Page 93 of Burn Bright
Jane’s white cat, Ophelia, escaped her arms and scaled the tree trunk. Some of us were wearing wings, and without thinking, I ran after the cat.
Beckett ran after me.
Right as I captured Ophelia, Beckett pulled me down—but his wings caught fire.
I’d never seen Charlie sprint that fast in my life. He pried the burning wings off Beckett in seconds. Even before I could. Mom stomped on them with her heel. Dad drew us all back and called the fire station.
The tree and Ophelia survived.
It’s hard not to think about old pet funerals when I’m at one. Typically, I was the only one who cared enough to cry. Most of the pets we buried were mine.
They did this for me, and no matter how silly or dumb or senseless they thought these funerals were or however chaotic they became, I loved every second of them—because they all showed up.
They always showed up for me.
Even now as adults, they’re here.
One through seven. We’ve all gathered around a fresh mound of dirt. White cotton-candy clouds float in the bluest August sky, and we’re barely into the funeral and I can confidently say this one is by far the strangest.
Because everyone is on their best behavior.
Charlie has yet to desecrate the grave by flicking a cigarette. Hell, he’s not even smoking. No one’s made a wisecrack about the afterlife or Big Bird. Most everyone has actually dressed in funeral blacks like this is a seriousevent.
Beside me, Audrey straightens her wide-brimmed black hat, the veil matching her Victorian dress with puffed sleeves and a bell skirt. She must be sweating in this heat.
Mom chose a staple black dress. Not that uncommon. She’s always in black. At her side, Dad ditched his white button-down for a black one. He’d normally show in a navy-blue suit, but will you look at that? He’s also inall black.
I can’t stare at him for long. His deep blue eyes touch mine, and a nervous sweat pricks the back of my neck.
My burgundy MVU shirt sticks to my skin, and I flip my baseball cap backward. All my brothers wear black too, and for Charlie—Charlieto conform to a dress code is just bizarre.
I realize quickly my brothers are wearing the men’s suits our mom designed. This year, as a bonding thing with her, we helped our mom create suits after our styles. She named each one after us—the Charlie, the Beckett, the Eliot, the Tom, the Ben—and half the net profits are supposed to go to us since we all modeled the Calloway Couture men’s collection on a runway and in ads.
The fashion line debuted this spring, and we’ll see our first paycheck in January. But it won’t help me much by then.
Anyway, I highly doubtthe Bensold well—it’s the most basic black suit, unlike Eliot’s Romeo-inspired tailcoat and undershirt, and Tom’s punk-rock jacket with zippered arms and a chain along his belt loop and pocket. Fans have clamored to buythe Charliepurely because it’s from Charlie. His material is black velvet, and he has no shirt underneath the jacket. Or maybe they’ll buythe Beckettsince, in my opinion, it’s the best—a slim-fitting black suit and black undershirt with silver stitching around the cuffs. Sleek and cool.
I wait for someone to speak.
A weird, respectful silence takes place for—uh,fiveminutes and counting? Yeah, one minute is usually pushing it.
Notthis.
I look to my older sister.
Jane. With her wavy brown hair and splash of freckles on her cheeks and sly smiles—she’s a bubbly combination of our mom and dad. The ultimate big sister who will drop everything for us with one SOS text.
For this Cobalt affair, she has on a black tulle skirt and zebra-print top. She’smatching.What the hell?
Her outfits never match to the point where she’s been onCelebrity Crush’sWorst Dressed list for forever. Which should rattle our fashion designer mom’s world, but our mom wants us to beus.Terrible style and all, Charlie would quip.
Jane catches me staring. She flashes a beaming smile at me, then mimes the tip of a top hat. She would be the first to try to cheer me up. Right before Beckett.
“Oh Pippy,” she’d say when we were younger. “Don’t cry. I’m here. I’ll make everything better, and as your big sister, I will wish upon every star for it to be true.”
Jane was the one I went to for advice, so when she first left for Princeton, it’d been devastating. We talked on the phone, and I tried to convince myself that it was the same. But it wasn’t really. I think that’s the toughest part of being among the youngest. My older siblings were able to spend their entire adolescence with all or most of us.
Audrey and I—we had a finite amount of time where the house was full. For three years, it was just us and our parents here in Philly while my brothers were in New York and Jane lived with Moffy. Three whole years that they’ll never understand.
