Bahorel, Jehan, and Courfeyrac had been missing for a good chunk of the afternoon. Enjolras wasn't altogether surprised. The summer heat operated at full capacity this time of year, and since the day had mostly consisted of watching Feuilly squat in the back yard and tinker with the grill for hours, Enjolras understood why Combeferre was their only other companion today. He sprawled on his stomach in the grass next to Enjolras's lawn chair. The only noise was the chorus of cicadas in the trees, the creaks from the rusty grill, and the occasional flutter as Combeferre turned a page in his book.

Enjolras refreshed C-SPAN for the eightieth time and sighed.

"They've probably taken the day off, you know," said Combeferre. "The station."

"That's ironic," he muttered.

"Because it's Independence Day? They're celebrating the country. Like we're celebrating the country."

"Woohoo," murmured Feuilly from across the yard. He was covered in sweat and charcoal ash.

Enjolras snorted, but Combeferre brushed them off. "Or, at least, we will. Tonight."

"Yes, let's celebrate our current state of affairs by putting all legislative process and bureaucratic scheduling on hold so we can sit around on lounge chairs and gorge ourselves on hormone-pumped, nitrate-ridden slabs of grilled meat. Who needs progress when we have hot dogs?"

"That's the spirit," said Feuilly.

Enjolras slid down in his chair and pounded on the refresh button.

"It's a process, Enjolras," Combeferre said. He stuck his nose back in his book, and Feuilly returned to the grill, but all three raised their heads after a few minutes as Bahorel's truck came trundling into view at the end of the street. Courfeyrac stood in the truck bed, singing.

"Baby, you're a fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiirewooooork!"

"Don't tell me you're holding what I think you're holding," said Combeferre when the truck reached them.

Courfeyrac beamed. "You're okay with it, right?" he asked Enjolras.

"Well, it's definitely better than that cancerous meat," he said.

Feuilly groaned and threw down his tools on the grill, pulling off his filthy shirt and tromping into the house.

"Good work, though!" Enjolras called after him. "You're doing a really good job!"

"Whatever!"

Combeferre chuckled and patted Enjolras on the back.

"We're within city limits. This cannot be legal."

Bahorel beamed at Combeferre with that same mischievous face as Courfeyrac. "Man, you know me. Besides, we're not doing it here. There's a field a few blocks away. We'll be fine out there."

"And you, Jehan? This isn't like you. What do you have to say for yourself?"

"You obviously don't know Jehan very well," Bahorel said.

Combeferre frowned at Jehan, who slowly nodded.

Combeferre raised his eyebrows. "Huh. Apparently not."

As if in answer to the distant siren song of illegal fireworks, the rest of their friends crept in as evening approached. Bossuet and Joly showed up in matching red shirts, completely by accident, and spent most of the evening sitting by the grill and pilfering beers from the cooler. Enjolras finally coaxed Feuilly into firing up the grill, sneaking a few of his own veggie dogs into the batch, and when Grantaire eventually wandered up the street near sundown, smoking a cigarette and pretending he had just happened to be passing by, he joined Combeferre in the kitchen to help with food prep.

"Wow, is that summer squash you're putting in there? I've never heard of that."

Grantaire shrugged. "It helps the burger keep a firmer consistency. You know, 'cause they have a tendency to fall apart on the grill. You can't use bread crumbs 'cause they'll burn the thing to pieces."

"I see. I didn't know that. That's really smart."

The screen door slammed against the frame as Courfeyrac stuck his head in. "Is it okay if I bring Marius?"

Grantaire pretended to stab himself with a carving fork.

Combeferre confiscated it and stabbed it into a sausage. "That's fine, Courf. He's more than welcome."

"Deck shoes," said Courfeyrac. "Good choice, bro. Man, I need me some of those."

Marius shuffled his feet on the gravel. "I don't know. Did I dress too nice? I feel kind of dumb."

"Man, you're fine. It's kind of prep chic. I like it."

When they reached the grass, Courfeyrac addressed the yard at large. "Everyone, you remember Marius. Marius, everyone."

Everyone made a general chorus of greeting. Feuilly put down the grilling tongs, pushed his hair away from his face, and reached out his hand. Marius smiled and shook it. It was remarkably sweaty. He made an active attempt not to wipe his hand on his shorts.

"Wow. You look, uh, nice, Marius. Way to make me feel underdressed." Feuilly chuckled.

Marius managed a few breaths of laughter, his ears going very pink. As they made their way to the house, he put his face in his hands. "Courfeyrac, why did you let me come like this? This is so awful. Can I go home and change?"

"Chill, Marius. You're fine! It'll be dark soon anyway."

Grantaire stood up on the table on the other side of the yard, hands cupped around his mouth. "Nice Sperrys, bro!"

Marius went redder than the tomatoes on the picnic table.

Bossuet's eyes glowed as he scrutinized the array of fireworks arranged in the middle of the yard. He grinned at Joly and raised his finger to his lips to quiet him. Looking around to make sure the coast was clear, he hopped to his feet and took a step toward the display.

"No," Enjolras, Combeferre, and Courfeyrac said in unison. Bahorel crowed with laughter. Bossuet groaned and flopped back down on the grass next to Joly, upon whom he had spilled enough condiments over the course of dinner to replicate an abstract painting.

"It's time!" Jehan yelled over the chatter, up on the table next to Bahorel and Courfeyrac. His eyes were bright. "Everybody to the truck!"

"Does he normally get like this?" Marius whispered to Courfeyrac. "I thought he was the quiet one."

"He has moments."

The ride to the field was not long, but with seven people, a drink cooler, and an exponential amount of fireworks in one truck bed, it felt a lot longer. While they drove, Courfeyrac started up a game of Human Knot, and by the time they had arrived at the field and Bahorel opened the hatch on the truck bed, everyone was so entangled that it took ten minutes before the last person was out.

"We've split up the fireworks by type into separate divisions," Jehan explained once they were assembled. "Roman candles are on south end, cakes on east, cracklers and hummers on north, and the good stuff is on west. If you aren't as good with handling fireworks, stick with east and north end."

"Hey, hey, whoa," said Combeferre, putting his hand out in front of Bahorel as he went by with an armful of explosives. "Some of those are display fireworks. Where did you even get those?"

"I know a guy."

"A guy that's about to get us all killed and set the neighborhood on fire?"

"Are we doing something illegal?" Marius asked.

"The line is ambiguous," said Courfeyrac.

"We're doing something illegal," Marius groaned.

"Chillax," said Bahorel. "I've worked in shows before. I know how to fire 'em."

"Well, whatever you've got, I'm not helping you set it off," said Combeferre. "Do you even have a permit?"

Bahorel's grin was illuminated as the first firework shot up into the night with an enormous crack that made everyone jump. Grantaire had taken the initiative. He whooped as it burst with another crack into long streaks of blue then sang with showers of gold sparks.

All were silent as the gold light flickered and faded over their heads. They looked around at each other. No police sirens. No light. The night was as still but for the wind in the grass and the hum of cicadas.

"I'd give it a five out of ten. At least." That was Joly. The tension broke, and everyone laughed, and then at once everyone was running to take their positions. Combeferre sighed and sat down on the drink cooler.

The field became another world that night. Courfeyrac was running with sparklers in each hand. Wheels were whirring around the field, throwing out white-yellow waves of sparks, and aerial shells streaked up into the sky all around. The booms and crackles could be felt in the chest of every person in the field. Jehan and Bahorel manned "the good stuff"—the enormous display fireworks that streaked up so high and exploded so forcefully that Marius was knocked off his feet and had to stamp out the small flame that cropped up in the grass where he dropped his sparkler.

He had just managed to quell the tiny fire when a panic broke out behind him.

"Bossuet, no!" several voices cried at once.

"Hit the deck!" Courfeyrac screamed.

Marius dove sideways and rolled into the grass as a skyrocket whizzed just past his ear. He watched in abject terror as it sailed across the field, showering sparks like seeds that germinated into blooms of flame, fed by the high dead grass that had withered in the July heat. The field began to burn.

"Oh my god," said Courfeyrac. "Oh my god, Bahorel, what did we do?"

Suddenly, out of the throng, Combeferre burst into action, running faster than anyone had ever seen him run—faster than anyone had ever seen anyone run—with the cooler full of half-melted ice held aloft in front of him. He chased down the skyrocket, which had plowed its nose into the ground on the other end of the field, and tipped the cooler upside-down with his entire weight. It emitted a small hiss as the slushy ice water put out the fire beneath.

Enjolras was close behind with the fire extinguisher Combeferre had had the good sense to bring. As Combeferre pulled the cooler back upright and stomped out a few smoldering embers, Enjolras tackled the burning grass with a few well-aimed bursts of white mist.

When Combeferre and Enjolras returned to the rest of the group, their faces were stony.

"So, Combeferre," Enjolras said aloud, "what was that you were saying about getting us all killed and setting the neighborhood on fire?"

"Gee, Enjolras, I'm not entirely sure I remember. Would anyone care to help me out?"

They were all ashamed, but there was none so ashamed as Bossuet. One by one, they ventured out to collect the remains of the fireworks and put out any more embers that might have been missed.

"You know," Combeferre ventured, "last time I checked, you weren't altogether opposed to this."

"I never said I was unopposed. I said it was better than those cancerous hot dogs."

"You didn't look so opposed when you set off that firecracker."

Enjolras fumbled with the fire extinguisher. He smiled sheepishly. "You saw that, huh?"

Combeferre cocked an eyebrow.

"Well, we were doing something illegal, weren't we? And if it has a chance of making the police hate me, maybe it's... not that bad."

As if on cue, the distant wail of a siren entered their range of hearing. They looked at each other, then out over the sprawl of the neighborhood. A few blocks down, red and blue lights were whirring their way.

Enjolras grinned.

"Move, move, move!" he shouted, and at once, everyone was piling into the truck and the engine was roaring to life and they were hurtling away into the night, the cicadas their only conspirators. They didn't go home—they couldn't go home—but the sky was bright and clear and the air had turned cool with the night and rushed through Enjolras's hair as he stood with Combeferre against the cab in the truck bed. He had never felt more at home than he did in these moments anyway. Courfeyrac and Joly were laughing into the wind, and Combeferre couldn't resist the smile that was creeping up on his face. Enjolras looked around at them all. His heart was racing.

Who needed home when he had this?