Chapter 8 Shooting Stars · The Summer End Fireworks
The air in late summer hummed with anticipation, thick as honey and twice as sweet. Lin Yan's national competition departure date loomed like a full moon, casting long shadows over their final weeks of senior year. Su Wantang insisted on throwing a "genius send-off," though Chen Ye grumbled it was just an excuse to "waste money on exploding sticks."
"Admit it," she teased, flicking his arm as they sorted fireworks in the storage shed, "you're excited."
Chen Ye rolled his eyes, but the corner of his mouth twitched. He'd spent all week drawing constellation-themed sparklers—Orion's Belt in gold, the Pleiades in soft blue—tucked among the generic Roman candles. "Just don't let Lin Yan light them. Dude's a fire hazard with a soldering iron."
Lin Yan, leaning against the shed door, snorted. "Says the guy who set the biology lab on fire last year."
"Accident!" Chen Ye protested, but he was grinning. The tension of the past months had eased, leaving a fragile peace. Since the competition incident, they'd fallen into an unspoken rhythm: Su Wantang as the anchor, Chen Ye the deflector, Lin Yan the quiet center.
The fireworks were set up on the beach below the school cliffs, a smuggled crate of "professional grade" rockets courtesy of Chen Ye's cousin. The night was clear, the stars so bright they seemed to hum, and the ocean stretched out like liquid ink.
"Ready?" Su Wantang held up a sparkler, her face illuminated by its golden glow.
Chen Ye lit a fountain firework with exaggerated caution, leaping back as it erupted in a shower of silver. "Showtime, folks!"
They took turns lighting the display, laughing as a stray "whistling devil" careened into the dunes. Lin Yan stood back, watching Su Wantang's silhouette against the explosions—her hair flying, her hands gesturing wildly as she nagged Chen Ye about "safety protocols."
"Hey." Chen Ye nudged him, offering a beer. "You good?"
Lin Yan took a sip, the bitterness sharp on his tongue. "Just thinking... I might not see this again for a while."
"Eh, colleges have fireworks too." Chen Ye shrugged, but his tone was softer. "And we'll still be here. Sort of."
Before Lin Yan could reply, a particularly loud rocket burst overhead, painting the sky in vibrant greens and purples. Su Wantang whooped, grabbing both their arms in excitement. For a moment, they stood linked, three points of a triangle, the world reduced to light and laughter.
Then came the grand finale—a cluster of cakes labeled Galaxy Burst. Chen Ye lit the fuse and scrambled back, but the fireworks sputtered and died. "Aw, come on!" he groaned.
Su Wantang knelt to inspect them. "Damp wick, maybe." She pulled a lighter from her pocket—Lin Yan's old one, the one with the broken clasp—and leaned in.
"Wait, don't—!" Lin Yan's warning came too late.
The fireworks exploded unexpectedly, a shower of sparks erupting at her feet. She yelped, stumbling backward. Lin Yan caught her instinctively, their bodies colliding as Chen Ye swore and stamped out a smoldering patch of grass.
"Are you okay?" Lin Yan demanded, checking her for burns. Her face was inches from his, her breath warm on his neck.
"I—yes," she said, but her voice was breathless, her cheeks flushed. They pulled apart abruptly, both staring at the ground.
Chen Ye cleared his throat. "Great job, pyromaniacs. Let's not set the school on fire before Lin Yan leaves, yeah?"
The rest of the night passed in a blur of awkward jokes and dwindling fireworks. When the last sparkler fizzled out, Su Wantang pulled out a bottle of champagne—"borrowed" from her dad's liquor cabinet—and three chipped glasses.
"To new beginnings," she said, raising her glass.
"To not blowing up the physics lab," Chen Ye added.
Lin Yan smiled. "To... whatever comes next."
They drank, the champagne sharp and sweet. Somewhere, a distant clock chimed midnight. Su Wantang pulled out a folded piece of paper—a poem she'd written, she admitted, about time and stars and the way some things never truly fade.
Chen Ye pretended to gag, but he listened intently, his usual bravado stripped away. When she finished, Lin Yan took the poem and folded it carefully into his wallet, next to a photo of his mother.
Later, as they walked back to school, Chen Ye lagged behind, letting the other two stay ahead. He watched their shadows stretch and merge in the moonlight, Su Wantang's hand brushing Lin Yan's as they argued over some trivial thing, and felt a strange, aching fondness.
"Hey," he called, stopping them. He pulled a crumpled sketch from his pocket—a drawing of the three of them, laughing under fireworks, stars scattered around their heads. "Souvenir."
Su Wantang gasped. "It's amazing."
Lin Yan studied it, noting the way Chen Ye had drawn the gears in his watch as tiny stars. "You should frame this."
"Nah." Chen Ye shrugged. "Just don't lose it, okay?"
They reached the school gates, the first hin