American Girl On Saturn

by Nikki Godwin

  After a silent breakfast, we step out onto the patio to watch the sun creep into the clouds. Milo sits poolside and dangles his legs into the water, sending ripples across the steady morning pool.

  “Let’s go swimming tonight,” he says. “You know, just the two of us. After midnight.”

  I sit next to him and dip my feet into the water. It’s colder than I expected for a summer morning. A chill rushes over my skin, and goosebumps sprout on my legs.

  “You’re getting brave,” I say, nudging him in the side. “You know we could get caught, right?”

  He shrugs. “I’ve already been naked in your bedroom. It can’t get much worse than that.”

  I lock my arm around his and rest my head against his shoulder. Hues of pink and orange streak across the sky. An overwhelming sadness hits me when I think about butterflies having to bleed and die to give our world color each day.

  “You know what?” he asks. “We should totally–”

  He stops talking, and I hear why.

  Voices. Well, a voice.

  Aralie laughs about something, and Milo splashes his foot in the water to alert her that someone else is outside.

  She falls silent. There’s a “shhh” again, like the other night in her bedroom. Footsteps scurry across the grass in another direction.

  Milo’s eyes light up.

  “We should go see who is with her,” he whispers.

  “Then we’d have to explain what we’re doing out here alone,” I whisper back.

  He squints his eyes to see, but the privacy fence blocks our view. I wonder if they can see us, if they’re looking through the cracks and wondering why I’m cuddled up next to Milo at sunrise.

  A whoosh slices through the air, and Emery’s purple beach ball flies over the fence. It thuds against the water in the pool and floats toward us. I jump up and rush across the patio, leaving a track of wet footprints behind me.

  But Milo likes playing into this game far too much. He grabs the pool net and pulls the plastic ball over to him. He shakes the water off of it and takes a few steps back. Then, like an NFL star about to win the Super Bowl, he kicks the ball with all his might. It soars over the fence like a purple planet falling out of space.

  “Go!” he whispers as he dashes toward me.

  As soon as we’re safe inside the kitchen, Milo grabs the curtain and jerks it across the sliding glass door. It sways for a moment, like it’s unsure of itself. We rarely ever block our view of the pool.

  “We need a window,” Milo says, still keeping his voice low.

  Sometimes, I think guys are more into the drama and gossip than girls are. He stares at me, wide-eyed and waiting for a response.

  “Upstairs,” I say. “But we have to be quiet.”

  We hurry back up to Mom’s old crafting room with the piano. It has the best view of the backyard, from the pool all the way to the treehouse, although the treehouse is so small from here.

  The yard is empty, though. No sign of Aralie. No sign of Tate or Jules. They either found a way back in while we were seeking them out or they’ve found a great hiding spot outside. For all I know, they may be in the treehouse.

  But I bet a Saturn boy isn’t singing a cover song to my sister.

  Milo cranes his neck to see out of the window. He sighs in defeat.

  “I should just go look in their rooms and see who’s still here,” he says.

  Even though I can’t see the expression on my face, I feel like I have one of those Mom faces on. I’m too young to start sounding like her, so I don’t say anything. I wish I could wipe my face back to an expressionless slate.

  “What?” Milo asks. “I just want to know.”

  He shrugs it off like it’s no big deal and walks across the room to the door. I follow behind him, down the staircase, and back to his bedroom. It’s weird being in here. The guest rooms are on a wing of their own off of my, Aralie’s, and Emery’s hallway. We never bother to come down here, and if we do have overnight company, it usually consists of Mom’s high school friends. Then we definitely avoid venturing down this way.

  Milo has made it his own. Papers sprawl across the desk with random song lyrics. There’s a few pages of sheet music and a pack of new guitar strings. His guitar rests against the wall, next to a pile of dirty clothes. If there was an Xbox in here, it’d feel like it was really his room.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, stretching out on the bed. “I’d just feel better if...”

  His voice trails off, and he flips over to bury his face into his pillow. Clearly he doesn’t want to have this conversation. I sit at the end of his bed, feeling as unwanted as Jules’s laundry at the end of Aralie’s bed. He wants to know who Aralie is sneaking out with so he can lecture them about the dangers of having a girlfriend while being in a boyband.

  “You’d feel better if what?” I ask. “If you knew? So you could stop whatever is going on with them? So you could stop Aralie from ‘wrecking’ the band?”

  His face remains buried. Therefore, he misses my air quotes around the word ‘wrecking.’ I don’t like how this is all of a sudden Aralie’s fault. Tate is just as guilty as she is, and Milo has no reason to judge them because he kissed me during hide-and-seek.

  He rolls over and forces himself to sit up.

  “No,” he says. “I wanted them to come clean first so management won’t blast me as much when I tell them about us.”

  Us. He just said us. As in, both Milo and me…as one. Not only that but he used the big M word – management. My lips quiver as I breathe in and try to form words. Instead, I just exhale unsteadily like I’m hyperventilating or dry heaving.

  He watches me for half a second then slides down to the end of the bed. He doesn’t say anything, but he takes my hand and squeezes it. Then he places it against his chest.

  “Here’s my theory,” he says. “If one of us has a girlfriend, that one guy will catch all of the hell. But if two of us have girlfriends, then we can team up and argue our sides of it.”

  Girlfriend. Why these insanely awesome yet terrifying words, Milo? How can he even expect me to respond to that? I can’t even breathe, much less speak!

  “I’m sorry,” he spits out after seeing the evident panic on my face. He lets go of my hand. “You never said you wanted to be my girlfriend. I’m rushing things, aren’t I? This is crazy, right? You don’t even know my birthday or my middle name or all of those other things that you probably should know before I talk all crazy.”

  His birthday is November twenty-first. His middle name is David. His favorite movie is Point Break, and he wishes he lived near a beach. He could survive on milk and Oreos and be happy.

  I don’t tell him that I know these things or then he’ll know that I spent too many hours Googling him and memorizing every detail of his existence. I feel like the term ‘fangirl’ is an understatement. Saturnite doesn’t even cover it. I’m definitely worthy of a Saturnite upgrade. Maybe I’m a super-Saturnite? I mean, the boy did kiss me. That counts for more, right?

  “Chloe,” Milo says, interrupting my fangirlisms. “Say something? Please? Tell me to shut up or that you hate me? Anything?”

  “I don’t hate you,” I say, instantly wishing I’d said something else first.

  “That’s a start,” he says.

  I want to tell him that yes, he’s rushing things, and yes, this is crazy, but no, I don’t care one tiny bit. I’m absolutely crazy about him – even in this super short amount of time. It wouldn’t even be an issue if he was just some guy from school. Then it’d be completely normal to be obsessing after a week because I’m a girl, and that’s what we do! But he’s famous, and I’m nothing, and his management team isn’t going to be cool with the whole lockdown-hookup deal.

  However, I can’t even begin to say these things. Instead, I just completely lose it and laugh.

  “At least you’re not crying,” Milo says.

  “There’s no reason to cry,” I assure him.

  But then it hits me. Th
ere is a reason. Lockdown won’t last forever. I think that may be worse than suicidal, color-draining butterflies. He has to get back on tour, obviously. He has to keep making music and living his dream and making millions of people – girls – happy on a daily basis. Lockdown is preventing him from doing what he does best. Yeah, it benefits me, but that’s like living in a black and white world.

  That’s why the butterflies have to die. The world needs color. The world needs Milo.

  I lean in and kiss him on the cheek.

  “I’m gonna go take a shower,” I say. “We’ll talk later?”

  He nods, but I think he’d nod if I said I was going to go jump off the roof. He’s in that robotic guy-mode where he’ll go along with anything and everything I say so he won’t mess anything up more than he thinks he already has.

  I fall back onto my bed and let my wet hair soak my pillow. I would’ve stayed in the shower for hours if the water hadn’t started to get cold. There are too many people using the hot water supply in our house these days.

  Down the hallway, Aralie shouts something about Mutilated Arteries and slams her door. Moments later, Emery runs past my bedroom. Her footsteps are so distinct. She screams something about Twitter. She must be looking for Benji. I could lie in bed all day, avoid the world, and be perfectly content with it.

  That’s a lie – I’d be miserable because I’d be avoiding Milo as well. I force myself to get up, throw myself together, and travel back downstairs. I can’t chicken out. Once lockdown is over, the guys will be back on the road, with millions of girls throwing themselves at them on a regular basis. This may be the only chance I ever have to really make this guy mine.

  Emery is running her mouth when I round the corner downstairs. I follow her words until I find her in the smaller living room off of the foyer, where we sat the night we first learned about lockdown.

  “I’m wearing green, and you’re wearing green, so that means we’ll be together forever,” she explains to Benji.

  I glance down at my white tank top with the black trim. Thank God I’m not wearing green or Emery would accuse me of wrecking her relationship with Benji. Milo looks my way when I walk into the living room. He’s wearing a white T-shirt. A black triangle is in the center of his shirt. It’s a play button, like on a CD player. There’s a pause button next to it.

  Great. We’re both wearing white with a touch of black. We’re meant to be together forever.

  “Ooooooh,” Emery coos when she sees me. “Chloe and Milo are wearing the same colors.”

  Of course, Emery would notice something like this. A goofy grin pops up on Milo’s face.

  “Sorry, Chloe,” he says. “You’re stuck with me forever now. Emery’s rules.”

  Benji pulls his shirt off and tosses it to Milo. “Wanna trade, bro?”

  Milo throws the green shirt back to Benji. “No way…bro.”

  Benji stares at the shirt in his hand for a moment, like he doesn’t want to put it back on because it’s cursed with eternal links to Emery. A heart with a keyhole decorates his chest. I wonder if he has the key tattooed somewhere else.

  Emery ignores – or maybe doesn’t understand – Benji’s insult.

  “Yesterday, Chloe’s friend Lauren said you wouldn’t be my best friend if you met me,” she informs Benji.

  One, Lauren isn’t my friend. And two, kudos to Emery for actually keeping our secret through Lauren’s rude comments. I dare to venture across the room and sit on the couch with Milo. It’s a bit nostalgic, sitting on the same couch we sat on the night we first met…when I was captivated by his caramel eyes and amazing boyish scent.

  “But,” Emery says. “You know what I told her? I said that if I met you, I’d make you a friendship bracelet, and you would like it, and you would wear it every day.”

  Benji holds up his wrist. That blue and green hand-braided bracelet looks back at me. The blue string has unraveled just a little more, but I don’t make mention of it or Emery will want to fix it or make a new one altogether.

  Milo watches me with this sneaky yet adorable smile. I wish I knew what he’s thinking. Just when I think he’s about to say something, Emery cuts him off.

  “One day,” she says, facing Benji as he surrenders to putting his shirt back on. “Will you get on the Twitter and tell everyone that I really am your best friend? And can you post pictures of us? And a picture of your bracelet? And tell everyone my name? On the real Twitter – not the fridge.”

  Mom clears her throat from the doorway.

  “Emery, honey, I’m sure Benji will tell everyone about the new friend he made during lockdown,” she says. “Now, go put your shoes on. You’re going to my crafting class with me today.”

  A splash of ‘hallelujah!’ drenches Benji’s face. This lockdown may be a break from the madness of touring and crazed fans, but the poor boy hasn’t caught a break from Emery since he’s been here. I bet she babbles on even in his sleep.

  Emery’s shoulders slump, and she drags herself toward the staircase, glancing back with sad eyes every few seconds hoping Mom will let her stay here with us. Mom gives her no reprieve, though, and Emery eventually trudges up the stairs, stomping each one like she’s crushing ladybugs for Jules’s next pack of cigarettes.

  Mom looks back at us.

  “Enjoy the silence,” she says, looking at Benji.

  Benji laughs and mumbles something about catching up on sleep. He darts upstairs before Emery makes her way back down, probably hoping to escape before crossing paths with the little Saturnite again.

  Mom grabs her keys and asks Milo and me to “hold things together here.” She leaves us alone in the living room.

  Milo reaches over and grabs my hand.

  “Looks like we’re alone again,” he says. “You ready to talk about this morning?”

  Chapter Sixteen

  This may be the scariest conversation I’ll ever have in my life. Okay, maybe not ever, but thus far, yeah. Still, this conversation has to happen, and it’s not going to get any less intimidating between now and the end of lockdown.

  “Not here,” I say. “Let’s go somewhere else, and we’ll talk.”

  Mom and Emery may be leaving, and I have no clue where Godfrey is, but there are still too many ears in this house for a conversation like this. Milo gestures around him then shrugs. He’s right – there is no safe place to talk.

  I stand up and wave him to follow me. The treehouse is too far away from the house to hide out in right now. Anyone could see us making that long walk back across the yard. The less public we are, the better chance we have of getting through this conversation without an interruption. I don’t know what his Saturn brothers are doing, aside from Benji’s napping, but hopefully they’ll stay occupied for now.

  At the top of the staircase, I see a shadow lingering in Aralie’s doorway. Tate leans out, and panic consumes his face.

  “So, uh yeah, can I borrow that movie?” he asks into Aralie’s bedroom, much more loudly than necessary.

  I glance back at Milo, who stoops down on the steps and motions for me to go on. I mouth the words ‘my room’ to him and continue toward my doorway without him. Tate grasps whatever DVD Aralie hands him and hurries back toward the Saturn wing off of my hallway. I leave the door open and wait. Moments after Tate’s bedroom door shuts and echoes, Milo runs into my room.

  “You were right,” Milo says as soon as he closes my bedroom door. He twists the lock and glances over at me. “It’s definitely Tate.”

  “He knew he was caught,” I say.

  Milo leans back against the door.

  “I can’t believe he hasn’t told me,” he says. “We’re Tito. He’s supposed to keep me in on these kinds of things.”

  “Right,” I say. “Because you totally keep him in the loop.”

  Milo attempts a sarcastic kind of face, but he totally fails because he can’t stop smiling. He strolls across my room and sits next to me on the bed.

  “Well…” he says after a minute
or two of silence. “This can either go one of two ways. One, I can apologize for getting ahead of myself and never bring it up again. Or two, we can figure out how to make this work.”

  I take a deep breath to prepare myself for what I’m about to say. “Then we’ll make it work.”

  “You’re sure about that?” Milo asks. “You don’t need time to think about it or weigh your options or think out all the pros and cons?”

  I shake my head. “No, I’m definitely sure.”

  “Good,” he says.

  He pushes me back on the bed, his bodyweight trapping me between him and my purple bed sheets. His lips sketch a map along my jaw line until they find my mouth. Everything about the way he kisses me is perfect.

  He pulls back and smiles.

  “You know what?” he whispers. “Lockdown was the best thing that’s happened to me since Spaceships Around Saturn.”

  I can’t help but laugh.

  “Someone tried to kill you guys,” I remind him.

  “I know,” he says, settling in next to me on the bed. “But we’re alive, and I met you, and things turned out okay, right?”

  For now, anyway. I still don’t know how he thinks we’re going to make this work after lockdown. I’ll never see him. He’ll be constantly busy in the studio and on the road and catering to the millions of girls who adore him. By the end of the summer, I’ll be lucky if he even remembers my name.

  I run my fingers through his hair then push him back so I can sit up.

  “What are you going to tell your management team?” I ask.

  As much as I wish I could just melt into this moment and enjoy every second that he’s here with me, I can’t stop thinking about how different it’ll be once he’s gone.

  He sits next to me in silence, like he’s trying to come up with something to tell his manager because he hasn’t actually thought of it yet.

  “I’ll be honest,” he says. “You’re the first real girl I’ve been able to spend time with in a while, and you like me for me, not because I’m famous and incredibly sexy.”