Alessandro shakes his head. “No. Tonight we help the stars. They like to move around every so often, so we lend them a hand. We need to collect some stardust too.” Chiara runs toward the supply closet and gathers some jars and three shiny silver ladles as big as my head.
“What are those for?” I ask.
Chiara hands me one of the ladles. It’s a lot lighter than it looks. “They’re for scooping up the stars. They can move a little on their own, but not super far. Plus, the silver feels cool against their little bodies. It’s like a ride for them.” She shrugs. “But sometimes we just use our arms to carry them around. They can sometimes get too warm, though, so we wear jackets.”
“How do you know when they’re a baby or adult or whatever?” I ask.
“You sure love asking questions.” Alessandro laughs. “You can tell a star’s age by how long they go between blinks. The longer they shine without flickering, the older they are.”
Alessandro spins the wheel to the left, looking at his moon tracker to confirm our course to Lynx, when his eyebrows disappear under his messy dark hair. “Whoa!”
“What?” Chiara asks, leaning on her ladle like a cane.
“According to this, there’s a shooting star only five miles away.”
“A shooting star!” I yell. My wish buzzes through my mind like a honeybee that just found its flower. I drop the ladle and rush to the bow of the ship. “We need to catch him! I’ve got a wish to ask.”
“We’d be off schedule if we did.” Alessandro scratches his chin. “It’s kind of dangerous to chase a shooting star. Usually it’s better to wait to cross paths with one.”
“Come on, Alessandro. It’ll only take a minute if it’s that close by,” Chiara says.
He looks down at his moon device and back at Chiara and me. A grin creeps up his face. “It would be fun.”
“Yes!” Chiara pumps her fist in the air. “Help me with these, Luna. We’re gonna catch that shooting star for you.”
We move at a breakneck speed, the propeller catapulting us through the darkness. I grip tight to the railing, nausea roiling around in my belly once more. Alessandro stands firm at the wheel, guiding us expertly between stars.
“Watch out for that old satellite,” Chiara calls, looking up at the big balloon with concern. Alessandro spins the wheel, and the ship rocks violently to the left—narrowly missing the old, eroded space debris.
Fiery metal and burning tires flash through my head again. I take hold of my cornicello, pushing away thoughts of the wreck and the trouble we had getting up into the sky earlier. Alessandro knows what he’s doing.
“Look, Luna! He’s right there!” Chiara tugs at my sleeve.
I gasp. About half a mile away is a bright, fiery burst of light with a red and orange tail as long as a football field. It’s faster than anything I’ve ever seen. Like one of those bullet-shaped cars breaking the sound barrier.
“Chiara, get the net! Luna needs to catch him,” Alessandro yells. He hunches over the wheel, eyes focused on the star’s whiplike tail. “He’s moving fast.”
The Stella Cadente hitches a bit as Alessandro pushes her faster. Chiara and I tumble forward, gripping on to each other for support.
“Alessandro, watch it!” Chiara screams.
A craggy meteor collides with the ship’s side, jostling all three of us off our feet. I land on one of the ladles. It digs into my side and knocks the wind from me. Pain radiates in my arm and stomach. I cough, struggling to my knees.
“Are you guys okay?” I ask, my voice a wheeze. “Oh no! The ship. Are we going to sink?”
“Sink? We can’t sink if we’re in the sky!” Alessandro stands on wobbly legs and shakes his head. “But she’ll need repairs.” He presses his lips in a straight line, rubbing the bruise forming on his forehead. “We’ve got to abandon our mission and hurry up with the constellations before it breaks down worse. That shooting star was just too fast.”
The shooting star’s tail slaps against the darkness as it hurtles farther away into the night sky. I bite my lip, wanting to urge Alessandro forward, but I don’t want the Stella Cadente to get even more damaged.
My wish flickers out of view, swallowed up by space.
Chiara looks over the side of the ship at the four boards that broke off and the small hole left behind by the meteor. “It doesn’t look too bad.”
“Not yet,” Alessandro says. “Papa’s going to be upset.”
Chiara picks up the ladles. “We’ll tell him it was an accident.”
“Just don’t tell him we were chasing a shooting star. Then he’ll be really mad.”
“On to Lynx?” Chiara asks.
He nods. “It’s only a half hour from here.”
We ride to Lynx in silence, the Stella Cadente creaking every so often. I peek over at the crack in her side, guilt blossoming in my chest. If it weren’t for my wish, the ship would be fine. My eyes drift to the darkness, looking past the stars for any remaining sign of that bright flame of a tail.
So, so close.
“We’ll find another,” Chiara whispers. “Just not tonight.”
“We’ve got to.”
She pats my hand and tilts her head toward the other side of the ship. “Look over there.”
The constellation takes shape the same way tiny houses and buildings do when touching down in an airplane. No longer are the stars pinpricks in the night sky. They’re actual, glowing orbs of light. Bigger than the baby stars in their bassinets, but not by much. It seems that, aside from the sun, stars are a lot smaller than I imagined.
“Wow,” I whisper, hearing my history teacher’s lecture about the ancient Greeks’ and Romans’ beliefs that the stars were the eyes of the gods and goddesses watching down on them, guiding their futures, and looking into their souls. Oceans were crossed and wars were fought all in the name of these stars.
And here we are, just a bunch of kids in a zeppelin, flying among the constellations—collecting their stardust and moving them around like chess pieces.
Alessandro pulls the ship up next to a cluster of stars, each one twinkling and blinking like a flashing traffic light. He hurries to the stern, cranks out the anchor, and tosses it onto a nearby cloud. Chiara and I follow, and she hands Alessandro one of the ladles.
A star the shape of a pearl but the size of my aunt Therese’s pug, with a quick blinking light, sits just on the edge of the constellation. She doesn’t even look up when Alessandro anchors the ship nearby.
“Ellie?” Chiara says.
The little star’s eyes are filled with tears. She sniffles.
“Ellie, what’s wrong?”
“I miss my mommy.” She floats closer, and the air around her feels like it does on the first day of summer vacation. Almost warm enough to wear shorts.
“What happened to her mom?” I frown.
“There was a fire when Ellie was little. She and her mother were trapped in their apartment and never made it out,” Alessandro whispers. “We’ve tried searching all over for her mother, but sometimes stars don’t remember much from their human lives and it’s hard reminding them. Ellie and her mother died in the 1920s.”
“That’s terrible,” I say.
Chiara pets the star on her head. “We’ll find her someday. We won’t stop looking,” she says.
Ellie wriggles around a bit. “It’s lonely up here.”
“We can come visit again soon,” Chiara says. “How are the rest of the stars in Lynx?”
“They’re fine. Martha is nice, but she fusses over me a lot. Always making sure I’m shining bright enough and getting plenty of sleep.” A little smile tugs at her lips. “Arturo tried to cheer me up the other day. He showed me what his great-great-grandbabies are up to. We watched them play outside in the snow. They were chasing after their puppy.” She starts to giggle. “I want a puppy.”
“We have hermit crabs,” Alessandro says. “They’re easier to travel with.”
“I wish I had hermit crabs.” E
llie giggles again, brightening a bit.
“I don’t think they’d like it in space.” Alessandro smiles.
Chiara grabs a brush and a jar from the supply closet and brushes Ellie until she’s sparkling much brighter than before. She passes the jar to Alessandro and pats Ellie on the head again. Chiara was right—the stardust does look smoother than the moondust. It’s also a little less silver and more of a blinding white. The stardust shimmers like the glitter in art class.
“We have to brush the other Lynx stars now. But we’ll see you soon, all right?”
Ellie nods. “I miss you already.”
“Miss you too, Ellie.”
Alessandro and Chiara set to work brushing the other stars, making sure to gather the stardust. After having me watch for a while, Chiara teaches me the proper way to brush a star. It’s much more delicate work than scrubbing at the moon. Light strokes and gentle motions to not tickle them.
We move on to Hercules and have fallen into a rhythm, brushing stars and quickly collecting their dust so we can hurry to the next constellations as fast as possible.
Some stars wriggle around when being brushed, while others love it. Each one is unique. A glowing soul with its own likes and dislikes.
We finish working with the last remaining stars of Sagittarius. Alessandro and Chiara scoop up a few more and give them new spots in the constellation until the big move in late winter.
Chiara’s timer goes off, the shrill ring echoing throughout the sky.
“Oh no,” she says. “We didn’t make it to Pegasus.”
Alessandro frowns, glancing over at the Stella Cadente’s damage. More boards broke off in our travels between constellations. He shakes his head. “We’ll have come back tomorrow night. Got to get the ship fixed up.”
He runs to the wheel and pulls the lever to start up the propeller. Chiara and I organize the jars of shimmering stardust. The ride home is smooth, aside from worrying creaks and groans from our collision. But the storm from earlier has mostly cleared up.
Chiara and I sit on the steps leading up to the back of the ship. She rests her head on my shoulder and yawns. “It’s been so busy.”
“I’m definitely going to sleep tonight,” I say.
“I’m glad you came up with us,” Chiara says. “It gets boring with just Alessandro. He’s nicer when you’re around.”
I smile. The heaviness of sleep presses down on my shoulders. “I’m glad too.”
The wind tangles our hair, whistling in our ears. Snow begins to fall again, but it’s not the same blizzard as it was earlier. It falls in peaceful, soft clumps and looks like white flowers in our dark hair. Chiara begins to hum a lullaby, and the sound travels on the wind.
I lean my head onto Chiara’s. I don’t even flinch when her face touches my mask.
I think of Nonna Bianchini and how she cried over my burns, her blotchy red cheeks and eyes filled with fear. My heart squeezes like a fist. Chiara and Alessandro haven’t even asked about my face. I’ve never even caught them staring. I wish my family would treat me like they used to. If only they weren’t so worried about how I was feeling or what I looked like.
“Hey, Chiara?” I mutter, stifling a yawn. “If we can’t catch a shooting star, do you think your magic could fix the bones in my face?”
Chiara’s humming is replaced by soft snores.
I snuggle deeper into my coat. Alessandro takes up Chiara’s tune. He whistles her lullaby to the stars and the moon as he navigates us back to earth. I close my eyes, unable to open them again, and let the gentle rocking of the ship send me off to sleep.
Chapter 15
The doorbell rings throughout the house like a mosquito buzzing in my ears.
It’s three forty-five on Thursday. Tailee isn’t coming around to drop off my homework or pick up the stuff I’ve already done.
“Luna, please answer the door.” Mom pounds sugar cookie dough into the counter with her palms. “Please.”
“Why can’t you do it?”
Mom rolls out the dough and sighs. “Because you can’t hide all the time.”
“I’m not hiding,” I say.
“Go.” Mom returns to the cookie dough.
I groan and drag myself toward the front door, doing my best to cover my mask with my thick, curly hair.
The doorbell rings again.
I look out the peephole and frown. Johnny Roma stands on the front porch. Uniform shirt untucked, backpack slung over one shoulder, and freckled white face flushed with the cold. He has a bright purple binder under his arm. The same one Tailee carries my homework in. “Johnny?” I say, ducking back behind the door a little.
“Hey, Luna.” He looks down at his shoes. “How’re you feeling?”
“Fine.”
Johnny holds the binder out to me. “Mrs. O’Neil said you can e-mail her if you have any questions about the history project. We have to create a family tree.”
“Okay,” I say. “Here’s my math and English homework.” I hand him two different binders to take back to school. Mr. Gonzalez isn’t going to be happy with my sloppy book report on The Outsiders, but it was written late last night. Math was easier. I’m good at negative numbers. It’s just been hard getting homework done. Not because the subjects are challenging. I just don’t feel up to it.
“Everyone misses you,” Johnny says.
“Thanks.”
He runs a hand through his dark-brown hair. “I’ll see you later.”
“Wait.” My grip on the door tightens. “Have you seen Tailee?”
“Yeah. I forgot. She says hi.”
“Okay.”
“Bye, Luna.”
I close the door and lean against it. Tailee said hi. My face heats up; the burns under my mask throb. I’ve been terrible. My stomach rises into my throat. No wonder she doesn’t want to be my friend.
“Luna?” Mom calls from the kitchen.
“What?” I say, my voice sharp.
“Luna? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” I wipe away tears. “I’m fine.”
Mom stands in the doorway to the kitchen, wiping her dough-covered hands on a dish towel. “Did something happen with Tailee?”
“It wasn’t Tailee,” I say. “It was Johnny Roma.”
“Oh.”
“Remember? Mrs. Ruiz said Tailee wouldn’t be coming anymore.” I push away from the door and sigh.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“Yep.” I wave my homework binder in the air. “Got a lot to catch up on this week.”
The doorbell rings again.
“That must be your uncle. Can you get it?” Mom asks. “He’s bringing the old Bianchini tree over. I need to find the Christmas cookie cutters.” She disappears back into the kitchen to rummage through the cabinets for the big plastic bag with all our cookie cutters. A task that’s much easier than searching for the once happy and friendly Luna.
Uncle Mike smiles when I open the door, his eyes resting on my mask for only a moment. He’s gotten better at hiding his glances, but every now and then one slips through.
“How’ve you been, sweetheart?” he asks. “Have you started baking cookies yet?” Uncle Mike picks up the giant old cardboard box that holds the Bianchini Christmas tree and follows me into the house.
“Mom just started this morning,” I say. “We already made chocolate chip. She’s working on sugar cookies right now.”
“My favorite.” Uncle Mike takes off his coat and shoes and carries the cardboard box toward the living room. “Sorry I haven’t been able to come over sooner, Luns.” He lowers his voice. “I haven’t forgotten about our talk. I brought something I think you’d like to see.”
It’s been a few days since Uncle Mike and I discussed the spazzatrici. Since then it’s been all hands on deck at the deli as the holiday orders pour in and need prepping. Dad said Uncle Mike barely has time to go home and sleep.
“What is it?” Excitement bubbles up in my chest.
“My old sketch pad. The one I had when your nonno started telling us the spazzatrici stories.” His grin widens. “I’ll show you later. First, Christmas decorations.”
“Christmas can wait!” I bounce up on my toes. “I want to see it now.”
“You know Christmas can’t wait. Not with this family,” says Uncle Mike. “Grab that other box, will ya?” He gestures to the squatter box by his feet.
The excitement growing in my chest is squashed like a bug against a windshield. After what happened at Thanksgiving, you’d think Mom wouldn’t want to host both Christmas Eve and Christmas. But now it’s like she wants to prove to Nonna Bianchini that she can host a family gathering where everything is normal. Obviously, Dad and I weren’t happy.
“Victoria offered to host,” Dad mentioned two nights after Thanksgiving. “Your sister’s house is bigger. It would be easier for her to have everyone over.”
“She has her hands full preparing for Gloria and Rocco’s Christmas pageant.” Mom shook her head, as if she knew this argument was on its way. “And besides, your family wouldn’t come over to my sister’s. Your ma would have a fit. We don’t want to upset her even more.”
Dad sighed but said nothing. The only thing worse than having Christmas Eve and Christmas at our house would be to provoke the wrath of Nonna Bianchini.
Uncle Mike lugs the box into the living room, where Dad’s reading the paper. He looks up and laughs. “Where are we putting that ugly thing this year?”
“Right next to your bed so you can stare at it all night.” Uncle Mike places the box in the far-right corner near the bookcase.
“Very funny.” Dad grins. “Just remember that next year’s your turn to host.”
I smile. Dad’s laughter comes easier with Uncle Mike. The jokes come quicker, and even his body takes a different shape. His shoulders loosen, his back straightens, and there’s a spark in his eyes. It’s as if his soul is puffing up to fill him out rather than hiding far away.
“Are you going to help us decorate the tree, Luns?” Uncle Mike asks. “I brought plenty of silver tinsel.”
“Even more than the boxful Mom and I pulled out of the attic yesterday?” I drop the cardboard box of decorations next to the Christmas tree. “That stuff sticks to everything.”
The Trouble with Shooting Stars Page 12
