Free A Season for Fireflies by Rebecca Maizel

hospital?
    â€œWhere is she?” a new voice says.
    That voice. I know that voice. It’s a girl’s. I try to place her but I can’t.
    â€œYou have to let me see her! I was the one who saw her in the pool, damn it!” the girl cries. A jolt of adrenaline rushes through my chest. How do I know her?
    â€œI’m sorry, miss, your friend was struck by lightning. Sheneeds rest, she can’t see visitors yet.” My neck creaks. She is my friend. This girl is my friend.
    It has to be May, my best friend, but it doesn’t sound like her. The voice sounds different, higher.
    â€œIt’s just immediate family today, you can come tomorrow.”
    My mind is racing. Lightning?
    â€œL . . .” is what I get out. Was I in a pool? Whose pool was I in? I try to remember where I was last. Where was I last? As the girl walks away, I hear the click of her heels. I want her to come back, but she is gone.
    I don’t remember what she’s talking about. I don’t remember anything. I try. My head hurts from trying.
    There was a Much Ado About Nothing rehearsal; it was a warm day in May and everyone was annoyed about having to wear those heavy costumes when it was so hot. Bettie had called and said I needed to come home right after rehearsal. I must have ignored her and gone swimming in May’s pool. That must have been where I got struck.
    I should remember what happened. But I can’t.
    â€œPenny, did you hear the doctor?” Dad says. “You were struck by lightning.”
    â€œWh—” I croak. The word “where” is there on the tip of my tongue but it burns in my throat. I keep my eyes on Mom’s black bob, instead. It’s longer than I remember and reaches past her chin. Did it grow and I haven’t noticed? I have been super busy with rehearsals for Much Ado . I reach my fingers up again toward her face. My left hand shakes and my arm is too tired.
    She thinks I am reaching for water so she hands me the cup and wraps her fingers around mine to help me hold it to my lips. My hand shakes. Water dribbles down my chin. I sip and it is nearly the best thing I have ever had as it trickles down my searing throat. Dad presses a button, lifting the bed so I’m sitting up.
    The nurse shuts the door and Dr. Abrams takes my hand in his; he’s warm. “I am going to show you something. I know your sight might be a little weak,” he says. Beyond him, the sunset is a smear reflected in the glass high-rise building.
    â€œPenny? Can you hear the doctor? Are you listening?” Mom asks.
    Dr. Abrams is tall and has lots of hair that shoots up in white-blond spikes.
    â€œI want you to look at my eyes,” he says. I don’t want to look away from Mom’s face but the doctor lifts a handheld mirror up and, weirdly, holds it over my forearm so it reflects my skin. I squint.
    Then my eyes focus, and I see myself.
    Vines. There is no other word for what I see. Golden branches spread across my skin like tangled brambles. I expect full flower buds to be at the end, but the branches are like ivy that crawls over buildings, except this ivy is copper. The thin designs etch up and down my thigh, along my shin, and stop at the top of my foot. Dr. Abrams runs his index finger down the length of my arm without touching me.
    â€œWe think the lightning left your body at your feet. According to your friends who spoke to the EMTs, you were on theladder trying to climb out of the pool. It conducted the lightning and blew you back in.”
    My heart slams and I hear the powerful beats in my head.
    â€œWhat—what—” My breath comes out in puffs. I’m too hot. I push off the blanket and the cool air-conditioning feels better on my legs. I clutch the fabric but need to release it immediately because my hands are shaking.
    â€œI know it’s overwhelming,” the doctor says. His voice echoes around the room. My ears feel funny. “Penny, I