Make the Fireflies Dance

by Rachel Bateman

Genres: Young Adult; YA Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

In this rom com from the author of Someone Else's Summer, a hopeless romantic juggles senior year stress, family problems, and faulty friendships around the end of senior year and prom.

Quincy Walker is a hopeless romantic, so when she's kissed by a stranger in a dark theater, her rom-com obsessed imagination begins plotting the perfect movie-version ending to her senior year (which ends, like all great high school rom-coms, with the prom). With the help of her friends, Operation Mystery Kisser is born: a plan to set Quin up on dates with all the guys who were at the theater that night so she can discover who kissed her. The only problem? Her friends insist on blind dates, and Quin hates letting go of control--just ask the members of her group for her final project for film class. As prom draws nearer, Quin is no closer to finding who her mystery kisser was, and she's not sure she wants to continue looking. Maybe it's her dad's failing health and her brother's absence; maybe it's the fact that she's fighting with her best friend; or maybe--just maybe--it's that she's falling for a guy who definitely isn't the one she's been looking for.

Release date: May 16, 2023

Publisher: Running Press Kids

Print pages: 353

Sample

PREFACE

PEOPLE SAY MEMORIES AREN’T RELIABLE. WELL, I REMEMBER it like this: me and my mom cuddled up in a nest of blankets and pillows in the back of her rusty old Ford, the faint sounds of a bluegrass festival carrying to our ears on the warm twilight breeze. When the fireflies blinked to life around us, pinpricks of light flashing in the darkness, she pulled me closer.

I knew that, in the movie of my life, this night would forever be one of the standout scenes.

With the fireflies overhead, I told Mom about the game, the closet, my friends teasing me for not wanting to play. It’s just kissing, they’d said. It’s not like you have to marry him.

“I want it to be like the movies,” I confessed. “I want butterflies in my stomach and a love song playing in the background.”

Mom squeezed me tight. “You’ll get your perfect first kiss when you’re ready, my girl. And it will be amazing and magical and everything you’ve ever wanted.” She lowered her voice so it was barely more than air, “But don’t wish for butterflies.”

“Why not?” I twisted around so I could see her face in the quickly fading light. “I thought butterflies in the stomach…”

Mom let go of the hug, and we sat cross-legged, knee-to-knee. “Butterflies are flighty and nervous. You feel butterflies before you do something that scares you, right?”

I nodded.

“Butterflies are great if you’re only having fun,” Mom said, turning her face to the sky, a wistful smile spreading across her perfectly red lips. “But you want love, and love isn’t butterflies.”

She gestured me back to her, and I tucked myself under her arm. We lay back together, the soft pillows and blankets keeping us from feeling the cool metal of the truck bed. I fit perfectly against her side; it was my favorite place in the world.

“Fireflies are one of my favorite things about early summer,” she said after a long moment. “See how gentle and warm and calm they are?”

“Um, yeah.”

“That’s what love is, Quincy,” Mom said softly. “Love is the calming warmth of a firefly in your chest, the beauty of nights like this and the wonder of two people finding each other in the darkness of the world.” She pointed across my body, and I followed her gaze. In the sky just beyond the end of the truck bed, two beads of light flashed at each other—a subtle Morse code in the dark. They came closer and closer, their patterns repeating one after another, until they met in the air and spiraled around each other to the ground.

“Don’t go looking for someone whose kisses will set butterflies loose in your belly,” she said. “You want someone whose kisses make the fireflies dance.”

“Did the fireflies dance when Daddy kissed you the first time?”

Her cheeks contracted into a smile against the top of my head. “Your daddy still gives me fireflies every time we kiss,” she whispered. “And someday, you’ll find someone who does the same for you.”

 

chapter One

“YOU’RE PUTTING THAT ONE UPSIDE DOWN.” SHYLA’S VOICE echoes across the empty lobby. A quick glance at the poster in my hand—an old one-sheet for The Long, Long Trailer—confirms she’s right. I quickly flip the poster paper around and drop it into the case.

“Thanks,” I say over my shoulder.

“Where do you want this one?” Shyla’s sister, Naoise, asks. She’s holding my favorite poster. It’s the one for Too Many Girls, the movie where Lucille Ball and Desi Arnaz first met. I gesture to the case at the end of the line, and she moves to insert it.

“How about Old Hollywood as our prom theme?” I ask as I attach a photo of my grandma on the set of Mother of Stardust between two posters. Naoise was elected to head the Prom Committee this year, and her first order of business was recruiting me, Shyla, and our other best friend, Hadley, to help.

I can practically see what Naoise is imagining as I tell them my idea: the red carpet leading into the prom, vintage film reels on the tables as centerpieces. We could rent the old Rialto Theater. It’s even more gorgeous than the Orpheum, where we are now. The Rialto isn’t a working theater anymore, and the open events center would be perfect for the dance.

Naoise nods slowly like she’s considering as I finish with, “We could run a loop of scenes from famous old movies on a projector as a backdrop.”

“Movies at the prom?” I jump at the sound of Tyler’s voice. I didn’t know he’d been listening. He had his earbuds in the last I noticed, bobbing his head to music as he prepped the concessions counter for the party. My face warms.

“Well, not with sound on,” I stammer. “We’d play them silently for ambience. Like part of the decorations, you know?” I offer a small smile and mentally beg him to ask me to prom already.

“I like that idea,” Shyla says. She’s busy setting out gift bags on a table at the ticket booth. The bags are filled with mini bottles of bubbles, cardboard confetti poppers, and cheap noisemakers. Each guest will get one, so when we bring out Nana’s cake, everyone is set to fully celebrate her eightieth birthday.

I turn to Naoise. “It could be fun, right? Can you imagine the outfits everyone would wear with a theme like that?” Appealing to Naoise’s sense of fashion is the quickest way to get her on board. I already know what dress I want: a fluffy white tulle one Lucy and Ethel both wore to sing “Friendship” in a Season Three episode of I Love Lucy. Just without all the flowers and leaves. I’ve been begging Naoise for months to sew it for me, but she’s so busy working on her portfolio for Lipscomb—not to mention her own prom dress, which she’s already designed but refuses to show me until prom night—that she’s not agreed. Yet.

Hadley rushes through the front doors, her breathing heavy and face flushed. “Sorry I’m late,” she says. “Rehearsal went way over today.” Hadley’s dad, Pastor Starr, runs one of the biggest churches in Wilmington, and she plays guitar and sings for the church band.

“No worries,” I say. “There’s really not much left to do. You’re still free to help with auditions tomorrow, though, right?”

“Yep! Wouldn’t miss it.”

“Auditions?” Tyler asks, and I jump at his voice again. We’ve worked together at the Orpheum for more than a year now, and I’ve had a crush on him practically since day one. So why am I suddenly so jittery around him? Maybe it’s because of prom. He asked if I had any prom plans on our last shift together, and I got the distinct impression he was trying to feel things out.

He’s staring at me, waiting for an answer, but for some reason I can’t get my brain and mouth to work together. Thankfully, Shyla jumps to my rescue. “Our girl Q is holding auditions for her movie tomorrow afternoon,” she says. “You should come. You’re totally leading-man material. Don’t you think, Q?” She smirks at me, one eyebrow cocked sky high.

“Yeah,” I manage. “I mean, if you can act at all, that’d be awesome. I’m kinda nervous that not enough people will audition for me to fill all the roles.

”

“Cool,” he says. It’s not exactly an answer. He rounds the counter to join us in the main lobby. Standing close, it’s easy to see how much taller than my five feet, two inches he is. I look up at him, and he tilts his head down, a smile crossing his face. I know my friends are all watching, but they fade from my mind along with the rest of the lobby. In this moment, there’s nobody here besides me and Tyler.

His gaze flicks to my mouth, and I can’t help but lick my lips. Holy cow, is he going to kiss me? I mean, he wouldn’t, would he? Right here in the middle of the theater as we set up for my nana’s birthday party? I feel like we’ve been getting closer to this for months, but it all seems so sudden and out of the blue.

He reaches a hand toward me, and I involuntarily lean closer. Then he pats me on the shoulder like I’m his little sister and says, “Thanks, Quin. I’m gonna run upstairs and make sure the projector is ready,” before loping off toward the stairwell door marked Employees Only.

As soon as the door clicks shut, Shyla dissolves into a fit of laughter. “Oh… my… gosh,” she manages between giggles. “You looked like you were going to swoon right onto the floor. Should we find you a fainting couch so you can lie with one hand on your forehead for a while?”

“Ugh,” I groan. “Why am I such a doof?”

Hadley hops up to sit on top of the counter and grabs a handful of caramel corn from the display Tyler just filled. Swinging her legs in front of the candy case, she pops a piece into her mouth and says, “Because if you weren’t, you wouldn’t be you, and we love you.”

“Thanks for that,” I say. “Anyway, changing the subject. What do you think about Old Hollywood as the prom theme, Hads?”

She looks quickly toward Naoise and then back at me. “I like it. How about you, Neesh?”

Naoise steals a piece of Hadley’s popcorn before answering. “I dunno. I mean, it’s better than anything I’ve thought of so far. Which is exactly nothing. But I’m not totally sold on it.”

“Come on, Neesh. You know you love it,” I plead. “Plus, it’ll be perfect. You’ll see. Tyler will finally ask me in some amazingly adorable way. My dress will be perfect”—I tilt my head down to look over my glasses at her—“hint, hint. And we can all go in a big group with our dates and take pictures. It’ll be like a movie premiere. We’ll set up a red carpet with velvet ropes and everything. Dinner will be delicious, and then we’ll dance the night away. And when he takes me home at the end of the night, he can finally give me my first kiss.” My stomach flitters just thinking about it.

“Not your first kiss,” Shyla interjects.

“First,” I repeat, throwing her a cutting look. I never should’ve told her about Ezra and the closet. Everyone at that party back in eighth grade assumed I’d chickened out and didn’t go through with it, and I’d let them believe it. Because my first kiss wasn’t supposed to be like that. It was sup

posed to be perfect, incredible, magical.

Only recently had I told Shyla the truth. Me and Ezra, in Hannah Metcalf’s closet, for the longest seven minutes of my life.

“We don’t have to,” Ezra had said, softly.

“I know,” I snapped. He didn’t seem to want to be in the closet any more than I did. We were practically brother and sister at that point. Our mothers had been close since even before we were born, and we’d always been a part of each other’s lives. I’d seen him barf. He used to think it was funny to sit on me and fart—and I’d done the same to him. We were way too close for anything romantic. So when the girls wanted to play this game at the party, of course his would be the name I pulled from the bowl.

We sat on the small closet floor facing each other and played Rock Paper Scissors for a few rounds. I could hear sounds from the party on the other side of the door. Girls laughed, and one of the boys yelled, “Dude!” incredulously.

Someone called out, “One minute left, lovebirds. Better start putting your clothes back on,” and the room exploded in laughter. My cheeks flamed, and I stared at the diamond-shaped space between our crossed legs. I noticed Ezra’s deep olive skin standing in stark contrast to my pale, freckled knees.

“Hey,” Ezra said. He pushed my hair back behind my ear. “Forget them.”

Then he kissed me, the softest flutter of his lips across my own. My eyes drifted shut, and I leaned toward him without a thought.

But before the kiss could turn into anything more than a whisper of a touch, he jumped to his feet and covered his lips with his fingers.

“Hey, what’s—” I started, but then the door swung open and the light from the main room flooded in. I squinted against the brightness.

“Y’all having a good time in here?” Hannah asked with a smirk.

“Fine,” Ezra said, pushing past her and going to sit between two guys on the futon. I stared after him, and when he didn’t even glance in my direction, I stood and ran from the closet and up the stairs. I hid in Hannah’s kitchen for as long as I could before slinking back down to the party, curling up in the corner of the giant sectional sofa.

Ezra didn’t look at me for the rest of the night. 

chapter Two

“QUINCY,” HADLEY SAYS, “HAVE YOU BEEN KISSED? I CAN’T believe you didn’t tell us!”

“No,” I say firmly and cut my gaze to Shyla, swearing her to secrecy with a look. “Shy’s just… being weird.”

“Whatever,” Shyla says.

“Anyway,” I insist, “it’ll be perfect, don’t you think?”

Naoise looks at me, a weird expression I can’t identify on her face. “What if it doesn’t go like that?” she asks. “What if Tyler doesn’t ask you or it turns out that dinner sucks? What if at the end of the night he drops you in front of your house and drives away? You can’t storyboard the perfect prom night, Q. Not when other people are involved.”

“Ladies and gentlemen, I give you my sister, Naoise, supreme cynic.” Shyla sweeps her arms in an arc as if she’s introducing Naoise as a pageant contestant.

“Not cynical,” Naoise says. “Realistic. Love isn’t something you can plan for or control every aspect of. Sometimes love just happens. Maybe instead of planning your entire prom night, Q, you should wait and see how things unfold on their own.”

I shrug noncommittally. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Shyla smirks at me, and I’m sure she’s about to tell everyone about the kiss. There’s no reason to keep it from them, but I’ve built up this idea of what a first kiss should be like, aided by watching dozens of romantic comedies. And the one thing I know a first kiss isn’t is a barely-there brush of lips on the floor of a smelly closet. If I pretend like it never happened, then when I get my real first kiss, it can be the perfect rom-com moment I know it will be.

The door to the stairwell swings open with a groan, and Tyler saunters back out. “All right,” he says. “Everything is good to go here. When’s this shindig starting?”

I pull my phone from my dress pocket and check the clock. 6:38 p.m. “People should start showing up in about twenty,” I tell him.

At that moment, I hear the theater’s main door open behind me, and Shyla says, a bit too enthusiastically, “Oh, hey, Ezra! What are you doing here?” She looks at me with barely contained glee, and I groan softly. What is he doing here?

“Oh, um…” He shuffles his feet a bit. “I’m helping my mom?” He says it like a question.

“Oh, right.” Of course. His mom runs Sage & Zest Catering. When I called to see if she would be interested in doing the food for Nana’s eightieth birthday, she was more than happy to help. She even insisted that I only pay for ingredients and not her time on the condition that I could provide wait staff. That’s why I had roped my group from film class into helping. I bet she asked Ezra to come so at least one of the servers would have experience.

“I’ll show you where she’s set up,” I tell him, and he follows me through a door opposite the stairwell.

Inside the small kitchen, I’m hit with the most amazing smells. The countertops are covered with trays of Nana’s favorite foods: lobster rolls and cucumber sandwiches; mini key lime pies; berries and cream with a tiny sprig of fresh mint on top placed in little crystal bowls. Trays of meatballs and stuffed mushrooms sit on the counter, ready to go into the oven. A long table holds flutes of sparkling cider. I didn’t even think about appropriate drinks, and I’m touched that Ezra’s mom remembered Nana is a recovering alcoholic and brought cider rather than champagne.

A petite woman with a mess of wild curls piled on her head squats in front of the oven. When she hears the door close, she turns around, and her face lights up, her teeth bright in contrast to the dark olive skin she shares with her son.

“Oh, Quincy, you look beautiful!” She rushes across the room and pulls me into a bone-crushing hug. I feel a tug of something deep in my stomach as I melt into her. Her hug is almost as familiar to me as if she were my

 own mother.

“Thanks so much for doing this, Lylah,” I say into her curls. “Everything looks and smells amazing.”

She lets go of me, holding me back at arm’s length. “Not a worry at all, baby girl. I’m so happy you asked me.”

Guilt. That’s the feeling gnawing at my stomach. Lylah’s been like a second mother to me my entire life. My mom’s best friend, she was always around while I was growing up, her and Ezra joining our family for all our important moments. She’s tried to recreate that since Mom’s accident. She reaches out, invites me to dinner, to a movie, just to talk. I know she and Dad still see each other often and that Dad goes to Ezra’s lacrosse games and orchestra concerts. Ezra’s dad left his family when Ezra and I were so young—I don’t even remember him—and Dad happily stepped in to be a father figure to Ezra in his place.

But it’s too hard for me. The few times I’ve joined them, the two families spending time together like we used to, all I can see—all I can feel—is the gaping hole where my mom should be.

“What do you need me to do?” Ezra suddenly blurts out, and Lylah startles like she’d forgotten he was there. She glances at him and then back at me, the surprise at seeing us together showing on her face for only a moment before it’s replaced by complete elation. I guess I’d never thought about how me and Ezra drifting apart affected her too.

In an instant, Lylah shifts into efficiency mode, directing her son to get the food onto the proper serving trays. I used to love hanging out at events she was catering, watching as she led her full crew.

When Ezra’s dad left them, Lylah was a stay-at-home mom with no way to support her small family. It was my mom who suggested she start Sage & Zest Catering, pushing Lylah to come up with a business plan and recipes and then paying for the equipment and start-up supplies to get the company going. That’s how my mom was—always encouraging and generous. She believed it was a waste for her to make so much money if she wasn’t using it to help others. Now, fifteen years later, Sage & Zest Catering is one of the most popular companies in Wilmington, North Carolina.

Once I’ve been assured, twice, that Lylah and Ezra have everything under control, I push the door open to the lobby—and run directly into a body.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I say, taking a step back. Looking up, I see who I collided with and freeze when I see Kenyon, a guy from school. “What are you doing here?”

“Wow,” he says. “Nice to see you too, Walker.”

Kenyon moved here in October, partway into senior year, and suddenly he was the new golden boy in Mr. Welles’s class. The rest of us had to work our way up, starting with Basic Video Production to prove our skills before we were allowed into Advanced Film. I was already halfway through writing Maybe, Probably for my senior project when he showed up in class. I put in the hours, and I did the work, and he was able to drop right into class like he’d been there from the start.

“Seriously,” I say, glaring at him, “this is a private event. You can’t be here.”

He grabs his chest dramatically like he’s been shot. “You wound me, Q.”

“Don’t call me Q.”

“Apologies, Miss Walker.”

“Oh, shut up.” I lean around him and see that a couple of early guests have arrived. I don’t have time to deal with Kenyon’s crap. I move to sidestep him, but he shifts to block my way.

“What is your deal? Move!”

He holds his hands up to his shoulders. “Relax. I’m here to help.”

“Right. You want to help.”

“Want isn’t exactly the word I’d use. I was under the impression this was a mandatory event.” At my bewildered expression, he says, “In class today? You told us we all needed to come help since your dad and grandma got us the camera to use for the movie.”

I groan. He’s right. Dad and Nana used their connections at the University to get us a loaned Blackmagic camera for filming, and I used that to rope everyone into coming to help tonight so we didn’t have to pay Lylah’s serving crew.

“Okay, fine, whatever. Go wait for the food to be ready. Ezra can show you what to do.” I gesture to the kitchen door then move around him and back into the lobby.

Hadley chats with some guests while leading them over to the donation table. When I told Nana I wanted to plan her big birthday party, she was adamant about not wanting any gifts. Instead, I put a request on the invitations for donations to the scholarship Nana and Dad set up in Mom’s name. The Desiree Hunt Foundation scholarship pays full tuition to UNCW for a deserving student of Film Studies. I hope to raise enough this year to add a film festival prize that will cover the entry fee for students who can’t afford it.

“Thanks for coming,” I say as I cross the lobby toward a couple. I recognize them from Sunday breakfast with Nana a few weeks back. They live in her condo complex. “My nana will be here soon, and the caterers have appetizers coming out any minute now. ...