“Stars Like Fireflies”

Derry, Maine – August 1985

The sky was full of stars that night—so many it looked like someone had shaken glitter over black velvet.

You and Bill had snuck out after midnight. Your walk to the Quarry was mostly quiet, lit by the soft yellow glow of streetlamps and the distant sound of frogs. Bill held your hand the whole way, fingers brushing softly over yours every few steps like he was checking if you were really there.

You were.

You always were.

The Quarry looked different at night. The water was ink-dark, still except for the ripple of a breeze. Trees crowded the edges, and the only sounds were crickets and the hush of your breath.

Bill dropped his bike and pulled off his sneakers, letting his bare feet dangle over the rocky edge. You sat next to him, your knees touching.

For a while, you just looked out at the water.

Then he whispered, “I-I never… I never th-thought I could like someone after… everything.”

You turned toward him slowly.

His eyes were already on you.

“But you do?” you asked softly.

He nodded, blinking slow. “Y-Yeah. I do. I like you. A l-lot.”

Your heart thudded. Not loud, not wild—just warm and full.

“I like you too, Bill.”

He smiled, the kind that was still learning how to exist on his face again.

There was a long pause, the good kind.

Then he added, “W-When I’m with you… the h-hurt’s still there. But it’s quieter.”

You leaned your head on his shoulder.

Neither of you talked for a while after that. The stars above shimmered gently, and the Quarry held your secrets like a mirror.

Eventually, he reached for your hand again, threading his fingers through yours.

It wasn’t your first time holding hands. But it felt different now—braver.

“C-Can I…” he asked suddenly, voice lower than before, “C-Can I kiss you?”

You nodded.

And it was nothing like the movies.

It wasn’t perfect or practiced. His lips were a little cold from the night air, and the kiss was quick, soft, a little clumsy.

But it was real.

It was thirteen years old and hurting and healing and full of something new and honest.

You stayed there for a while longer, legs swinging over the water, heads tilted together.

And when the wind picked up and your hair brushed his cheek, he smiled again, just barely.

Because for the first time in a long time, he didn’t feel alone.