originally published at peregrine journal

Kate says if you put a buttercup under your chin it lights up your face. I try it on Apollo but he ends up eating it and licking my nose after. We run through the meadow trying to catch the sun, falling over and laughing, pretending we burned our hands. Apollo has a bad hip so he turns back when we reach the treehouse. He’s not allowed in it anyway – girls only. 

There are six steps up the trunk of the tree we painted the rainbow colors. We sit on stacks of books, telling our innermost secrets. I put my cassette in the boom box; it blasts Madonna and we dance until we’re dizzy. A big ball of fire expands and drops from the clouds. Our parents run to find us.

The television, which is almost never on, speaks about the teacher who fell from the sky. President Reagan addresses us, the light missing from his eyes.