Sparkler Night

On the fifth of November, Poppy pressed her nose against the window. The sky was already dark, and the air smelled of woodsmoke and toffee apples.

"Is it time yet?" she asked for the hundredth time.

"Nearly," said Dad, zipping up her coat right to her chin. "Hat, gloves, wellies. Fireworks are loud and cold, and we want warm ears."

They walked to the park, where a big bonfire crackled behind a rope. Lots of families stood well back, holding cups of hot chocolate. Poppy held Dad's hand tight.

WHOOSH! A rocket zoomed up and burst into a shower of gold. BANG! Red stars popped across the sky. Poppy jumped, then giggled.

"It's okay to cover your ears," said Dad. "Even grown-ups do." So Poppy pressed her mittens over her ears, and the bangs became soft little thuds, and the colours were even prettier.

After the fireworks, Dad took a small box from his pocket. "Sparklers," he said. "But sparklers have rules, and you have to know them all."

Poppy stood up straight. "I'm ready."

"Rule one: gloves on. Rule two: hold it at the very end, with your arm out straight, pointing away from your face. Rule three: never wave it near anyone else. And rule four, the most important one..."

"What?"

"When it goes out, it's still hot. It goes straight into the bucket of water. Hiss!"

"Hiss!" said Poppy.

Dad lit the sparkler. It fizzed and spat tiny silver stars. Poppy held it out, arm straight, just like the rules said. Slowly, carefully, she drew a P in the air. Then an O. Then two more Ps and a Y.

"POPPY!" she shouted. For one shining second, her name hung in the dark like magic.

The sparkler crackled down to its end and went out. Poppy didn't touch the hot tip. She walked to the bucket and dropped it in. Hiss.

"Rule four," she said proudly.

On the way home, her cheeks were pink and her eyes were full of stars. That night, tucked up in bed, Poppy could still see her name glowing behind her eyelids, and she fell asleep smiling.