Page 8 of To Catch a Firefly

“He attacked me,” Brandon says, hand over his bloody nose.

“He did not,” Lucky fires back, stepping around me. “You hit me first, jackass.”

Mrs. McMillan’s hands wave in the air for a moment before she says, “Principal’s office. All three of you.Now.”

The rest of the students scatter, and Lucky gives my uninjured hand a squeeze as we walk down the hall, that wild grin back on his face.

I can’t help but smile, too.

“I just want to understand why you did it,” my mom says. From the moment she arrived at the principal’s office to now, at home in our living room, she’s looked more astonished than upset. “You’re not a violent person, baby.”

I shake my head.

She sighs, sitting down next to me. My right hand is wrapped, and my mom picks it up between her own, rolling it gently and checking to make sure I haven’t bled through the bandages.

“Ellis,” she says quietly, setting my hand down. “You know I don’t like to push you, but I’m asking for an explanation. Please.”

I give her a slow nod.

It’s not that I don’twantto talk, especially to her. But words, for me, have never been easy. They don’t always come out right, as if having to wade through a bog from my brain to my mouth, and it’s exhausting having to constantly make that journey.People don’t often like to wait for me to get it right, and I’ve learned it’s easier to stay quiet.

Besides, the important people understand me anyway.

“He was hurting Lucky,” I finally tell her. It takes a minute.

My mom nods, patting my cheek and looking resigned. “Don’t make a habit of it, yeah?”

I nod my agreement.

“You can wash the siding this week while you’re on suspension,” she adds.

I groan but nod again.

My mom ruffles my hair before heading down the hall, and I look out the window toward Lucky’s house. Grabbing a jacket, I head outside.

Lucky’s bedroom is on the far side of the house, so I make my way around with our bikes in tow. He’s lying on his bed when I tap the window, but his head pops up immediately, and he jumps to the floor. His smile is wide when he opens the window.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

I nod down to the bikes.

Lucky shakes his head, but his eyes are bright. “I’m supposed to be grounded.”

I raise an eyebrow, and Lucky rushes to his closet. He grabs a sweatshirt and tugs it on before popping the screen out of his window and climbing through. He lowers the glass from outside and replaces the screen, and then we’re on our way.

Neither of us says a word as I lead him along the cornfields that run behind our houses. Eventually, we reach a dirt road, and Lucky’s bike clangs behind mine as we turn onto it. The sun is riding low in the sky, and I pick up the pace, not wanting to miss it set.

When I turn off onto a private property, Lucky doesn’t question me. He follows me past a darkened house to an oldwindmill I’ve gone past a million times since I was a child. When I stop my bike, Lucky skids up next to me.

“El,” he whispers loudly, sounding excited. “Are we trespassing?”

I touch my finger to my lips, and Lucky laughs.

We set our bikes against the outside of the windmill and walk around to the door. It creaks loudly when I tug it open, but we’re far enough away from the house that I doubt anyone would hear anything, even if they’re awake. Lucky grabs his phone from his pocket once we’re inside and turns on the flashlight. Cobwebs cover every surface imaginable, and I swipe my arm through them so we can walk forward.

The stairs are just as rickety as the rest of the structure, so I go first, stepping slowly to make sure each can hold my weight. Lucky is quiet behind me, our breaths and footsteps the only sounds in the still night air.

At the top of the windmill, there’s a small platform. I have to climb through a hole to get onto it, and then I help Lucky up. His eyes are big and round as we crawl under the short, pitched roof to the small window at the top of the structure. The countryside stretches out before us, far and wide. We’re not up all that high, but the land is so flat, it feels like we can see for miles.

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