A Season for Fireflies by Rebecca Maizel

Author:Rebecca Maizel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 2016-04-15T04:00:00+00:00

TWELVE

THE DOOR TO THE AUDITORIUM CLOSES SLOWLY behind me. I must have looked so stupid hobbling out of the outside cafeteria. What kind of person attempts to run when they have a limp that actually prevents them from moving with any kind of speed? I collapse down in a chair at the end of the last row. I throw my books to the floor so they slam and the sound echoes in the vacant and dark auditorium. There is a ghost light in the center of the stage. Taft does this whenever there is a show about to go up. It’s a single light bulb on a stand to prevent anyone from falling in the dark. I pull my planner from last year out of my backpack. I flip it open even though my hand still throbs.

Wow.

Every event and date from May through August is color-coded. Blue for school commitments, green for extracurricular, and red for Kylie. I gave Kylie her own color? I flip back to the month of May. In nearly every box, I scheduled my day, and it’s all the same: gym, track, and Kylie’s house. If it’s the summer it’s gym, beach, and Kylie’s house. The words “beach,” “pool,” and “party” are written everywhere in my unmistakable red print. When the hell did I become this anal? Nowhere, not even when I flip back to January, does it mention anything about Wes, May, or any play.

What. The. Hell. Happened?

I flip through the green and red sections, which seem to be the most common colors of the whole planner. I look through the pockets of the planner, check the notes, but the only thing I seemed to care about from May until now was going out with Kylie, parties, and occasional mentions of homecoming.

I flip to the last page of notes and stop. My Common App username and password are scribbled, and then beneath it:

1. Bates

2. Skidmore

3. Bowdoin

In small letters at the bottom of the page is: NYU?

These can’t be the schools I am applying to, can they? It’s not possible. I would have chosen schools with a specialized theater conservatory. Sure, some of them have decent acting schools, but that’s not their focus. All I’ve wanted to do my whole life is be an actress.

The door behind me opens.

“I think we’re going to split the stage in half, at least initially.”

I scoot down in my seat and hold my breath. It’s Wes.

“When did you get into set design?”

With a girl.

“A couple of years ago I made a planetarium for a friend of mine. Taft saw it and asked me to start designing stuff for our plays.”

“You built a planetarium for someone? That’s so sweet.”

Wow, I would have liked to see Wes make something like that. I wonder who he made it for, and part of me feels jealous that it wasn’t for me.

He munches on an apple or something crunchy and they walk down the farthest aisle of the auditorium. I’m stuck in here now and there is no way in hell I’m letting them know I’m listening.

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