A Season for Fireflies Read Free Page B

She’ll come to the performance drunk. Panic rushes through me and I take a rattled breath but don’t want to explain.
    â€œWell, I can’t make you talk. But you need to keep me posted, Penny. Especially if you are going to—” Ms. Taft pauses andseems to choose her words carefully. “If you can’t make it here on time.”
    I just need five minutes to myself.
    â€œForget the costume for right now, let’s run it through the Beatrice and Benedick scene from yesterday.”
    A few moments later I stand onstage. May, as Hero, has just exited the stage and stands down at the first row of seats. Mr. Hill, our physics teacher and resident tailor, fixes something at the elbow of her costume. She’s frowning at me because I haven’t told her what’s wrong, even though she basically already knows, just like everyone else.
    â€œOkay, places,” Taft instructs.
    I close my eyes, try to steel myself for the love I’m meant to feel in this scene. As Beatrice, I have to let the audience know that, even while I come off as cold and disdainful, it’s all just an act so no one will know the truth, that deep down I love Benedick.
    â€œReady with the spotlight, Panda?” Taft calls.
    â€œI’ve got a faulty switch up here,” he calls back. “We need to get to the fuse box.”
    Taft sighs. “It’s always something,” she says, and her heels clip on the stage as she makes her way up to the light booth.
    I stay on my spike mark because I know Taft needs me to be in position for the spotlight. I cross my arms over my chest. In a few minutes, I’m supposed to dance and skip around the stage—in love.
    Wes stands in the wings. He’s got on a flowy white shirt as part of his costume but Taft has let him wear his jeans instead of the tights and breeches.
    Our eyes meet.
    I imagine myself on the stage, in front of everyone as Beatrice, skipping and crying out, “Benedick, love on; I will requite thee, taming my wild heart to thy loving hand!”
    We share a smile, one that I put on for his benefit. When I look away to the empty auditorium, I whisper a different one of Beatrice’s lines instead:
    â€œFor truly, I love none.”
    The Elizabethan English feels forced. I don’t want to be on a stage right now . I don’t want anyone to look at me. To guess how I am feeling or what might be happening at home.
    â€œPenny.”
    Wes is next to me.
    â€œYou okay?” His voice is full of concern. I don’t say anything when he steps closer to me. Instead, I focus on his lips. They’re beautiful, actually. I suppose if I let myself, and we were alone, I could lean over, kiss him, and then I wouldn’t have to think of something to say. He would know how I feel.
    He wipes his mouth. “Is there something on my face?”
    I shake my head and pull back.
    â€œPenny, say something. It’s not like you to be quiet,” he says. I’m grateful for the loud chatter from the cast in the background, filling the silence.
    I clear my throat. “I’m just tired.”
    May comes up the stairs to the stage too and has to lift the heavy material and hem of the skirt. “What’s going on?”
    â€œNothing.”
    May rolls her eyes.
    My cheeks warm. I don’t want to have to tell them how bad it’s gotten and the terrible truth Mom confessed tonight. My friends have always joked with me, called me “drama queen” or “intense.” I thought we were just kidding around, but maybe—maybe they were right. Maybe Mom is right.
    â€œWhat happened tonight? And don’t tell me that everything is fine when we both know it isn’t,” May says. “I’ve seen the news. We all have.”
    Even though it’s air-conditioned in here, I’m burning up.
    â€œIs it the play?” May says.
    â€œIs it your lines?” Wes counters.
    She’s not talking.
    Why