American Girl On Saturn

by Nikki Godwin

  Emery doubles over in giggles. I pause the video – Jules’s half-eye plastered on the screen – and I laugh along with her. It’s like his piercing has sunken into his face and fish-hooked his eyeball from the inside. Eww, gross. I really hope he was mid-sneeze.

  I hit play because I can’t take that face any longer. Emery and I focus our attention back on Darby, who has thankfully reappeared after those screenshots.

  “So here’s the latest scoop,” she says. “Word on the street has it that there was never a shooting at the NYC show. A speaker blew. But the guys had to fall off the earth for now because Jules needed some…cosmetic work done…to fix his face.”

  I exchange glances with my baby sister. I shrug. I have no idea what Darby is talking about, but she quickly informs us.

  “I’m sure all of you earring-wearing girls know about infections,” she says. “Imagine how gross of an infection you’d have if your eyebrow piercing got infected.” She cringes and sticks her tongue out.

  “Gross,” Emery whispers. “He has an infected face? He’s in our house! I don’t want to catch his eyebrow germs.”

  I pause Darby’s video for the millionth time it seems. I never have to pause during her segments, even when they’re amusing. Watching with Emery takes this to a whole new level of hilarious. I watched two hours of these things last night after I came in from catching fireflies with Milo. However, aside from his lifesaving tactics, there isn’t much on Darby’s channel about him. Emery hits play before I can explain that Jules’s face is perfectly healthy.

  “Well,” Darby says. “Guess who’s infected? Yep. Our own Saturn bad boy, Jules Rossi. The reports are all over the map, but some say it left a minor scar. Others? They say he needed full facial reconstruction on the left side of his face!”

  Emery inhales sharply. “Oh gosh!”

  “Emery,” I say. “His face is fine. He’s here, with us. You see him every day. This is all just gossip.”

  Darby continues speaking. “I thought you guys might need to prepare yourselves for what Jules may look like once the tour has resumed, so here are some possibilities thanks to the wonders of Photoshop. Until tomorrow, this is Darby signing off from Darby’s Daily Dose of Drama!”

  She blows a kiss at the screen. Then the altered images of Jules’s face pop up in a slideshow. The first one has a blue glass eye in his socket. Emery cringes, but I laugh. The next shows his nose squished into a thin line down the center of his face and his eyes drooping. Emery laughs this time. The last one has his eye pulled tightly to one side, stretching it thin. His eyebrow is also pulled toward his ear, flattened out as not to show the “infection scar.”

  “He looks like Mulan,” Emery says. “But uglier.”

  I exit the browser. I just can’t take it anymore.

  “Don’t tell the guys,” I say. “You can’t let them know about Darby. I watch her every day, so you can start watching it too. But it has to be our secret. You especially can’t tell Jules.”

  She nods her head like I’ve threatened her with her life. But then she sighs.

  “I have to tell you something,” she says, hanging her head. “It’s a big secret.”

  This actually terrifies me.

  “I…I like…” She freezes. “I like Harry Styles more than Jules even though Jules is in Spaceships Around Saturn.”

  Her shoulders fall, and her chest releases like she’s just spilled her guts and can finally breathe again.

  I run a fake zipper across my lips and toss the imaginary key.

  “It’s safe with me,” I assure her.

  “It’ll be our sister secret,” she says. “We can be secret Saturnites together. And you can follow Zayn, and I’ll like Harry more than Jules.”

  Oh God. Does she think I’m a true Saturnite now? I mean, yeah, behind closed doors or hidden in tents, sure. But with Emery? That’s a bit beyond my comfort zone. It’s too late to turn back now, though.

  Tate mumbles about his skin looking like a prune as he walks past my slightly-opened door. The guys have been in the pool since the Aralie vs. Jules showdown earlier. Benji says something about how he’s about to die from starvation. I never look up from my broken DVD player. I’ve learned their voices by now. So I know it’s Milo when someone asks if I need help.

  He stands in my now open doorway in his dark blue swim trunks. Shirtless. Oh my Saturn, why must he be shirtless inside of my doorframe? A white towel hangs over his shoulders like a hero’s cape.

  “It’s jammed,” I say, fiddling around with the DVD player as not to look at his body. “It does this sometimes.”

  He welcomes himself into my bedroom. His damp towel slides down his back when he reaches for the DVD player, but he catches it before it hits my floor. He glances around and wraps the towel around his waist, hiding his shorts. Then he shrugs.

  “I didn’t want to throw my wet towel on your floor,” he says.

  I’m probably foaming at the mouth like Jules would be if his piercing really did get infected and the infection spread throughout his brain. Milo Grayson is in my bedroom, with a towel wrapped around him over his swim trunks, looking like he just got out of a hot steamy shower. He’s shirtless, and he’s tinkering with my DVD player. Be jealous, Saturnites! Be jealous!

  Even though he smells like chlorine and sunscreen, I inhale as much of him as possible without being weird because no girl should ever outwardly sniff a guy, no matter how awesome he smells.

  “What movie do you have in here anyway?” he asks.

  He glances down at me, and I feel amazingly short. The sunset creeps through my window and hits his caramel eyes, and I swear they light up like a meteor shower.

  “Rainwater,” I somehow manage to say.

  “Ahh, the werewolf movie,” he says. “The second one is out now, right?”

  I nod. Yes, Bloodstream is out. That’s where I’d just left from when Dad called with his ‘vanilla disaster’ that was actually a Moo-llennium Crunch type of disaster because I didn’t know I’d fall for Milo Grayson.

  “I could probably get tickets to the premiere of the third one,” he says. “In fact, I’ll make that call as soon as this lockdown is over. You should go with me.”

  I feel as pulse-less as Aralie’s favorite zombie band, even though they’re not really zombies but just sing about them. Did he seriously just ask me to a freaking movie premiere with him? Oh Chloe, shut up. He doesn’t even have tickets. He’s only bragging because he could get them just by dropping his name and batting those beautiful caramel eyes. He said I should go with him, not that he wanted me to go with him.

  “Speechless?” he asks. “I’ve done that to quite a few Saturnites, but I didn’t expect it from you, Ms. Branson.”

  He nudges me with his shirtless elbow, and I examine the music note tattoos that wrap around his forearm up to his bicep. My face burns the shade of that apple on Twilight’s book cover. Why did he have to bring up paranormal creatures?

  The DVD player spits out the tray, along with Rainwater. Milo pulls the disk out and hands it to me. But he pulls his hand back before I can grab it.

  “Not so fast,” he says. “If I can snag tickets to the trilogy finale, will you go with me? I mean, it looks good for promotion if I go, but I don’t want to get the reputation of loving werewolves or anything. I’d need you with me.”

  This is crazy. This is so crazy. Crazy, crazy, crazy!

  “Yes,” I say. “I’d definitely go.”

  He hands over the DVD.

  “Good,” he says. “I’ll add that to the list of things to talk to my publicist about when I talk to her again. First I’ve gotta get her to convince the world that I’m not dead. Then we’ll talk tickets.”

  I completely agree with Milo’s last tweet. I have the best life everrrr! My mind swims with caramel eyes, movie premieres, and his perfectly-carved body standing in front of me.

  Then it all comes crashing down in a second. Emery dances past my door. She runs back and does a double t
ake at us. And then she screams. Her little footsteps bolt down the stairs, and before I have a chance to run after her and ask what’s wrong, she announces it to the entire house.

  “Milo is naked in Chloe’s room!”

  My vocal chords twist together like Medusa’s snakey hair. Damn it, Emery. Shut up, shut up, shut up! Milo curses under his breath. We both rush into the hallway just in time for Mom and Godfrey to run up here, nearly tripping over each other.

  “This is a huge misunderstanding, Mrs. Branson,” Milo says immediately. “Her DVD player was jammed, and I stopped in to help her.”

  “And he didn’t want to put a wet towel on my floor,” I say, jumping to his defense. “So he wrapped it over his swim trunks.”

  “The door was open the entire time,” Milo says. “Nothing happened. I fixed her DVD player. That’s it. Nothing more.”

  My heart hurts just a little when he says it. Nothing more? You offered to get tickets to the premiere of the biggest movie trilogy out right now, and then you basically begged me to be your date. How is that nothing?

  “His swim trunks are under the towel,” I say instead, just to re-emphasize that Milo was not naked in my bedroom.

  A crowd has gathered behind us. I don’t look over my shoulder at the other Saturn guys, but Noah snickers, and Tate mumbles something about ‘getting it on.’ Aralie laughs afterward. What a traitor! Then again, I didn’t help her with Jules. The real traitor is Emery. What happened to secret Saturnite sisters? I’m keeping Harry Styles a secret. How would she feel if I said she liked a 1D guy more than a Saturn guy? If she wasn’t a five-year-old, I’d blast it over a loudspeaker.

  “I can show you,” Milo says. “They’re blue.”

  Mom opens her mouth, but Emery screams again. I never realized she was hiding behind Godfrey.

  “Nooooo!” Emery’s footsteps hurry back down the stairs. “I don’t want to see his butt!”

  Dear creatures of Saturn, please inject me with the infection that destroyed Jules’s face. Don’t give me cosmetic surgery. Just let me die and carry my shame and embarrassment to my grave with me. Sincerely, Chloe Branson

  Mom steps forward. “I’m sorry, you guys. This was just a huge misunderstanding. Emery’s little, and she just…I’m sorry.”

  She waves the crowd behind us to go on. There are a few footsteps and shuffles. I assume everyone is gone since Mom waits a moment to speak.

  “I’m really sorry, Milo. Chloe’s used to Emery’s mouth by now,” she says. She’s using that tone. The Deacon break up tone. “I really hope she didn’t embarrass you too much. I know nothing happened, so please don’t worry about that.”

  Um, infection, now please. Straight to my brain. Kill me on impact. Please!

  Milo shakes his head.

  “It’s fine,” he says. “Next time, I’ll change before I attempt any handiwork around the house. I’m gonna go get dressed now.”

  He quickly excuses himself and disappears around the corner down the hallway. Mom mouths “Sorry” to me, but the damage is done. The humiliation and embarrassment and defamation are all done deals. She hurries back downstairs, probably to lecture Emery, and I turn back to my bedroom door.

  And there he is. Tate’s freaking head plastered back on my door. Emery probably ran to Aralie’s room as soon as our Darby session was over. What a little Saturnite traitor. I debate ripping Tate’s face apart because he’s smiling so goofily at me. In the depths of my mind, I literally hear his laughter. Instead, I look directly at the picture, say, “Shut up,” out loud, and slam my door.

  Chapter Ten

  Two days.

  Two long, boring, heart-wrenching days.

  Two days of silence and distance and avoidance of eye contact.

  This must be what it feels like to stand outside of a venue watching your favorite person in the world sign autographs for hundreds of other girls then having security guards pull him away just before he writes that first letter on your CD cover or band photo. I can’t even get an M from Milo. I feel like those hopeless girls with giant posters hoping to stand out in the packed auditoriums. Or the girls who camp out in the hotel parking lots and never get close enough to snap a picture. Ugh. I feel like the cougar who wanted to date and mate with Tate, minus the Tate part, obviously.

  Noah has given me sympathy eyes over his strawberry milk each morning. I want to ask him what he knows, what Milo has said behind the scenes, but Noah isn’t going to tell me because I don’t tell him anything. Nothing has been the same since Emery ran downstairs screaming that Milo was naked in my bedroom.

  I don’t get why he won’t talk to me, though. I was there too. I was humiliated and embarrassed and slandered just like he was. All eyes were on us, not just him. I’m part of this too, Milo! You can’t be “naked in Chloe’s room” without the whole Chloe part.

  Thunder rattles the window pane in my bedroom. That looming storm will be here soon, and I promised Mom I’d run to the store for her to get more batteries for her flashlights. I suggested that Godfrey go, but Mom says she gave him the day off after all the recent drama in the household. I guess that’s her way of referring to the mistaken nudity and my sister’s almost boxing match with Jules.

  I cross my bedroom, pull back my door, and Tate’s freaking face is still plastered to the surface. I bet the guys have wondered for the last two days why in the hell I have Tate Kingsley’s face on my door. I wish I had an answer. I peel him off and return him to Aralie’s door. I don’t know what she gets out of this, but I’ll humor her.

  The guys are playing Xbox in Dad’s game room when I go downstairs. Benji and Jules debate with Noah about how to beat this level. Tito remains quiet. I wonder if they’re even in there. Mom looks up from the dining room table when I walk through. She’s alone. I was hoping maybe the i/o of Tito was in here as well.

  “I’m sorry you have to go alone,” she says. “But Emery isn’t safe for the public and after Aralie’s grocery store episode, I don’t think she is either.”

  “It’s fine,” I say. I grab her credit card off the table. “Just flashlight batteries?”

  She nods. “I’ll text you the exact sizes.”

  I nod and rush back upstairs to grab my keys, phone, and purse. Footsteps follow me, but I’m too far ahead to see who it is. I push my door nearly shut behind me, just so I can bask in the moment when Milo pushes it open. There’s a soft knock. I smile to myself and tell him it’s open.

  I spin around, excited to see his caramel eyes again in a moment other than asking me to pass the salt, but there’s no caramel or chocolate or any kind of candy for that matter. There’s an eyebrow piercing.

  “Hey,” Jules says, almost uneasy. “Um, can I ask you something?”

  He hesitates but pushes the door shut behind him. Great. Now I’m behind closed doors with Jules. After Milo was “naked” in my room. Emery is going to make me out to be a Saturnite slut before this lockdown is over.

  “I, uh, sorta need, like, the biggest favor ever,” he stammers. “You’re eighteen, right?”

  Is he about to ask me to buy porn for him? Oh God, please don’t let this be about something X-rated.

  “That depends on what kind of favor you need,” I say.

  He laughs, and his face softens. He doesn’t laugh enough. Or smile enough. I wish this lockdown didn’t suck so much for him.

  “I’m down to my last two cigarettes,” he says. “I’ve been using them sparingly, but I won’t last the rest of the time here without them. I can’t ask Godfrey to get some for me. I’d feel like a loser.”

  Yet he isn’t concerned with what I’d think about him. Or if I’d judge him. For some very odd reason, this makes me feel awkwardly comfortable. Is there such a thing as awkwardly comfortable?

  “I don’t know,” I say. “I’ve never bought cigarettes, and I really don’t want to be seen buying them. People talk.”

  “Pleeeeease, Chloe,” he begs. “Isn’t there some small family-owned place you could go? O
r a random gas station you usually don’t go to?”

  He almost reminds me of Emery with those sad eyes.

  There’s a small service station about three blocks from here, out toward the park. I could go there. No one frequents that place, and not many people will be out in stormy weather. The few times I’ve been there, the owner’s stoner grandson was working the register. He’ll be too high to even realize I came in and bought cigarettes.

  “Okay, fine,” I say. “But if you breathe a word to anyone–”

  He holds his hand up.

  “I gotcha,” he says.

  He hands me a ten-dollar bill from his wallet and tells me what he needs.

  I doubt one pack will last him the rest of lockdown, but maybe it’ll help him cut back. Maybe he’ll decide to quit smoking. Then he can get vocal lessons. Stop, Chloe. That’s mean.

  “Thank you so, so much. You’re my lifesaver,” he says.

  I just nod like a bobblehead and watch him slip out of my bedroom. I’m getting in too deep with this Saturnite stuff.

  I pull in at the service station. There’s an old beat up truck outside. It looks like the only form of human existence. I grab my keys, Jules’s money, and toss my purse onto the backseat. I lock the doors, glance around, and hurry inside. If anyone saw me, it’d be secret service agents watching my every move. I think I’m clear, though.

  The door creaks open, and a bell dings above my head. The stoner kid turns around and smiles a goofy smile.

  “What’s up?” he asks.

  How professional. Isn’t “How may I help you?” a standard business greeting?

  I stammer through asking for one pack of crushed ladybugs in a cancer stick. He digs around in the rack above the register and rings up my purchase. It’s quicker and less painful than ripping off a bandage.

  Once I’m back in the car, I grab my purse, shove his cancer sticks and change inside, and head back to the house for more segregation from Milo. I just wish I knew what he was thinking. Is he avoiding me because he’s embarrassed about the towel incident? Is he afraid someone will get the wrong idea and it’ll get leaked and ruin his nice boy image?