Of All The Stars

by Ally B

  Of All The Stars

  Ally B

  Blue Valley Publishing LLC

  Contents

  To The Reader

  Corona Borealis

  Hercules

  Horologium

  Aquila

  Leo Minor

  Sagittarius

  Pavo

  Perseus

  Auriga

  Canes Venatici

  Crater

  Caelum

  Microscopium

  Apus

  Fornax

  Telescopium

  Corona Australis

  Vulpecula

  Chamaeleon

  Cassiopeia

  Scorpius

  Aries

  Triangulum

  Canis Major

  Scutum

  Pictor

  Ursa Minor

  Reticulum

  Andromeda

  Circinus

  Pegasus

  Draco

  Canis Minor

  Columba

  Libra

  Sagitta

  Leo

  Lepus

  Orion

  Cepheus

  Lupus

  Cygnus

  Thank you

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2020 by Ally B

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  This book is a work of fiction. All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the authors’ imaginations. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales, or events is entirely coincidental.

  Editor: Donna Cooksley Sanderson

  Proofreading by: MJ Fields

  Cover designer: Jersey Girl Design

  To The Reader

  Words connect us and stars cover us.

  You’ll notice each chapter is titled after a constellation. Some of them have direct connections to the chapter, but you’ll have to look deeper for others.

  Whether they’re connected based on the story behind the name of the constellation, a media referenced, or as a joke, they all mean something.

  If you choose to, take the time to investigate what every chapter title really means.

  Ally B.

  Corona Borealis

  The Northern Crown

  “There are eighty-eight recognized constellations in our sky. The oldest description of those constellations comes from a poem, titled Phaenomena, which was written around 270 B.C. by a Greek poet named Aratus, but we know they’ve been up there since before then. We also get the naming of individual stars from the Greeks. Not like when you ‘buy a star’ and name it after your girlfriend, but their actual names. Believe it or not, a certificate from a janky-looking website does not mean you own the star.”

  A bit of obligatory—and much appreciated—laughter comes from the crowd as they stare upward toward the domed blue-black ceiling, dotted with white.

  “The stars are named after their location in the sky. Sometimes quite literally, sometimes in different languages, but they do have names. My name is Phoebe.” I point to the name-tag pinned to my sweater. “Her name is Capella.” I point toward a star in the illuminated sky on the ceiling of the dome.

  There are scattered laughs from the audience yet again. These are jokes I tell over and over again every time there are butts occupying seats. I’m used to the uneasy laughter of people who simply want to see the stars. Still, unfortunately for those who want peace and quiet to simply look, it’s my job to inconvenience them with facts as well as answer the questions of every toddler or elementary-age student that asks.

  “You know how you look up at the sky and see shapes in the clouds? That’s pretty much what a bunch of old Greek guys in togas did when naming the constellations. They looked long and hard for pictures in the sky, and when they found them, they named them whatever they wanted. Some of them were named after their favorite stories, so now we have Perseus and Hercules. My personal favorite Disney movie, for obvious reasons.” I look to the cluster of kids that can’t be any older than my Mia. They stare wide-eyed at the constellations covering the ceiling. “Some of them even named constellations after their favorite animals. Do you guys have a favorite animal?”

  The group looks around at each other nervously, hoping for a brave volunteer to speak, so they don’t have to. “I like dolphins,” one little girl says with a shy smile.

  “Awesome, there’s a constellation called Delphinus, and that means dolphin,” I tell her animatedly.

  “Giraffes are my favorite.” The boy next to her speaks out.

  “There’s a giraffe constellation too. It’s called Camelopardalis, which is basically just the words camel and leopard combined because the Greeks thought that giraffes looked like a camel because of their long necks and leopards because of their spots,” I reply enthusiastically. The kids stare up at the ceiling yet again.

  “All right, guys, if we don’t have any questions, that’ll be the end of my guided celestial tour. Take some time to explore the stars, and if you have any questions, please don’t hesitate to ask. I’m Phoebe,” I point to my name tag, once again. “Thanks for visiting Williams Planetarium.” I smile as I turn off the mic pack clipped to my pocket. The theater only seats sixty-four, but the sound system ensures we don’t sound like we’re yelling.

  I begin walking up the stairs toward the booth in the back, but I’m quickly stopped by the little girl who’d spoken about dolphins earlier. “How do you know so much about the stars?” She asks me, her head tilted as she stares upward, not at me, but directly at Cassiopeia.

  “I read a lot of books when I was your age.” I counter.

  “What kind of books?” She asks, but her gaze is still on the stars.

  “All kinds of books, all different topics, but my favorites were always books about the stars.”

  My grandfather on my mom’s side was an astronomer. He’d given my mom a big book of all eighty-eight constellations, their names, and the stories behind them when I was born, ‘for future reference.’ She gave it to me just after he died when I was six. “I like books about dolphins and princesses.” She tells me as she adjusts her bright pink hoodie.

  “Hey, dolphins and princesses are super cool too. Who’s your favorite princess?” I ask her as she sits down in an empty seat on the aisle.

  “Ariel, who’s your favorite princess?” She replies quizzically.

  “That’s a tough one, hmm,” I say as I put my finger on my chin as if pondering my answer. “But it’s either Moana or Rapunzel,” I tell her as I scan the sky, trying to figure out what constellation she’s staring at now.

  “Moana’s cool too. I like the water.” She informs me.

  “Ahhh, so that’s why you like dolphins?” I ask her.

  She looks me in the eye. “Actually, I think I like the water because of the dolphins.”

  Wow. That’s deep coming from a six-year-old. “Cool. I think I like the sky because of the stars.”

  “Cool, good talk,” she says dismissively.

  “Good talk,” I return as I stand upright before ascending the stairs to my seat.

  Sitting down, I look over the area. I can see everything from my elevated section of the room. The back rows are always full of couples. Older couples during the daytime, younger adults near five, and teenagers tend to show up for the last viewing.

  It’s always the same; the amount of tongue and the volume of the whispers just increase as the night goes on.


  The main building houses the ticket booth, concession area, and a classroom. Ticket prices are five dollars during the day and raise to eight dollars in the evenings. The weekday hours are twelve to nine.

  The school groups come on weekdays, but I rarely get to hang out with the little kids because I have to go to school myself. My astronomy class visits once every grading period. It’s always a little bit awkward for me to sit and take notes as Jerry gives the same speech I’ve had memorized since the day I got the job a year and a half ago.

  It’s the same mundane verbiage for each group. Jerry’s wife and I have suggested changing things up a bit. We’ve also suggested weekend and evening themed events and such, but Jerry’s not big on change.

  The concession area sells snacks for those to enjoy before going into the planetarium itself. We sell popcorn, different candies—depending on what combo pack was on sale at Costco that week—as well as bottles of soda and water. And although Jerry hates change, we added a popcorn machine purchased from Amazon about a year ago.

  We sell merch, too, but it’s scarcely available because Kat and I buy whatever we can in our sizes.

  The planetarium is its own ecosystem. And although it clearly states, ‘No food is permitted inside,’ it’s hard to enforce that rule in the darkened room. Little kids make a lot of noise when they open their bag of Skittles or boxes of Milk Duds, and inevitably spill their snacks all over the floor. The teenagers snicker and make out, occasionally stopping to take a picture of the dome for their Snapchat stories, and the older people sit almost silently in the back few rows and stay for hours taking it all in.

  Jerry, the owner, doesn’t charge time slots. He’s not in the business of kicking people out, so if they stay past the hourly presentation and onto the next, we overlook it.

  My nights at the planetarium are long and a bit boring, but I prefer sitting in the main theater to working concessions and ticket sales. Thankfully, Jerry’s wife and granddaughter, Kat, prefer working the booths.

  There are other employees at the planetarium, but they’re all college students who are only around during the summers and semester breaks. Two people work per night, and Jerry usually comes in if it’s Kat and I closing to help us out. If we’re running one of the shows we do on the weekends, he stops in too.

  Tonight is slow. Just the group of kids whose parents dropped them off, a couple of young families, and a few older couples, but what can you expect for a Wednesday night in October?

  At nine o’clock, I walk down the stairs and head back to the front, flip on my mic, and give my little speech.

  “Thank you so much for coming to Williams Planetarium. Please gather your belongings,” I change my tone to a whisper that they can still obviously hear through the microphone, “and your parents.” I return to my usual tone, “Then exit through the doors you came through. You can purchase tickets, annual passes, and merchandise from the concessions and ticket booths in the front lobby. Drive safe and have a great night.” I smile before pressing the button on the wall that slowly brings up the lights in the planetarium.

  Once everyone has cleared out, I bring the lights the rest of the way up and begin to sweep the aisles.

  “Phoebe? Are you still here?” I hear Kat call from the lobby.

  “Yeah, just finishing up!” I reply, emptying the dustpan into the trash can and placing my microphone pack in its place in the booth before tying the garbage bag and bringing it out to the lobby.

  “Good night for a Wednesday,” Kat says hopefully.

  “Yeah. Twenty-five?” I ask her.

  “Twenty-seven.” She corrects me. “You won’t be in tomorrow night, right?”

  “Not until Saturday,” I tell her.

  “Lucky you.” She sinks against the counter.

  “Says the one who takes school breaks off.” I jab back jokingly.

  “Oh boo,” she huffs.

  “You’re good to go, girls,” Jerry says from inside of the ticket booth, holding out our coats.

  “Is there anything I can help you with?” I ask him as Kat pecks him on the cheek and heads to the door.

  “Get home and do your homework, so I don’t feel bad about having you work so late.” He winks.

  “It’s not that late.” I wave a nonchalant hand.

  “I’ll see you Saturday,” he says, practically pushing me out of the door as I watch Kat’s Prius zip out of the parking lot.

  I pull my phone and key lanyard out of my coat pocket, throwing the puffy white jacket over my arm before heading for the door. “Have a good night Jerry.”

  “You too, kiddo.” He adds, waving from the cash register as I exit.

  I unlock my car and throw my coat into the passenger seat—contrary to what the weatherman said—it’s not quite cool enough yet to wear it, put on my seat belt, then start Rosie, my RAV4, and begin the drive home.

  When I pull into my driveway, I notice mom’s car isn’t here. I make sure to park away from the garage door, leaving space for her to pull in and park before hopping out and locking it behind me as I walk to the side garage door.

  When I’m in the house, and all the doors are locked, I throw my car keys into the bowl next to the door and check my notifications.

  Mom

  Night shift again, probably won’t be home before you leave for school. Lock up, get some sleep. Love you. - Mom

  Max

  Mom made quinoa salad. If you don’t want to cook, let me know. - Max

  Side note, it’s actually edible this time. - Max

  I choose to ignore Max’s offer and opt for that leftover pasta from last night. I throw it into a bowl, microwave it, and bring it to my room along with my backpack.

  I kick my shoes off into my closet and sit on my bed, eating as I complete my homework. Within two hours, I’m finally done with all of it. I rinse my bowl and fork in the sink before showering, then pull on a baggy T-shirt and a pair of old pajama shorts. I haphazardly dry my hair before throwing it into a bun, then dive into bed and wrap myself in my comforter.

  I stare at the glow-in-the-dark stars I’d begged my mom to put on my ceiling when I’d first read my constellation book after flicking off my lamp, desperate to fall asleep. I think about texting Max back but decide against it.

  Hercules

  The Strong Man

  “We’re going to be late!” Max shouts, banging on my bedroom door.

  “I can’t hear you,” I sing-song as I shove a pair of two-dollar craft-fair earrings into my ears then open the door.

  “If you make us late, I’m telling Wilson it’s your fault,” he says before biting into a bagel and typing something on his phone as we head to the stairs.

  “You’re going to tattle on me to the history teacher?” I call behind me, not bothering to hide my amusement as I hurry down the stairs, and quickly to the closet, where I slide my feet into my scuffed white sneakers and look for my backpack—that I left in my room.

  When I turn around, Max is holding it.

  “Thanks, Max,” I grin as I take the backpack and throw it over my shoulder.

  “If I’m more than an hour late, I can’t play in the game tomorrow.” I nod knowingly, as I follow him to the door. He opens it and waves his hand before me. “Let’s go.”

  I hit the unlock button on my key fob so he can get in before fiddling with my house keys to lock the stubborn door behind us. Once it’s locked, I head to the vehicle.

  I open the door, toss my backpack in the backseat next to his, slide into the driver’s seat, and buckle my seat belt while making sure his is buckled too. It is. It always is.

  Starting the car, I remind him, “we live exactly twelve minutes away from school, and it’s only 7:35. We’ll be fine.”

  After adjusting my mirrors, I double and triple check my blind spots as I put the car in reverse and back out of my driveway.

  As soon as we begin moving forward, Max is quick to turn up the radio, instead of the pop music he was expecting, an ad
for a local plumber blasts through the speakers and we both laugh.

  When music finally begins to play, we both sing along at the top of our lungs.

  At the stoplight, Mr. McCoy is standing in his driveway, putting something in his car. Max’s music, combined with my rolled-down window earns us a not so friendly glare as I speed off toward the school.

  “He really doesn’t like you, does he?” Max asks, flipping the mirror down as he begins to fix his hair.

  “Nope.”

  “Because of the flowers?” He asks me, running his hands through his dark brown curls.

  “Kind of,” I answer, taking a right turn. “After the flower incident, Jack and I may or may not have TP’d his house.”

  “I still can’t believe half of the stuff he let you get away with.”

  “He didn’t just let me. He helped me.” I smirk, recalling the time my older brother had driven us to Mr. McCoy’s house in the middle of the night to exact revenge after he got me grounded for picking flowers from his yard at the ripe old age of seven.

  Jack’s immaturity, Razor scooter, and the fact that I was a child with quite a temper were a deadly combination. He enabled my ridiculous plans, and I provided entertainment for him and his friends through my antics.