Where There's Smoke...

By Jessica Ellis

It's the Fourth of July, Mirabel's favorite holiday in the whole world, and it's completely ruined. Fireworks have been banned in town, there's family tension simmering as her favorite cousin and his boyfriend are home to visit, and – worst of all – Mirabel's dreamy boyfriend Jarrod has just dumped her ass and accused her of being secretly in love with someone else. And that someone else is Cassie Kasden, a popular, athletic girl that, okay, fine, Mirabel will admit, she's a little fascinated by. And who mysteriously seems to want to spend the day helping Mirabel get Jarrod back. Will Mirabel be able to sort through her feelings and figure out the truth before the first illicit sparkler is lit? Or is this Fourth of July really going to turn out to be a dud?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bryant Street Shorts
• Release date: Jul 31, 2020
• ISBN: 9781094413044

Jessica Ellis

N/A

Book preview

Chapter One

It was always the scent that woke her, not the sounds. If she could have bottled that aroma, that peculiar, blood-rushing scent of charcoal and sulfur and excitement, she would have worn it like a perfume every day of her life. She’d always hated that she was born in December, as far from the best day of the year as you could get. Because for as long as Mirabel could remember, there was nothing, not the biggest marshmallow on the planet or the oldest, dustiest archaeology textbook in the world, that was more wonderful than waking up to the smell of fireworks on the Fourth of July.

But today, she couldn’t smell it. She wouldn’t have been able to anyway, this being the first year Centennial County had enacted a ban on all fireworks, but that wasn’t the real problem: Mirabel couldn’t smell anything. Crying all night was like that. She’d stopped dry-heaving sobs somewhere around two and deleted her Instagram account at 3:30, before falling asleep upside-down on the bed. So instead of waking up to the best smell in the world, the once-a-year scent of hickory and smoke and metal, of gunpowder and strange, alchemical minerals, she woke up to her mother throwing a pillow in her face.

Up, Carolina said gently, getting another pillow ready just in case. Mirabel grabbed the first one and pulled it down over her face. You couldn’t strangle yourself, she’d read somewhere, but could she just leave this pillow on her face until she died?

The second pillow knocked the first one off. Mirabel reached for the covers to yank them over her head, but realized she’d never gotten under them. She scrabbled wildly for nothing, refusing to open her eyes all the way.

Stop it and get up. Her mother’s gentleness was gone now.

I don’t want to get up, Mirabel growled, flipping herself onto her stomach like a turtle. I am too miserable to ever get up.

Lucky for you, it’s Sunday. God understands miserable. He suffered very much. Remember how he died for you?

Mirabel groaned. Mom, don’t Jesus-trip me today. It’s not Easter. I’m not going to church.

Carolina sat delicately on the edge of the bed. It was so strange to Mirabel how her mother never seemed to put weight on anything. She perched like a finch, her body never disturbing the chair or sofa or branch. Mirabel felt more like Howdy, their sixteen year-old golden retriever — two years younger than Mirabel. His hips were bad, and after mealtimes, he spent most of the day flopping from one nap spot to another. Even the wood floor seemed to sag under Howdy.

Honey…, was all Carolina said, but she knew the tone. Mirabel rolled onto her back and sat up, yawning. Carolina brushed her thick, dark out of her face, wincing at whatever it was Mirabel looked like. She flinched back, rolling out of bed.

Dad made eggs, her mother called over her shoulder as she headed downstairs. Mirabel sighed and grabbed a robe.

Apparently crying, or maybe just not sleeping, also made your feet not work right. Stumbling down the staircase, the wall lined with two dozen family photos, Mirabel staggered into the kitchen to find her whole family up and louder than ever.

The eggs were scrambled with pepper jack, and her father was attempting to scoop them onto her little brothers’ plates. Luis and Joe were too busy banging each other with patriotic helium balloons they’d stolen out of a large bunch in the living room to notice the food or let any of it get near their plates. Evan Hernandez-Williamson knew a losing battle when he fought one, so he gave up and poured Mirabel a half-cup of coffee instead.

You all right? Her father asked, his eyes worried. Mirabel nodded, splashing cream in all the way to the top.

You smell, Luis announced, bopping Joe decisively with his superior star-shaped balloon.

God made us each with a fragrance, Evan teased.

Mirabel waved her coffee cup under his nose. Dad, no God before coffee. You promised.

The wisdom of Solomon, Evan agreed. I was afraid you were going to miss all the fun today.

She wouldn’t, Carolina insisted from behind the counter, adding watermelon to a fruit salad that looked like it could feed 200 people. It’s her favorite holiday.

I don’t know exactly what I’m supposed to be celebrating anymore. It’s not like we can even have fireworks. Or like, happiness or joy in the world. What even is the point? Mirabel muttered at her coffee. She slid her feet under the table, resting them on Howdy, who was deep into his first morning snooze.

America! Luis shouted.

Cake! Joe screeched.

Clothes, Carolina said sternly, pointing at her sons. The boys obediently scurried down from their chairs and up the stairs, dragging the battered balloons like forlorn pets behind them. Competing shouts of America! and Cake! faded into the distance.

Evan handed eggs to Mirabel, and she took a spoonful. You never could really trust eggs once you knew where they came from, and that was on the best of days. This was not the best of days. She stared at them on her plate.

"Cheer up. There’s still the big fireworks show tonight. And the block party. Isn’t that even a little exciting?" Evan asked.

Mirabel shrugged.

Chris is coming.

Mirabel tried to swallow her entire mouthful of coffee and choked. She sputtered, grabbing a napkin and glancing over at her mother, who looked as startled as she did.

Chris? Carolina asked. Chris is coming from California?

Evan scraped the abandoned eggs from Luis’s plate onto his own and nodded.

"He sent me an email, said he hadn’t visited since… since." He took a mouthful of eggs and sighed.

Is Luke coming, too? Mirabel asked.

As far as I know, Evan replied.

Does your sister know? Carolina asked, cleaving another watermelon in two.

Evan sighed. She does. She says she might not be feeling up to the party.

Why is Aunt Aidy so mean to Chris? Mirabel asked, annoyed into speaking.

"His

Reviews for Where There's Smoke...

[Jian Gomez · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

The story is compelling. Good job writer! If you have some great stories like this one, you can publish it on Novel Star, just submit your story to [e-mail] or [e-mail]

[L. Moccia · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Some parts are a little clunky but some parts are excellent. The throwback 50's vibe is weird (going to jail for outlawed fireworks) and espadrilles? Really? The churchy attitudes take away from the storyline. We get it already.
This author has real talent and I hope to read more by them.