Chapter Text
It started with a bang.
Esme and I were watching the Saturday fireworks show for our town's annual summer festival on the river. The air smelled like smoke and fried dough, and the crack of fireworks echoed off the water. There was a show every night of the week long festival, Saturday's was the smallest. Mother says the festival is full of sinners but it’s a community thing so we go anyway.
She wore a strapless dark taupe dress that reached her knees when she stood, paired with loose-fitted jeans and grass-stained white socks. Her distressed white shoes sat next to her on the picnic blanket we shared. I remember looking at her, my best friend, and thinking how beautiful the warm glow of the fireworks made her eyes shine. Then her eyes met mine, shit . I snapped my gaze back to the sky too late, my heart hammering against my ribs like it was trying to break free.
"Were you staring again?" She poked me. "Am I really that beautiful?" She brushed her hair back and made a silly face. Such a silly stupid face.
I just laughed it off. I laughed too hard, hoping it would cover the way my chest ached. It wasn’t humorous, though. It was dangerous. Wrong. Wicked , even. I shouldn’t look at her that way. She’s my best friend. But then I thought, “ It’s not like that. She’s my best friend! You can think those things about your friend, right? ”
The thought rang out in my head. It repeated and repeated as if it was an attempt to cope. I stared at my feet, bare and bruised from running on the hard dry dirt and grass with her only minutes earlier.
“Cmon, Ramonie! It’s almost to the finale!” Esme exclaimed, grabbing my arm. A shock ran through my body. Every time she touched me, I smelled smoke. Heard the crackle of burning wood. Hellfire.
I lifted my gaze, but my head tilted. It was like I was drawn to her sapphire eyes as the bright fiery reflection lit them up.
“Create in me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me.” I whispered.
“What was that?” she asked, turning her head towards me.
Her voice rang through my ears, a sinful melody.
“N-nothing! Just talking to myself!” I awkwardly blurted, before laughing it off. Somewhere, deep in the back of my mind, I heard my mother's voice, sharp as a switch: "Guard your heart, Ramona. The Devil's cleverer than you think."
My stomach twisted. I tore my eyes away from her face and stared up at the sky, where red and gold lights bled into the night.
The finale came and went. It wasn’t large, being only opening night. There were the usual “ooh”s and “ahh”s of the crowd along with a few babies crying because they were up past their bedtime. It felt like I could barely focus on the show with the temptation of forbidden fruit sitting right next to me. I was Eve, and giving in would prove to be my ultimate sin.
I slipped my white floral flats back on and covered my shoulders with the pink cardigan my mother knitted. Esme squeezed her aching feet into her tight sneakers and pulled a leather coat over her arms.
“What a show, I think that was the best opening night in years!” She said.
“Mhm.”
“What was your favorite part?” She asked. I tried not to look at her, to not give in to temptation. I looked at the crowd, folding blankets, packing baskets, strapping kids into strollers and wagons.
“I don’t know, it was all pretty.” I said, knowing I hadn’t paid attention to a lick of it, knowing my real answer was her. She was the angel at the gate. I was the snake in the grass, whispering promises of sweetness while my fangs dripped venom. There was no innocence left in me.
“True.” She laughed, “Well, want to get a snack? Maybe some sweets from the convenience store?” She said as she folded up the blanket.
I checked the time, 9:30. My mother made me agree to a curfew “because Saturday nights breed sinners” and it was nearing that. It took begging and driving my little sister to school for two weeks to have her even agree to be as late as 9:45. I wanted to see the finale but now I was wishing she had stuck with 9.
“Sorry, Esme. It’s late and I need to put Mary to bed.” I said.
“Alright! I’ll drive you home, then!” She said cheerfully, grabbing my hand and dragging me to her car. Her fingers laced through mine without hesitation. I almost pulled away—instinct, fear—but instead I let her hold me, feeling the heat of it all the way down to my ribs. It felt like hot embers in my palm.
The car door creaked open, and I climbed into the passenger seat, the fabric still warm from the afternoon sun. Esme tossed the blanket into the backseat before sliding behind the wheel. Her arm brushed mine as she reached for the ignition, and the old engine coughed to life.
We sat there for a moment, the air between us buzzing with the leftover crackle of fireworks. I pressed my hands flat against my thighs to stop them from shaking.
Esme tapped the steering wheel in time with the radio, a faint smile playing on her lips. Some lovey-dovey pop song filtered through the speakers, all soft beats and sweet nothings. It felt like the world was mocking me.
"You good?" she asked lightly, glancing at me with those bright sapphire eyes.
"Yeah," I lied, forcing a smile. "Just tired."
Tired of feeling like this. Tired of fighting it.
She nodded, satisfied, and pulled out of the gravel lot. We bumped along the dirt road, the headlights cutting through the dark. I stared out the window, counting fence posts, anything to keep from looking at her.
We drove through town, past the convenience store she proposed stopping at, passing a couple with slushies.
“Aww, they’re a cute couple.” Esme said, stopping at a light. “Look! She has a blue one and he has a red one!”
I forced a smile and a hollow chuckle, “Yeah. cute.”
I watched the couple laughing as they crossed the street, blue and red slushies in hand, bumping shoulders like it was the easiest thing in the world. I wondered — just for a moment — what it would be like to have that with Esme.
A second too long.
I snapped my eyes back to the dashboard, chewing the inside of my cheek until the taste of copper filled my mouth. No.
That wasn’t for me.
That wasn’t allowed.
Not what I was going through, not the thoughts burning from my chest. My heart was aflame and my lungs were filled with ash.
I dug my nails into my thighs until the sharp sting cut through the fog in my head. I imagined the sting as penance, a quiet apology to the God I kept disappointing inside my own head.
Just sitting next to her felt like sitting too close to a fire.
Esme leaned forward a little, fiddling with the radio as the light turned green. Her hair slipped over her shoulder, brushing against mine. I didn't move away.
I should have.
The porch light was on, a golden beacon slicing through the dark. Safe harbor.
I should have been relieved.
Instead, something inside me ached.
Esme parked and hopped out, practically bouncing as she hurried around to open my door. I sat there for a heartbeat longer, fingers fumbling with the strap, the old leather of my purse sticking to my sweating palms.
Home. Safety.
Then why did I feel like I was about to leave something behind?
Still, when she swung my door open and offered her hand, I took it.
“I had fun today!” Esme said brightly, grabbing both of my hands in hers. Her palms were warm. Her fingers curled instinctively around mine, like she couldn't help it.
I could feel it — the fire building from my feet to my hands to my heart. I was burning alive under her touch.
She smiled, wide and soft, and for one dangerous moment, I let myself look. Really look.
At the dimple in her cheek.
At the way her hair curled around her collarbone.
At the shimmer in her ocean-colored eyes.
I could give in.
I could lean in and take the fruit already rotting between us.
But I didn’t.
Her eyes flicked up and down my face, and she laughed.
"Are you sweating?" she asked, dropping my clammy hands with a soft laugh.
I barked out a laugh of my own, too loud, too shaky. "It's summer," I said, waving a hand. "I'm just hot."
Without thinking, she reached up and swiped the sweat from my forehead with her sleeve. The casual, familiar way she touched me unraveled something deep in my chest.
Then—before I could move, before I could breathe—she pulled me into a hug.
I hugged her back.
And I lingered.
I lingered longer than I should have, longer than I could afford.
Her heart beat steady against mine, sure and untroubled, while mine felt like it might crack my ribs apart.
I let my eyes fall shut. I breathed her in—beneath the lingering scent of popcorn, there was the soft sweetness of her apple shampoo.
When she finally pulled away, it took everything in me not to reach for her again.
But before I could, the front door swung open.
"9:50, Ramona. That's an extra week of driving Mary to school. Get inside," my mother said, her voice stern and unyielding.
"Yes, Mother," I said, almost grateful for the excuse. An escape from temptation, wrapped in scolding.
If she hadn't opened that door, I might have—
No.
I couldn’t have.
Could I?
I waved goodbye to Esme as I slipped into the house, my heart still smoldering in my chest.
The house smelled like mildew and bleach. Safe. Familiar.
And suffocating.
Mother followed me into the kitchen, setting her keys down with a soft clink.
"Did the vendors show up on time?" she asked, her tone light, businesslike.
I pulled a glass from the cupboard. "Most of them. The kettle corn guy was late, but everyone else was setting up by noon."
She nodded approvingly, reaching for her planner. "And the bounce house? You said the rental company was giving you trouble last week."
I shrugged, filling my glass at the sink. "They figured it out. Got it inflated just after the opening speeches. No accidents. No lawsuits."
Mother smiled faintly at that, jotting something down. "Good girl."
For a moment, it was easy. Normal.
She flipped a page in her planner. "And how was the entertainment? The fiddlers? The magician?"
"Both showed up," I said, turning to lean against the counter. "The magician was a little... weird, but the kids loved him. I think the fiddlers stayed two hours longer than scheduled."
Mother laughed lightly. "That's what happens when you pay them in barbecue and sweet tea."
I smiled despite myself. Maybe tonight would stay safe after all.
Maybe she wouldn't—
"You spent a lot of time with that Esme girl," she said casually, flipping another page.
The air shifted, heavy and electric.
“Well she is my best friend.” I wanted to say, but I swallowed it. I gripped the edge of the counter. "She helped me with the face painting booth," I said carefully. "And the dunk tank. You know how short-staffed we were."
"Mm," she grunted.
Silence stretched, brittle and sharp.
"You know," she said, drawing out the words, "there's something not right about that one."
I felt my stomach knot.
"Mother—"
"Not just her parents, either," she continued, tapping her pen against the planner. "That girl doesn't know her place. All these odd little jokes. Always hanging on other girls. Always... hovering."
"She's not—" I started, but the words stuck.
" Queer ," Mother said crisply, as if pronouncing a diagnosis. "In every sense of the word."
She closed her planner with a snap.
"You don't find yourself, Mona. You find God. You know better than to let yourself get dragged into her mess."
I swallowed hard. "She's not like that. She's just... trying to figure things out. She doesn't even have a real church. Her parents are agnostic."
Mother's face darkened.
"Exactly," she said. "Until she finds God, I don't want to hear another word about her. Do you understand me?"
I nodded, feeling the guilt crawl up my spine like smoke. I knew the truth but I couldn’t accept it.
We sat in the kitchen, silent. I finished my water and went upstairs to put my sister to bed.
“And how was your day, Mary?” I said, leaning in her doorway as she put her toys away.
“It was great! Mama let me stay up late since you weren’t going to be home until later, AND I got to have hotcakes for supper!” She said, making gestures with her hands that I couldn’t quite decipher. “Are you and Ezzy gonna take me to the festival tomorrow?” Even the mention of my sister’s cute nickname for her made my stomach churn.
“I don’t know, bugs. We have church, and Mama’s making pot roast.” I said, rubbing her hand as she crawled into bed.
“Oh,” she said with the innocence any confused 5 year old would have.
I left Mary's door ajar, the soft hum of her nightlight the last thing I heard before stepping into the bathroom.
I turned the tap with a quick twist—hot, too hot, but I didn’t care. The scalding water is supposed to hurt. I need it to hurt.
My hands shook as I ran them under the stream, the skin flushed red almost immediately. I scrubbed my face first, over and over, as if I could wash away the way Esme’s fingers felt when they brushed against mine, or the warmth of her breath as she leaned in close. My chest tightened.
I didn’t stop.
The water ran too hot, but it’s the only thing that drowns out the taste of her, the feel of her lingering in my skin. The smell of fireworks still clung to my hair, mixing with the scent of soap.
When I finally pulled my hands away, they were raw. And for a moment, I thought it worked. But the heat still coiled in my stomach, like a flame just waiting for a spark.
I wiped my face on the towel, rough and quick. Another part of me that’s burning. I could feel the ache in my chest, but it’s quieter now. It doesn’t hurt as much.