“I understand,” I say, and take the key. “No problem.”
“Penny . . .” he says gently, and I turn back.
“Yeah, Gumby?”
“I want to.”
“Me too.”
Once I’m in the supply closet, I slide two cans of evergreen paint from the shelves, and when I come out to the hallway, a song is blasting from the school radio station. I step a few feet down the hall and the door is cracked open just a bit. Kylie is on the floor with noise-canceling headphones over her ears. She taps out a rhythm on her hip bones. I knock on the doorway, knowing she isn’t going to hear me as she’s completely transfixed by the song. I squat down by her shoulder and tap lightly. Kylie kicks back with a scream and throws off the headphones.
“Sorry! Sorry! I did this to Wes too.”
Kylie holds her hand to her heart and her long blond hair falls messily in her face.
“I hate you,” she says breathlessly.
“You were really into that song.”
“Yeah,” she says, and gets up. “It’s called listening to music.” She checks something on a computer monitor. “Oh crap,” she says, and grabs the headphones from the floor. She scoots to the microphone and brings her finger to her mouth, signaling me to be quiet. She presses a couple of buttons on the touch screen. A little white light on the screen reads: ON AIR. “That’s our local band, Howl, here on 94.1 WEGH. You can see them this Saturday night at the Joint in Westerly. I’ll be down there giving away some tickets and swag, so don’t miss it. Up next, let’s go old-school with The Doors.”
The little light goes off and Kylie removes the headphones.
“Wow. You were really good.”
“Thanks,” she says, and turns to me in the swivel seat. “I’ve been doing it all year.”
I forgot the radio station broadcasts every night until eight.
“You were the one who encouraged me,” Kylie says.
“I did?”
“Yeah. You said, ‘Kyle, if you don’t try, you don’t get, so suck it up and do it.’”
“My mom says that,” I say.
She punches something into the computer. “I know. But it helped anyway.”
I hesitate, then step away from the doorway and into the room.
“Kylie . . . how much do you know about my mom?”
“She drinks. Sometimes it’s up and sometimes it’s down. When she was good, you know, not drinking so much, you would invite me over. I always knew when it was bad, because you kept me away.” She pauses. “And she can be hard on you.”
“She’s having one of those fun up moments right now.”
“I figured. I saw on the news.”
“Did you know,” I say, and make sure to check I didn’t leave any paint on the door before walking inside fully, “that she went to rehab? I didn’t remember, but I found out recently.”
“Wow. You never told me.” Kylie crosses her arms over her chest.
“Yeah, that was my ‘thing,’ apparently.”
The music from the radio fills the silence.
“I’m really sorry about homecoming,” I say. “I wanted you to win. I kept telling May that if I won it was only because it was a pity vote.”
“Totally a pity vote,” she says, and we both find ourselves laughing. “Nah, it’s okay,” she says. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’m happy for you.”
I nod and I’m not sure what to say. I know I can’t make this right, and apologizing isn’t going to bring my memory back.
“Well, I guess I better get back to the paint.”
“Penny,” she says when I’ve turned my back. “I’m glad you stopped in here.”
“About the hallway the other day,” I say, unable to help myself. “My head is so muddled. I didn’t think—”
She squints and frowns, distracting me from my explanation. She looks like she’s trying to work out a problem.
“What?” I ask.
“What’s with the blue asterisk?”
“Taft is making me work for my place in the theater.”
“Ah.” She laughs again. “Hey, want to go to a party at Tank’s on Friday? He wanted me to invite you like ten times but you know, I said no.”
“Really?”
“No, I’m lying. Yes, really. You can even bring your geeky drama club friends.” She’s teasing, and the devilish grin on her face makes what she said okay.
“Gee, thanks.”
“Seriously. Come.”
I nod. It would be good. It would be the right thing to do. Her eyes linger down at my paint-covered hands. But it’s only when I see her eyes flicker to the silver ring with the blue stone on her own finger that I realize she was checking to see if I’m still wearing mine. I am, and even though it wasn’t intentional, maybe somewhere deep down it was, because I know what Kylie once meant to me.
“I’ll see you then,” I say. She starts to say something else, but jumps.
“Oh crap! I have to go on air!”
I quickly back out, not wanting to push the moment any more. But when she’s giving her next commercial break, Kylie is smiling.
EIGHTEEN
FRIDAY AFTERNOON, AFTER REHEARSAL, DAD HAS a dinner meeting, so it’s just Mom and me. I didn’t run because of the new icy clip to the early-October air. There hasn’t been a frost yet, which has complicated the situation with the fireflies.
I close a window on the browser with my Common App. My entrance essay is almost done; I’ve got recommendations and a good SAT score. I hope it will get to the important part—an audition, a familiar voice whispers. I walk outside to the patio. The icy air hits me immediately. My peach-colored figures have tattooed me for so long, I forget they are there. But with the red-and-brown leaves and the twilight creeping across the sky, they stand out to me this evening.
I turn my arms so I can see the branches curling around them. I thought they would disappear, evaporate, or fade entirely like the doctors said, but like the fireflies, they have lingered long after their expiration date.
It’s supposed to snow tonight. Maybe the season for fireflies is ending.
They roam by the thousands, hanging on branches and coating walls of buildings, but I don’t want them to go. The forecast is calling for three to six inches of snow. It’s hard to imagine that, given how warm it’s been all fall, and the bright purple-and-blue flowers of Mom’s hydrangeas that are still in bloom.
Downstairs, Mom’s assistant from work is droning on and on about the infamous Cenberry wedding that Mom will plan for this upcoming spring. I need to eat something before I get ready to go to Tank’s party. As I head downstairs, my phone chimes for the nine millionth time.
MAY: Do I wear pants?
ME: Please. Always wear pants.
MAY: I hate you.
ME: Just wear something you like!
As I make it down to the kitchen I hear a high-pitched, nasally laugh. Oh god. I completely forgot how much I hate Laney’s voice.
“Penny?” Mom calls. “Is that you?”
She is way too happy that I am downstairs. It’s never a good sign when she’s cheery like that.
“Hi, Penny!” Laney’s voice echoes from the living room.
“Hi!” I call back as sweetly as I can. Mom comes into the kitchen and she looks great. She’s blown out her hair and is wearing a bright blue sweater. It’s the same style as the one she wore the day I woke up in the hospital, but a different color.
I do a quick sweep for wine bottles, but don’t see any.
Laney busts into the kitchen—all fake boobs and frosted hair.
“Your mom told me you got a role in the play. Alice Berne is back and so is her famous daughter? What is the wonder drug this family is taking and where can I get it?” She pretends to look through my pockets.
How do people even talk like this? Laney grabs a chilled bottle of white wine from the fridge, untwists the top, and fills a glass for herself. Why would Laney drink around Mom? She knows Mom went to rehab.
>
Mom pours herself a glass. “One won’t hurt,” she says. But we both know she’s never been able to stop at just one.
“Well, Penny didn’t tell me anything about the role or that she even tried out,” Mom says. As she places the wine bottle on the counter, I see that it is the same brand from my memory.
“So, what’s the play about?” Laney asks me. I blink away my fragmented memory.
“It’s Shakespeare,” I finally say, through all my confused thoughts. “Hey, Mom?” I work up the courage to say. “Do you really think you should be drinking?”
“I’m in my own house. I can do whatever I want,” she says. Laney looks back and forth between Mom and me. I see her in my mind, lying in the grass, and remember the humiliation that poured over me again and again.
“You know I’m feeling good, I can control myself,” Mom justifies to Laney, but I notice that within moments of Mom’s excuses Laney is placing her wallet and tablet back into her purse. I’m already embarrassed for Mom.
Mom downs the glass and I realize, when she sways a little on her way to pour another, this is the second bottle. There is a smaller half bottle on its side in the sink that I didn’t notice at first. She’s a little woozy, but not toasted completely.
“Mom. You’ve had too much,” I say.
Laney now has her purse over her shoulder and is getting ready to leave. As usual, I’m going to be left to pick up the pieces.
“You’re the child. I’m the mother,” Mom yells, pointing her finger at me. Laney moves to the door.
“Let’s touch base about the seating chart in the morning. How does that sound?” Laney chirps.
“You have to go?” Mom says in a sweet tone. Laney hugs Mom and then me, but I want to strangle this woman for breaking out the wine when there is so much at stake.
Once Laney leaves, I snatch the bottle from the table in the living room and place it on the kitchen counter. Mom follows behind and grabs it.
“Why are you doing this again?” she says.
“Again?”
She holds on to the bottle tight.
“It’s too much!” I cry. “Dad already took you to rehab once.”
Mom bangs the bottle on the table and I’m surprised it doesn’t crack.
“It’s always like this with you, Penny.”
“Like what?” I say, and reach a trembling hand up to the wall, but for the first time in so long, I feel a sharp squeeze in the center of my palm, threating to draw my fingers together the way it used to. I stretch my fingers wide, so wide it makes the webbing pinch.
She gets up from the table and her hard footsteps land on the floor. Where is Dad? I check the clock—he should be home by eight or so but it’s just four thirty. Some wine falls onto the carpet as Mom stomps away from me and up the stairs toward her bedroom. I follow.
“Mom, stop it. We have to talk about this!”
She tries to slam the bedroom door closed on me, but I catch it in time and kick it open so it bangs against the wall behind it. I take the glass out of her hand and she tries to grab it, scratching at the air. “Mom! You can’t drink! What about your job? Or rehab? It isn’t good for you!”
“It’s your fault I went to rehab!”
I put the glass down on the dresser, hard. I want to shove all the jewelry off the table. I want to smack the papers so they scatter away.
“Stop saying that!” I cry, and I sound so foolish but I can’t find the words. “You drink too much!” Her drunken, slackened mouth disgusts me.
She gets up, moving across the room to get the glass. I should know better. I know better than to follow her and continue this argument. But she needs to hear me. I am going to make her hear me, finally. I won’t keep it bottled up inside anymore.
“Listen to me!” I cry. “Do you hear me? You almost lost your business!”
Mom spins and points her finger at me. “Oh no you don’t!” she yells. “Don’t blame this on me!”
Her face is scrunched up and it’s too familiar. I am tight all over, waiting for what could come next, afraid that for the first time in weeks I’m going to have a spasm in my hand.
“You have to stop!” I cry. “For me!”
“I haven’t had that much to drink. I don’t have to take this from you,” she says. Her voice rises to a shriek. “I’m the mother!”
“Just because you gave birth to me doesn’t mean I can’t tell you how I feel,” I scream back.
“I will not let you do this,” she says. “You always have to make everything about you. Why do you think I deal with this the way I do? It just never stops!”
I snatch the glass and throw it to the ground so it cracks in half against the hardwood floor. Wine spills across the floorboards.
“Look what you did!” she cries. “You selfish little shit. This is all your fault!”
Memories that were fragmented like kaleidoscopes burst into thousands of colors, smells, washing out the room and making it explode.
I am the shards of glass. I am the fractals of frost peppering the window. I am firewood split through the center. I back away from Mom.
She runs to get more wine downstairs. I sink down to the floor, next to the shards of broken glass.
I can’t catch my breath. My ears are ringing. I am in the center of that room in my mind, the shades are up and the light pours in, and the fireflies are nowhere to be seen.
I close my eyes as the memory of that night finally comes, unbidden and unwanted. I know why I quit the play. I know why I pushed my friends away. I know why Kylie saved me.
I remember.
I can’t stop shaking. In my bedroom, I sit on the floor, reach under the bed, and slide out Wes’s planetarium. A year ago, I slid it under the bed so I wouldn’t have to see it every day—so I wouldn’t have to be reminded of Wes’s unrelenting kindness. So I wouldn’t know what I was missing.
I want to be in the pitch dark for this, but the icy air and fireflies outside cast my room in a hazy light.
With a click, I turn it on and the constellations align on my ceiling. I feel my memory settling in the center of my brain and I see the last year so clearly in my mind, like a movie. I watch myself with Kylie and May . . . and Wes. The stars move slowly about the room and my mind churns with all the history I had forgotten.
Mom blames me for everything. Her depression, her drinking—all of it.
There was a time in my life when I guess I let that control me. When I became who Mom wanted me to be. But I’m not that girl anymore.
My cell chimes.
MAY: I’ll be there in 10!
I swallow hard, running through the events of the night I quit the play. Mom and I had a fight, I quit, and Dad took her to rehab. Something happened in between. But what? Even though I have remembered so much—there is one small piece missing. One small moment. I knew it.
There is a chime on my cell.
I open my eyes.
MAY: What are you wearing?
I turn off the planetarium so the room goes back to normal. I get off the floor and paint my face with makeup and find my old armor—the designer jeans, the leather bomber. I check my reflection. I look strong. I look like Kylie.
I get it now.
Mom is in her room sleeping it off when I leave.
“What’s up?” May asks as I slide into the passenger seat of her car.
“Nothing,” I say with a smile. “Excited.”
The memory from the night of that party with May taunts me:
“Some people weren’t invited!” Kylie cackles and the music changes to a dance song. I take Kylie’s hand in mine. We dance our way to the middle of the room. I make a spectacle just to show May how much I have changed—that I am not going back to theater.
May and I pull into the party and park next to Panda’s car. May is going on and on about the size of the house and I loop my arm through hers because now that I remember, now that I know how much I hurt her, I have no idea how to make it up to her. In the reflectio
n of Tank’s door, the blue asterisk pin catches my eye. I need to tell May.
“Don’t say anything when we get inside. I need some time. But . . .”
May drops her hand from the doorknob. “What?” she asks.
She waits, letting me find the words.
“I got most of my memory back tonight,” I confess.
“Oh my god!” She jumps up and down and I want her to think I’m happy too so I hug her first so I don’t have to look her in the eye.
“Please don’t say anything yet. I’ll fill everyone in over the next few days,” I say once I pull away.
“Totally,” she says, and pretends to zip her lips. She squeezes me as we walk inside.
“If you say you’re proud of me for being up-front, I’ll stab you with my asterisk pin.”
She laughs as the crowd and the music of the party overwhelm the room. I have to be cool and pretend that I don’t know that Alex James showed me his junk on the tennis courts, but is now making out with Eve on the couch. Lila dances with Panda and Richard in the center of the room and I don’t want to let them know yet that I am sorry for all of the times I kept the conversation superficial and missed out on their friendship. Panda, Richard, even Lila.
This is all your fault.
In some ways, Mom is right. I can leave a damaging wake. Look how much sadness I caused to all of my friends.
“Is Wes here?” May asks. I check my cell to see if he’s responded to a text I sent him this afternoon.
ME: You are coming to Tank’s party right?
“I don’t know. He hasn’t written me back yet.”
I look at the little time stamp on the text. At 3:15, I didn’t remember anything about the last year and then at 4:12, I was sitting on the floor with the planetarium swirling around my room.
“Penny!” Tank cries. He comes out from the kitchen with Kylie riding on his back. She jumps down and hugs me. I inhale her familiar rose perfume and when I pull away I use my hand and pretend it’s a microphone. I hold it up to Tank’s mouth for an “interview.”
“Tell me, Tank. How does it feel to have the key cast members from this year’s Midsummer Night’s Dream here at your party.”