Sparklers - Loliver Oneshot

Lilly's POV

It was our eighth summer. Our eighth Fourth of July Party. Eight is such a magical age...the world looks so wonderful through your eyes. You feel more grown up, but still enjoy every second of your childhood.

I remember every single little detail. Oliver Oken and I had been best friends our whole lives. He lived right next door, and every year we had a big cookout on July Fourth. Oliver - Ollie, as we called him back then - loved to come over and watch the neighbors do fireworks while we dangled our skinny legs in the pool. We sat there licking popsicles and watching the bright explosions overhead, splashing our feet around in the water. "It's so pretty, Ollie," I said, mesmerized.

"I know, Lils."

We stared at the fireworks until the neighbors ran out of them and went inside. A little disappointed, we finished our popsicles and splashed each other with our feet. "Lilly, Ollie, would you like some sparklers?" my dad suddenly called. Oliver and I exchanged an excited look. For years we had watched our older siblings chase each other around with sparklers, and now we were finally old enough to play with them. "Ooh, yes, Daddy!" I yelled as we stood up and ran to my father, leaving wet little footprints all over the patio.

Dad handed me a sparkler first. "Hold it out away from you, Lilly," he instructed. I held the sparkler out to my dad like it was a lit candle. Dad lit it up and I stared at it. Like I said, eight is a magical age. I thought the sparkler in my hand was the most beautiful thing ever, and felt proud that I was old enough to handle it.

Dad handed a sparkler to Oliver. "Hold it away from you, Ollie," he said. Oliver obeyed.

Oliver was always a little bit of a scaredy cat. He pretended to be brave and tough, but he was often scared by things normal kids enjoy, like monkey bars and roller skates. But I didn't mind. Oliver was my best friend, and I liked to think of him as a night in shining armor - even though I knew that if I was really a princess I would be dead by now.

Dad lit up Ollie's sparkler. We ran away with them, chasing each other all the way to our club house, playing our own twisted version of tag. We climbed into the clubhouse and stared at our sparklers. Oliver's was running out, getting closer to touching his hand. Ollie suddenly got scared and started crying.

"Don't cry, Ollie," I soothed. Oliver held his sparkler as far away from him as possible. "It's gonna b-burn me!" he sobbed. I hated to see him cry. I looked around the clubhouse, noticed my can of coke from earlier that day, and grabbed it. I dumped the soda over Oliver's sparkler, getting his arm wet and sticky in the process. The sparkler went completely out. Oliver stopped crying and smiled at me.

"Wow, thanks, Lilly!" he gushed. "You're so brave!"

"Anything for you, Ollie."

There was a two minute silence. Suddenly I realized that Oliver was getting closer to me. Very close, actually. I gulped. Ollie was going to kiss me! I saw his eyes cross a little as he reached my nose, and then he closed them. I closed my eyes too and felt Oliver give me a quick peck on the lips. We pulled apart and giggled. I'm still not sure if I was giggling at my first kiss or at the fact that Ollie's face was now redder than the popsicle ring around his mouth.

"So does this mean you'll be my boyfriend?"

Oliver looked at me. "Only if you'll be my girlfriend."

I giggled again. "I will."

"Then I will too."

We looked at each other, not sure what to do next. Suddenly we heard a loud boom, and realized that the neighbors had gotten more fireworks and started them up again. "Yay!" we said together, standing up. Oliver slipped his hand in mine and we ran back to the pool. I had held hands with Oliver plenty of times before, but that time it felt different somehow. I liked it. We put our little eight-year-old legs back in the water, and, even though I knew it was a stupid idea, I put the metal stick from my now dead sparkler in my pocket, and later put it in my jewelry box. I wanted to make sure I never forgot that day.

I woke up and rolled over to face my husband of ten years. He was still asleep. I quietly got out of bed and walked over to the closet. I pulled out a little pink box, sprinkled with glitter and covered in fairy stickers. Property of Lilly Truscott it read, scribbled in messy second-grade print. I opened the box and pulled out the small metal stick. Suddenly I felt someone looking at me and turned around to my husband.

"Morning, Lils," he said. "Happy anniversary."

I giggled as I climbed in bed and gave him a hug.

"Happy anniversary, Ollie."