May looked at the geode. She looked at the fireflies. She looked at the hammer.
Inside, wrapped in wax paper, was a glass jar filled with muddy water and a single, pearl-colored stone. Beside the jar was a notebook, its pages curled and yellowed. May opened the book. The handwriting was hurried, scrawled in blue ink.
: Describe the specifics of your time off. This often includes: mays summer vacation
May wiped the sweat from her forehead. Someone’s lost lunch, she thought. Probably full of moldy sandwiches from 1995.
"The Song of the Cicadas," May muttered. She went to the window. The cicadas were droning loudly, a high-pitched, electric buzz that was the soundtrack to every Southern summer. May looked at the geode
My summer vacations were about to start. I had made my plans
Soon, the gray rock was covered in tiny, glowing insects. They moved slowly, their lights synchronized. Under their tiny legs, May felt a faint tremor in the stone. A micro-vibration, maybe from the collective hum of the bugs, or maybe just the heat of the day finally releasing itself from the earth. Inside, wrapped in wax paper, was a glass
May spent the next week preparing. The note had mentioned fireflies. That meant night. She needed to be at the Whispering Bend at dusk.
For most people, summer vacation begins in June. But for May, it has always started a little earlier — not on the calendar, but in her chest, the moment the last school bell rings in late May.
"He never got to see it open," May said softly.