by Nikki Godwin
Laughing is probably the worst thing I can do right now, but I channel Tate Kingsley and completely crack up. Milo stares at me like I’m a three-headed alien.
“Insecurities?” I ask. “Milo, really, have you seen yourself? Have you heard yourself sing? You’re the epitome of perfection to most girls.”
“Well, you can be the one to tell them that I’m far from perfect,” he says. He hangs his head again, like he’s ashamed. “I’m so sorry, Chloe. Really. About everything. I’m…stupid? Crazy? A guy? A stupid, crazy guy?”
This was supposed to be our serious, heart-wrenching conversation, but I absolutely cannot stop laughing. I feel like Emery when she gets to giggling over something so silly and goofy. Maybe I’m just exhausted or lockdown really has worn me down like it has everyone else.
“You’re human,” I tell him.
And this time, I even believe it. All of the anger and the tears and the brokenness that I felt an hour ago and expected to feel for days and weeks to come has faded out with the clouds. I don’t care what his management team says or who Paige is making out with or what the entire town has to say about me because Milo Grayson is a stupid, crazy guy, but damn it, he’s my stupid, crazy guy.
He starts to say something, but I clamp my hand over his mouth.
“Stop,” I say. “Oh God. I feel like Aralie. But really, stop apologizing.”
“Mmm,” he says, pointing at his covered mouth.
I pull my hand away.
“She left you a note,” he says, pointing behind me.
I turn around and see Emery’s old kiddie pool in the tree house. It’s that huge inflatable one, but someone’s blown it back up. It’s filled with pillows and blankets.
There’s a bright red envelope sitting on top of it. It’s as loud as Aralie’s red lipstick.
I push off of the futon and retrieve whatever my sister has left behind. My name is scrawled across the front of the envelope in big black letters. She didn’t bother to seal it.
Inside is a printed copy of the photo she took of Milo and me, the one in which she said he could pass for my boyfriend if he wasn’t famous. She was right – we do look unbelievably happy together. I want to see him smile like that again. I want to smile like that again.
I open the piece of notebook paper that’s included.
Chloe –
Jules actually arranged this cute little setup for us, but I figured you might need it more than me. No, I’m not being a pervert, so stop thinking that. I know you guys will be out here tonight, and even though things are shot to hell right now, I know you’ll work through it. Let’s get real – you and Milo have much more potential to be the Saturn power couple than Jules and I do. The paparazzi will love me more, though. Just saying. Anyway, give this picture to Milo. I’ll leave a copy on your file cabinet after you sneak out tonight. Forget about the rest of the world, and enjoy what little bit of lockdown is left with that BORING boyfriend of yours!
Love you, Aralie
PS: Please be out of the treehouse before sunrise.
For her to have just now found out about my blue scarf, she definitely has us figured out. Maybe we are more obvious than we realize. Mom didn’t even flinch when Emery announced that Milo and I sneak out every night. No one stayed up tonight to stop us from doing so again. Maybe we’re the only two who don’t see how amazingly perfect we are for each other.
I settle into Jules’s swimming pool bed and motion Milo over to join me. Who knew Jules had a romantic bone in his body? Maybe that infection in his eyebrow had something to do with it. I can’t wait to introduce Aralie to Darby’s Daily Dose of Drama.
“My sister left something for you,” I say, holding out the photo toward Milo.
He takes it in his hands and examines it before sitting down with me. A smile wraps across his face – a real smile, like a mirror image of the one in his hand – and my heart flutters.
He sits down next to me as I tuck Aralie’s letter back into the bright red envelope.
“We look good together,” Milo says. “I think you need to be mine again.”
“Are you sure your insecurities can handle it?” I ask.
“If it means having you again, I can handle anything. And if I have a moment of weakness, Noah can hit me,” he says.
A light blue sky creeps into the treehouse with us as I open my eyes. Holy Saturn. It’s daylight. Aralie is going to kill us.
I turn to the pretty brunette next to me. I hate to wake him. His chest rises and falls as he breathes. I run my fingers through his hair and kiss his cheek.
“Milo,” I whisper in his ear. “Hey, wake up.”
He stirs just a bit but doesn’t wake up. I could watch him sleep for hours just because he’s beautiful, and I know he never gets enough sleep, but Aralie’s face keeps flashing through my mind. I can’t deal with her wrath before sunrise.
“Milo,” I say again, out loud this time. “Wake up.”
His eyelids flutter like butterfly wings, quickly and calmly. Then he shoots up like he’s been stabbed with a syringe full of Jules’s eyebrow infection juice.
“Oh God,” he says. “What time is it?”
He pushes himself up to look outside. Now I’m wishing I’d brought my cell phone with me. I don’t even remember falling asleep. I remember talking about how crazy things would be after we went public and how he was glad all of the other guys knew about us now. I remember lying in the swimming pool bed with his arm wrapped around me. I just don’t remember the black sky and cricket songs fizzling into light blue clouds and birds chirping.
“I don’t know, but we have to go,” I say, holding up the red envelope. “Aralie will kill us if we’re still out here when she and Jules show up.”
Milo laughs and helps pull me up from the swimming pool.
“I told you it was Jules,” he says. Then, to show his maturity, he sticks out his tongue.
“Oh hush,” I say. “And fix Jules’s swimming pool bed back like it was. You know, since you know him so well.”
He shoots me his best attempt at an evil eye, but he can’t fight his smile, so he just looks absolutely goofy. I respond by sticking out my tongue. I can play on his level.
After straightening things up to Aralie’s standards, we descend the ladder and head back toward the house. I hope and pray to the creatures of Saturn that my dad isn’t awake yet. I can see him now, sitting at the end of the dining room table. He’ll have the newspaper spread out in front of him, a cup of hot coffee, and a fatherly stare of disapproval…times two. Aralie and Jules will be walking past him just as Milo and I sneak in. Oh Saturn, please. Just come through for me now since you haven’t any other time I’ve asked.
The morning dew hugs my flip flops as we trek through the grass. Milo wraps his arm around me and pulls me closer to him.
“You’re a brave soul, Milo Grayson,” I tell him.
He stops walking. “Why is that?” he asks.
“You kept me out all night while my dad was home,” I say.
He laughs, grabs me in a hug, and spins me around. The envelope in my hand presses into his back and crinkles against his shirt. The world can bleed its butterflies dry, and in this moment, I won’t even pity them.
“I had to be brave,” he says, this time in all seriousness. “I’d rather let your dad yell at me once than to walk away from here knowing I’d lost you forever.”
The patio door shuts in the distance, and Aralie’s laughter floats through the morning air. I guess secrecy isn’t high on her list anymore since she blasted all of SAS over Emery’s birthday pizza last night.
A streak of pinkish-purple decorates the clouds as the sun tries to peek through. The morning’s first butterfly just slit its wings to bleed. My heart wants to ache, but I think I’m finally seeing the beauty in the sunrise. I actually want the butterflies to bleed because I know they’ll heal overnight and do it all over again. They do exactly what the world needs them to do. They share their colors, even if it hurts
, and in the dark of night, the fireflies take over while the butterflies tend to their wounds. I admire their strength. I hope I can be as strong as they are when lockdown ends.
“Well, look who it is,” Jules says as he and Aralie make their way toward us. “Mr. Management-said-we-can’t-have-girlfriends…and his girlfriend.”
Aralie elbows him. “Shut it or your laundry is going in the pool,” she warns him.
As much as Jules wants to bug the hell out of Milo, he holds back. It’s written on his face as clearly as the scent of crushed ladybugs is on his clothes, but he heeds Aralie’s warning well.
Milo smiles victoriously and tugs me closer to him.
“Good night, lovers,” he says before we continue toward the house.
Emery’s giggling wakes me up a few hours later. She stands on the other side of my bedroom door. There’s a flutter of whispers, like thirsty butterflies, followed by muffled laughter.
I ease off of my bed and tiptoe to the door. I strain my ears to hear.
“Put it higher,” Emery says as quietly as possible. “That way she’ll think Aralie did it.”
I knew it! No one else would ever think to put Tate’s head on our doors. That was Emery from the get-go. Now, it’s time to see who her accomplice has been this entire time.
I distance myself from the door so I can jerk it open in full swing. I grip the doorknob, and in supersonic speed, I fling the door toward me.
Tate Kingsley stands wide-eyed and goofy-smiled on the other side.
“You?” I ask. I really thought it’d be Benji. “Why are you putting your own head on our bedroom doors?”
He glances around for some hint at what to say. Emery folds her arms over her chest and glares at him like she’s waiting for an answer as well.
“Emery made me do it!” he yells, slinging his arm toward her. “It was all her idea. She just needed someone to cut my head out and reach the top of the door. I was forced into helping.”
He bolts down the hallway toward the guest rooms. Emery runs behind him, yelling that she is going to throw scrambled eggs at him because it’s the most disgusting food in the world. I haven’t had enough sleep to deal with this, but I don’t want to waste another second of lockdown asleep.
I leave Tate’s head on my door and go in search of Milo.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
“And you know you’re welcome here any time you need a break from things, or even if you just feel like dropping by,” Mom’s voice says as I enter the kitchen.
Milo leans back against the counter like it’s no big deal that he’s just hanging out in the kitchen with my mom. His smile is unbearably charming. No wonder Mom likes him so much.
Mom glances toward me once she realizes Milo isn’t paying attention to anything she’s blabbing about.
“I knew it,” Mom says, pointing a finger at me. “I told you Milo was a nice boy, and you tried to play it off like you didn’t even notice him, but I knew it…I knew it the moment he lied about those cigarettes.”
This should be humiliating and embarrassing, but Mom sounds just like a high school best friend spazzing out because she knew you had a crush on the cute guy from English class.
I laugh. “Were Aralie and Jules obvious too?” I ask.
She shakes her head. “No, I thought it was Tate.”
I wait for Milo to say that he told me so, but he doesn’t. He just keeps smiling that oh-so-perfect smile, and I melt like caramel candy under the sun. I join Milo by the counter and watch as Mom digs through the cabinets for random ingredients.
“I am so ready for lockdown to end,” she says to a bag of giant marshmallows. “Then Aralie can post those pictures, and everyone will know exactly what we’ve been doing this summer.”
Milo cracks up but doesn’t say anything as Mom rambles on about her high school friend Jill who got her daughters tickets to see SAS back in December. She offered to get a T-shirt for Emery from the concert, and Mom politely refused the offer. Emery cried upon hearing the news, and she said it wasn’t fair that Santa brought tickets to those “stupid-face girls” but didn’t bring tickets to her for Christmas.
“But Emery gets the last laugh now,” Mom says. “The nerve of that woman to say those things in front of a five-year-old, knowing that Emery is their biggest fan.”
She shakes her head and sorts through boxes of graham crackers and packages of chocolate.
“What are you trying to cook?” I ask, steering the conversation away from Mom’s non-friend Jill.
“Oh,” she says, turning back to Milo and me. “Your dad went to get a few things. He wants to have a bonfire tonight.”
I instantly turn toward Milo and pull him into the tightest hug I can squeeze. I breathe in the scent of his body wash and laundry detergent. I want to hold onto him until his skin particles absorb into my flesh and mingle with my blood.
“Hey, anaconda grip,” he says. “What’s up?”
Dad wants to have a bonfire. That means we’re celebrating. That means they caught the guy.
“You’re leaving,” I say.
No one speaks in Dad’s game room. I sit between Noah and Milo, wishing one of them would break the silence. We haven’t told Emery. Technically, Dad hasn’t even told us, but I know. Mom didn’t deny it either, which is more than enough proof. This is the end of lockdown.
“I never thought I’d be sad about this,” Noah says. “I thought I’d be ready to leave.”
I know they want to perform again. They’re ready to be back on stage, singing their hearts out to thousands of screaming fans and living their dreams. I want them to go bleed lyrics for the world. I just want them to bleed for me too. I’ve grown to like having them just for us. How many families can say they’ve hidden a boyband for three weeks?
My thoughts are interrupted by the blast known as Aralie flying into the room.
“Did Mom tell you to save everything on your phone to a memory card?” she asks, like it’s a Moo-llennium Crunch kind of crisis.
I nod. “About an hour ago,” I say.
“And you’re done?” Aralie asks. “Do you know how much music I have on my phone? And I have like a million pictures. I have a whole folder of just Jenji memes. Obviously you don’t use your phone like I do mine.”
“You’re getting new phones,” Milo blurts out. “And new numbers. Your mom was talking about it this morning.”
It feels real now. Lockdown is ending. The Branson family will be a public fixture, the family who hid Spaceships Around Saturn. And this entire stupid town will post my phone number all over the internet. I definitely approve of a new number that no one knows. All of Paige’s apology texts and explanation calls will be sent to a number that no longer exists.
“And there’s an even better part,” Milo adds. “You’re getting international calling and texting. That way, you can keep up with me no matter what time zone I’m in.”
“Gag me.” Noah groans. “You come up with the worst lines. No wonder you were cool with the whole ‘no girlfriends’ thing. You had to be shot at for a girl to give you any attention.”
Aralie laughs, and although I’m sure that was an indirect insult toward me from Noah, I laugh too because for once, Aralie isn’t calling Noah an idiot for something he says.
“Yeah,” Aralie says. “I’m leaving on that note.”
She runs back upstairs, probably to finish backing up everything on her phone. Noah debates out loud how many interviews and appearances they’ll have to do on the topic of lockdown before they actually get back onstage.
“They’ll have us on some morning show as soon as we’re out,” Milo says. “We’ll probably go straight to a hotel and prepare for interviews. Then we’ll have an appearance the next morning. They’ve already got talk shows and radio shows on standby for when we’re free.”
Dad clears his throat from the doorway to alert us of his presence. He holds a black bag in his hand.
“I’ll deny ever saying this,” Dad says. “But
if you have something in particular you want to wear for that morning show appearance, wash it today because you’ll be on screen Thursday morning.”
“Thursday?” Noah asks. All color leaves his face.
Dad nods. “Yep, Thursday, but you didn’t hear it from me,” he says.
If Milo’s theory is correct, they’ll leave tomorrow. They jet off to some fancy five-star hotel, be drilled by management and their PR team, and they’ll probably get lectured on what they are and aren’t allowed to say. The guys will be told to get a good night’s sleep and to be well-rested for the cameras. Then Aralie and I will be up super early Thursday morning to watch them on a morning show over a box of tissues.
“So, what does that mean for us?” Milo asks.
Dad steps toward the couch and hands Milo the black bag. Milo peeks into the bag and looks at Dad with confused eyes.
“It means you’re leaving tomorrow,” Dad says, confirming Milo’s theory and my fears. “Welcome back to reality, boys.”
I grab the bag from Milo’s hand and reach into it. I pull out a plastic Ziploc bag with a cell phone and charger in it. Tate’s name is written on the bag in black marker.
Noah snatches the black bag from me and digs around until he finds his own cell phone. He hands Milo’s phone to him, and I grab the plastic bag with Benji’s name on it. I cherish the moment because I know in a matter of minutes, my Twitter feed will blow up with @Benji_Baccarini and all of the Saturnites across the globe will have him back. Noah grabs the other bags and dashes upstairs to let Tate and Jules rejoin the world.
Milo taps on Benji’s bag in my hand.
“Sorry Ms. Branson,” he says. “But it’s time.”
I step outside to the familiar sounds of “Alien Morse Code.” The crickets and toads sing much, much louder tonight. This is their last lockdown performance. Tomorrow night, when I venture outside, I’ll be alone and Spaceships Around Saturn will be gone. I wonder if they’re chirping goodbye messages across the night sky. They’re probably singing well wishes for the guys and songs of hope for the Branson family.
