Page 1 of To Catch a Firefly

Part I: Quarter

Chapter 1

Ellis

I was ten years old when I met Lucky.

“Ellis, baby?”

I don’t answer my mom, too preoccupied with the bugs dancing in front of my face. They flicker yellow and orange in the waning evening light, bodies flashing on and off as if communicating with one another. Maybe they are. Maybe they don’t like words, either.

“Ellis.”

Her voice is closer now, but I stay still. One of the fireflies is hovering inches above my hand. Flicker on. Flicker off.

I think if I were careful enough, I could cup it in my palm. Would it fly away?

Soft footsteps approach, and then my mom is settling down beside me, legs bent like mine, her feet on the top stair of the deck.

The firefly dances away.

“What’re you doing, baby?” she asks, brushing my hair off my forehead.

Another firefly wanders close, and I move my hand below it.I’m safe, I try to tell it, but I can’t blink like it can.

“Did you say hello to the new neighbors yet?” my mom asks.

I shake my head.

“Their boy is outside,” she says. “He’s ten, like you. You should go say hello.”

The firefly touches my palm, and I hold my breath.

“Ellis?”

“Late,” I answer.

She hums. “It is. But it’s not a school night.” She’s quiet for a moment before adding, “You might like him.”

The firefly drifts to the left, and I follow it with my open palm. I could trap it between my hands, I think. But then I wouldn’t see its light.

“Ellis, honey.”

“How do you catch a firefly?” I ask my mom.

She makes a soft sound before standing up and heading back into the house. It’s a minute before she returns. When she does, she bumps something gently into the side of my arm. I look over, and she’s holding out an empty jam jar, the lid twisted off.

I’m careful to move slowly as I take it from her. The firefly hasn’t danced far off. There are hundreds in the sky tonight. Maybe thousands. Countless specks of flickering color dotting the night sky. There isn’t much of a breeze, but the crickets are singing loudly. I wonder if the fireflies hear them, too. Maybe that’s why they’re dancing.

The firefly winks golden at me as I raise the clear jar around its body. It doesn’t move away. Doesn’t react in any way I can tell. It seems so…easy.

“Here,” my mom says, handing me the lid.

I screw it on top of the jar, and then I watch. I watch the firefly flickering inside the glass, wondering what it’s saying. Does it know it’s been caught?

“Ellis, baby,” my mom says, hand ruffling my hair. “Go meet the neighbor boy. His name is Lucky. Maybe you two could be friends.”

I set the jar down on the deck and look over at the neighbor’s house. It’s not far. I counted ninety-eight steps the last time I walked between our yard and theirs. The grasses are tall and wild in the space between—no one has mowed them since my dad left—and the first spring flowers have started to poke through the soil. They’re purple in the sun, but now, they’re dark.

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