Thick mascara is the only makeup she seems to be wearing. She blinks hard and her mouth makes a tiny O shape as she understands what I am saying.
    â€œMay of last year?” she repeats. “Like before eleventh grade?” Her voice rises an octave.
    I taste metal more than ever. I want lemonade or a lollipop.
    She crosses her arms over her chest. “You don’t remember Tank’s party?”
    I shake my head. She doesn’t want to believe it.
    â€œThe Howl shows at the Joint?”
    Again, no.
    â€œMy house? Pool parties? Riding around on Tank’s tractor? Smoking weed in Patelli’s basement?”
    No. No. No. No. No.
    â€œFuck!” she cries. “Do you remember being friends with me?”
    I whisper it this time.