Chasing Fireflies

Chapter 1

This isn't the beginning of the story, nor is it the end. I should at least start off by telling you my real name but since it defines who I used to be, and might be in the future, but not who I am at the moment, let's stick to my nickname—Fitz. Things have changed a lot for me over the last year or so, and to be honest, I don't even know who I really am anymore. Most of the time I just try to fit in. Right now I am doing my best to be an average fifteen-year-old in Princeton, New Jersey. In this lifestyle, Fitz suits me, it's a fairly average nickname, I think. And it's short for my last name—Fitzgerald-Lloyd. I'm sure you're wondering what the hell kind of first name could go with a mouthful like that. Well, my mom's a fan of that book we all have to read in school, To Kill a Mockingbird. Personally, I couldn't get into it, although the movie was okay—but just okay. Gregory Peck did a pretty decent job, and even made me think that I should try to get into law school, because Atticus is a decent name for a lawyer. And that's my real name—Atticus. Atticus Basil Fitzgerald–Lloyd III. Or that's who I used to be. Now I'm just plain Fitz. And no, I'm not particularly happy about it. In fact, it sucks.

So, like I said, it's not the beginning of the story, but it's not a random start either... It was a cool Saturday night in Princeton, and I was staring into the blue eyes of a hot redhead. I know that doesn't seem like the worst thing on earth, because who doesn't like pretty girls? But Maddie wouldn't stop bitching and moaning. I hate whining. I mean, what's the point? It's not like endlessly complaining about a situation is going to change it in any way. I tried to mute the stream of incomprehensible—a remnant word from my Fitzgerald-Lloyd III English private school days—nonsense pouring out of her pink-tinted lips. It was a nice pink, not too bright, unlike the practically fluorescent color my old nanny used to wear back home in England. Nanny Essie's bright-pink lipstick used to stain everything. And I mean everything... clothes, bed linen, teacups. Anyway, all I wanted to do in that moment was shut Maddie up, and shield myself from the stench of alcohol accompanying every syllable she exhaled at me. And what is it with girls, alcohol, and the use of the F word? Even though I wasn't listening to what Maddie was spewing on about, I caught the F words volleying out of her mouth repeatedly. Sober Maddie didn't talk like that. Not that I'm a prude or anything, but that many F words were just annoying. Normally, I wouldn't give a shit, but I was feeling generally irritated as I looked around the room packed with drunk teens and realized that this was my reality now.

Noticing Maddie's eyes start to water, I resignedly tuned into her voice. I'm not a total asshole.

"He fucking blocked me!" Sniffling, she pouted at me like she was expecting me to fix her problems with a quick flick of my non-existent magician's wand. Then came the words that I'd hoped wouldn't come next.

"Could you talk to him?" She batted her lashes and added, "He's your best friend, after all."

Now that wasn't the least bit accurate. Maddie is more my friend than Jack. But Jack and I are both on the soccer team, so I guess, in Maddie's eyes, we're practically brothers. I could see that she assumed that I had some magical pull with him. Of course, I didn't.

"Please, talk to him. I can't live without him."

The tears were starting to flow freely, and I was at a loss. What the hell was I supposed to do? I kind of liked her myself, and I was on my fourth beer, not that I wanted to use that as an excuse in any way. But I'm just a guy, and any guy would want to comfort a pretty girl. But I knew better. Dismissing the urge to lean into her and touch her lips with my own—as a video of her slapping me hard and storming off suddenly played out in my head—I fumbled around for a tissue in my pocket. None. Taking the easy way out, even though I had no intention of following through, I replied, "Sure."