by Phil Stamper
There’s silence as the anchor lets the message sink in.
“How’s that for some drama?” Josh asks the camera, poison dripping from his smile. “How many more qualified candidates were turned away just because this guy’s son was good at social media?”
Kiara shakes her head. “And who would have thought that while Cal was sucking NASA dry to build his brand, NASA was using him too. Either way, it’s troubling news, and it’s a story I intend to closely monitor.”
Mara and Kiara both hinted at it, but I never listened: when StarWatch’s ratings are down, they ramp up the drama. And it’s clear what the purpose of this whole show is. They want it to look like everyone’s abandoning the project, that it was flawed to begin with. That no one can be trusted.
They want NASA to crumble, and they want to cover it all.
CHAPTER 22
I wait for the yelling to start, but it never does. An eerie silence fills the house, so I rush to my tape deck and listen to whatever cassette’s in right now.
Dolly’s vocals pump through my headphones, but it doesn’t work. Nothing’s going to get my mind off the events of the past hour. I used to be able to distract myself by being annoyed at my parents and their constant yelling, but this is so bad, no fight could possibly solve it.
I imagine my parents sitting in bed, staring at the wall, in disbelief at what NASA just revealed.
They led my dad on this whole time, and it’s my fault.
I feel stuck. I wish I could do something to help, but I don’t even know where to start. It seems impossible. I take off my headphones and let the silence sour my stomach. None of the tracks feel right. None of this is right.
What I really need is to hear Leon’s voice. But he won’t hear me out, as evidenced by the ten ignored calls on his phone. I picture him sad or angry or a little of both, and my heart aches.
I pick up my phone, hoping the eleventh time is a charm.
“Cal.”
Leon’s warm, comforting voice is gone, and my chest nearly explodes with tension. I’ve wanted to hear his voice so badly. But not like this.
“I need to talk to you,” I say. “I need to explain.”
“Do you?” And I hear it now. The coldness, the pain in his voice. “It was pretty clear from the start—this was temporary. You were always going back to New York.”
I sigh. “I don’t know if that’s true.”
“But you said it.”
“Fine,” I say. “I wanted to go back. From the moment I got here, I wanted to leave. But once I thought of this as a temporary home, I realized it wasn’t so bad. And then I got to know you and Kat, and all the other families. And I thought I could help NASA with some of my videos, and … yes, I thought it would build my portfolio, but—”
“You said it yourself, when we first …”—he hesitates—“kissed. You couldn’t be with someone who was half in, but even then, you weren’t all in.”
“With you, I was always, always all in.” My voice is rough and low. I need him to understand this, if he takes nothing else away from this convo. “I’m torn, okay. She said she could get me a dream opportunity. She could get me back home. She clearly lied to get some shitty sound bites from me. But I have so much here that I wanted to stay for.”
“Then take some time to figure it out.” He sighs. “I love you, but when I heard you say those words, it kind of paralyzed me—the thought of you up and leaving me, leaving Clear Lake terrifies me. Like, I couldn’t even answer your calls, because I thought you would tell me this was goodbye.”
“I’m sorry,” I say. It’s all I can say.
“I can’t expect you to make me your number-one priority. But being everyone’s number two or three or four priority is really hard for me.” His breaths come through the phone in ragged bursts. “Could you give me, us, some time?”
His words send a chill through my body. Some time? How long, exactly? Can I still text, or is he cutting off communication for good? How will I know when I can speak to him again?
Will I ever be able to speak to him again?
“I …” I can’t get the words out. The tears are building, and I don’t think I can stop them. “Okay. Whatever you need.”
After we hang up, I sprawl out on the carpet in my room, because the move is just melodramatic enough to show how sorry I feel for myself. I know that Leon isn’t perfect. I know that I’m way not perfect.
But in some weird way, it feels like we’re perfect together. And of course I don’t want to leave him.
I nearly jump when I get a text, in hopes that it’s him, but it’s only Deb texting me her new address.
When did Deb become only Deb? She was my world; we’d spend every day on the fire escape planning our future and cursing our annoying parents.
She was hurt by my leaving, I realize that now. And that only reminds me of all the others I’ve hurt. All the shit that’s my fault. So many broken people I care about, and I can’t fix any of them. I can’t help Mom with her grief and anxiety or tell Dad I’m sorry that I’m the only reason his dreams have come—temporarily—true. Tell Leon that I won’t disappear, that I won’t be like his parents, who make him feel so lonely. Tell Deb how great she’s always been to me, and show up to tell her how I never really left her. How we can go back to normal and everything will be all right.
I sit up straight, accidentally slamming my shoulder into the dresser.
“I could do that,” I say aloud.
I google her new address, and map it out. Twenty-four hours. It’s a huge gesture, but it would work. I’d sleep in the car, and I can leave a message on Mom’s phone so she doesn’t worry. I’d catch a ton of shit from Dad, but he barely uses the car anyway, since he’s been carpooling with Grace to work.
I’m unsettled, and a queasy feeling creeps into my stomach. I know it’s a bad idea. But if I could just show one person that I’m there for them. If I could just … fix something. I think I can keep going.
I slip out of my room and grab the car keys hanging by the door. I turn off the lights and release myself into the hot Houston air. It’s sixty-five in Brooklyn right now. If it holds up, I’ll be nice and cool when I get there in a day or so. Maybe I should’ve brought a sweater.
Behind the wheel, I feel a little bit of power come back to my life. I plug the directions into my phone, and I’m off. The farther I get away from that god-awful town, the more relaxed I feel. My grip on the wheel loosens. I can finally, finally breathe.
But the breaths get heavier, more ragged.
I’m nearly alone on this road, even though it’s a separated highway. But the good thing about driving in middle-of-nowhere, twenty-miles-to-Beaumont, Texas is there’s plenty of room for me to pull over. Since I can barely see through all the tears that cloud my vision, I do just that.
My chest heaves, so I press my forehead to the steering wheel. I turn off the music and beg the silent night to keep me calm. My shoulders tense so hard, I start to shake. Haphazardly, at first, then steadier. It’s like being outside in a snowstorm, or jumping into a freezing lake. The chill creeps through my body, though it couldn’t be less than seventy-five in the car.
Three things become abundantly clear: I can’t fix anyone. I don’t want to leave Houston, now or ever. And I really fucking love him.
Sobs come fast and hard, and I unbuckle my seat belt so I can hold my stomach. I’d feel so embarrassed if I wasn’t completely broken right now. The hole in my chest grows larger, and it physically hurts. I can’t breathe, I can’t exist. I can’t keep this up.
This isn’t a way to make things better. This is me running away.
For the next twenty minutes, I curl up into a ball in the driver’s seat and alternate between heavy panting and light sobbing. I can’t control myself. I don’t even know the last time I cried. Like, really cried.
When I finally calm down, sort of, I take a step out of the car to get rid of the smell of tears. I look up to the stars and feel a refreshing breeze b
low through me. I want to enjoy it, but I can’t. Not now. I need to get back. I can’t run away.
CHAPTER 23
When I wake up, I spend twenty minutes just staring at the ceiling of my room. It’s a tacky off-white spongy paint design that makes me want to look anywhere else, but I don’t have the energy. I can’t make it through this. And then I wonder if I’m being too dramatic, so I summon all my strength and roll over on my side.
I grab my phone.
Not surprisingly, my notifications center is blank. No one has reached out to me. Leon hasn’t spoken to me since that call. I check my comments, and they’re flooded with people asking about the StarWatch exposé. Seriously, they keep calling it an exposé, like I’m someone worth having an exposé on.
A lot of them think I’m a sellout.
Some of them think I’m “using that guy” to get more famous.
But all of them are vindicated by my silence. My follower count still goes up, despite the many comments with people saying they’re unfollowing. I want to text Leon and just say how much I love him. But I can’t do that.
There’s a knock on the door.
“Come in,” I say. My voice cracks.
It’s my dad. “I suppose you saw.”
“I did.”
We were never much for conversation, even if that had changed recently.
“Look,” I say. “I don’t buy it. Who’d consult their social media people to make a hire for something this important? I think they’re a little full of themselves, even though their media campaigns are awful.”
“Doesn’t really matter anymore,” he says. And I think he might actually mean it. “I don’t think we’ll be here long. They’re making big cuts, and I don’t even think your … celebrity will help me make it.”
“But the launch!”
He shakes his head and looks down. He almost doesn’t even need to say it. “They’re canceling it. They called each of us this morning—don’t tell your app friends or whoever. It’s not official. But they’re not going to want a pilot if they don’t have any ships to fly.”
“Sorry, Dad.”
“Don’t be sorry.” He steps out of the room. “It was fun for a while, and I don’t regret any of it. I’m proud of you, you know that? You did a lot for NASA. I just wish we’d have gotten the chance to see this mission through.”
The door shuts, and I imagine packing all this up again.
Going back was all I wanted, but I need to stay. For NASA. For Leon.
For me.
In a month (hell, in a week) Leon and I could be hundreds of miles apart. And I know that, either way, I have to see him again. I give him a call, and it goes right to voice mail. I call Kat next, and she picks up right away.
“Hey, Cal.” She pauses. “Are you okay?”
I cycle through my automatic responses in my head. I’m fine. I’m okay. Don’t worry about me. But … I’m not. So, for once, I’m honest about it.
“No. Not really. How’s Leon? I really need to talk to him.”
“He’s … not really okay either. But I can see if he wants to talk to you.”
“Just tell him that I’m coming by in a few minutes, and we can take a walk and talk. If he doesn’t come out, I’ll understand. And tell him …” I love him, I finish in my head. But I don’t say it. “Never mind. Just tell him that, okay?”
“Will do. I hope he goes with you.”
I smile. “Me too.”
Standing in front of my closet, I feel a rush of excitement flood my veins for the first time in days. I try to keep it simple, but I also want to look good. But also not like I’m trying so hard … so definitely not the John Mayer hat. Houston’s still not ready.
I end up wearing my gray jeans with brown chukkas, and I throw on a red plaid shirt. Looking in the mirror, I see the smile grow on my face. God, I missed my own smile.
I start down the street. With every house I pass, my breaths get heavier. My chest hurts. When I pass the lamppost where we met after Bannon died, the tears come back.
The heat and my tears tag team to suck all the moisture from my body. I feel light-headed. Weak. I decide to be as cliché as possible and sit on the curb by the gutter.
I’m suddenly not alone anymore. I look up, hoping to see Leon, hoping he could fix me and put me back together.
But it’s Kat.
“Hey,” she says.
“Um, hi. Sorry.”
I apologize for my weakness, but no apology could ever express everything I was truly sorry for.
“I’m on my way to your mom’s for another coding lesson.” She crouches next to me and puts her arm around my shoulder.
My eyes narrow. “A coding lesson? Mom’s not even here—I think she took a walk to the park or something. Things have been a bit stressful.”
“Okay, fine. I came to check on you, because you’re my friend.” She reaches out to me. “Come on, let’s walk.”
By some miracle, I find the energy to stand. She slips her arm in mine, and we fall in step.
“I’m not going to leave him,” I finally say. “At least, not if I can help it.”
“I know. And I think he does too. He wanted me to say he wasn’t ready yet, whatever that means. But he loves you.”
I sniffle. “Did he tell you to say that part too?”
She shakes her head. So I squeeze my eyes shut, begging the tears not to come.
“He didn’t, but it’s obvious. Look, I’m not sure what all I should say here, but his therapist has been teaching him to be self-sufficient, like, not depending on others to determine when he’s happy or sad. And I think you might need to figure out the same thing before you see him again.”
“I don’t—” But I stop myself, because I know: that’s exactly what I do. I’m angry when my parents are angry. I’m happy when Leon’s happy. I take everyone else’s burden.
“I think that’s easier said than done,” I say. I smile, and she does too. “See?”
We laugh, and I sit on the curb outside my house. I pat the spot next to me a couple of times in an awkward fashion.
“I love him too,” I say. “I mean, I haven’t told him that and I don’t want you to say anything, but … it’s true.”
“Good! Then I hope y’all figure this shit out soon so we can get back to being close.”
“Kind of a moot point if we all get kicked out of here.”
“If NASA wouldn’t have treated this like a reality show, they wouldn’t have blown it.” She clenches her fists. “Fucking StarWatch.”
“Fucking StarWatch.” I pause as the realization hits me. I stand and help Kat up. A jolt of electricity shoots through me as it all clicks. “Actually, I have an idea.”
Shooting Stars
Season 2; Online Content
LIVE UPDATE: Tune in live at 1:15 p.m. (CST) as we interview US Representative Halima Ali, who will discuss her new legislation to halt the government funding of the Orpheus project.
“Good afternoon. I’m Shooting Stars host Josh Farrow, and it’s my honor to welcome US Representative Halima Ali from Maryland. You may remember her as the most outspoken opponent of the government’s allocation of funds toward NASA. Congresswoman Ali, it’s good to have you with us today.”
“Thank you for having me. I admit, I was a bit surprised Josh Farrow, of all people, wanted me to come down for this interview.”
“We like to have all sides of the story, and one side of this NASA journey we haven’t touched on much is back in the news. Everyone wants to know, Do you think the government will be pulling funding for the Orpheus project?”
“I certainly hope so. And I don’t mean to be rude—I understand the repercussions of this, but the funds can be put toward so many more important projects.”
“Congresswoman, do you think that space travel is important?”
“I think all forms of exploration are deeply important. It’s gotten us to where we are today. But my constituents don’t have the faith in NASA to use the
funding wisely. They’ve shown this over and over again. I worry—excuse me for saying this, but I think sending six of America’s brightest humans to Mars can only end in disaster.”
“We’ve also been speaking with JET-EX, as you might have seen. What do you think of privately funded space projects? Does that bother you less?”
“I’m always going to think this money could be going somewhere more important. The infrastructure in America is crumbling, and we’re trying to build a base on Mars? Education is severely underfunded; our courts are underfunded. And I swear this isn’t a personal vendetta, but someone has to play devil’s advocate here. Someone has to challenge these rich idealists to make sure they’re not doing it for fame or attention. But can we get back to government funding for a second?”
“Of course.”
“As you have no doubt heard, I’m cosponsoring a bill that would remove a large portion of funding from this project, and the preliminary vote is tomorrow. NASA would still be able to operate, but we won’t be taking such a risk.”
“Interesting—and if that bill passes?”
“It has a good chance of getting through the Senate. I believe that this is our time to put an end to this and leave the exploration to JET-EX or whoever wants to fill their shoes. This wouldn’t result in any large layoffs, and NASA could refocus on things that are affecting our citizens now: climate issues, for example.”
“Well, I want to thank you for coming all the way here on such short notice. This has been a refreshing conversation, and we at StarWatch will closely monitor the situation. If I may be honest … the way it’s looking, season three of Shooting Stars might be taking place at JET-EX headquarters.”
CHAPTER 24
“Dad?” I ask when walking into the house. “Dad!”
It feels weird being the one yelling in the house. I bust into my parents’ bedroom—the door was open, don’t worry—and find him taking a nap in the bed. “Dad!” I shout. “I need your help.”
