Of All The Stars

by Ally B

  “You could be that for Mia,” I suggest as I reach over and flip the mirror closed. “But you’re too busy being vain.”

  “Someone has to be the pretty one in this relationship.”

  “Max, you spend more time picking out your outfits than I do.”

  “And? It works,” he wags his eyebrows.

  I shake my head at him, there are so many things wrong with that statement, but it’s a familiar uphill battle that I’ve long given up on.

  “Any luck with a homecoming date yet?” I ask, changing the topic.

  “I feel like it’s best not to break a three-year chain, ya know? Busting it my senior year just seems wrong.” He refers to the policy he’d adopted freshman year of going with his soccer teammates and getting wasted at someone’s house party afterward in lieu of an actual date.

  “So, you still can’t find a date after three years?” I joke. “I bet Vi would say yes this time.” I take a jab at him with the rejection that put his solo homecoming policy into action. Our friend, Violet, had rejected him when he ever so eloquently and thoughtfully Snapchatted her ‘HoCo?’ our freshman year three days before the dance.

  “Vi is too good for me, and we all know it.” He huffs. “Your cousin, however…” he raises an eyebrow.

  “Not my favorite person, but also too good for you.” I laugh as we pull into the school parking lot.

  “Oh come on, Ava loves me.”

  “In the same way I love golden retrievers.”

  “So, she thinks I’m cute?” He asks as I park. We both unbuckle at the same time, and Max grabs our backpacks from the back seat and sets mine in my lap.

  I pull the keys from the ignition and sidestep out of the vehicle, throwing my backpack over my shoulder as Max shuts the passenger door. I lock the car before shoving my keys into my pocket, allowing my dark blue Williams Planetarium lanyard to dangle from my pocket.

  I grab my phone and show Max the screen. “See? Not late. It’s 7:47. We have a whole minute.”

  “If Wilson makes us go and get a late pass, I’m going to kill you,” he groans, picking up his pace.

  I walk past my regular spot in the far corner—stolen by some unfamiliar black Jeep Wrangler—and roll my eyes at the inconvenience.

  “If we’re being honest, you’ll just pout for a period and then go back to normal when I do all of our work in bio, which will make up for the possible tardiness,” I say, desperately trying to match his long strides without looking like an idiot.

  The first bell chimes as we enter the building.

  “I will kill you,” he says, turning into a near-sprint as we run toward the other side of the building.

  We reach Wilson’s classroom as the bell dings for the second time and head for our seats.

  “New seating chart, guys,” Wilson speaks up as Max’s binders hit the desk.

  “You know if you separate us, we’re just going to end up yelling to each other across the room, right?” Max asks Wilson with amusement in his voice.

  “That’s why you two are still together. In the back, where you can’t distract people.” Wilson says as he presses a button on his keyboard, powering on the smartboard at the front of the room. The screen suddenly illuminates with our school photos from the year prior when I’d made the fatal mistake of wearing a blue dress, causing me to nearly blend in with the photoshopped background.

  Max scoops up his binders, makes his way to the back, and drops them loudly on the desk in the back corner.

  “Putting baby in the corner, Wilson? Really?” He cocks an eyebrow as he slides into his seat.

  I hurry back to the seat next to him with my backpack over my shoulder.

  “Unless you’re about to demonstrate the Dirty Dancing lift, I’m just going to keep ignoring you,” Wilson says, staring at his computer screen, unbothered.

  Wilson had started teaching at our school a few years prior, fresh out of grad school, but his baby-face means he’s still confused for a student in the hallway on occasion.

  “You know nothing is stopping you two from leaving earlier so you get to school on time, right?” Violet asks from her new seat next to ours quietly as Wilson takes attendance.

  “Nothing is stopping me,” Max responds, glaring at me as I pull out my notebook and pen. “It took her like ten minutes to pick out earrings.”

  “Earrings are important,” Violet shrugs.

  “This is why I need more guy friends,” he huffs, digging through his backpack.

  “We’re your only girl friends!” Violet defends.

  “Not true, I’ve got Kendall.” He continues to dig through his bag.

  “She’s just guilty by association,” I clarify.

  “Do you have a pen?” He asks, clearly giving up on his search.

  I throw him the pen from my desk and pull another one out of my backpack’s side pocket. “It’s October, how are you already out of pens?” I ask him as Wilson walks around handing out packets.

  “I lose things,” he shrugs.

  As he looks to our old seats, his head cocks to the side like a puppy who’s spotted a squirrel. “Who’s that?” He nods toward an unfamiliar boy in the front row that I hadn’t noticed while we hurried in.

  “How am I supposed to know?” I ask him.

  Wilson throws a packet to Max, which he quickly catches.

  “Today, we have a fun little pop quiz.” The room erupts with groans. “It’s the last three pages in that packet, just rip it out and bring it to the front when you’re done.”

  Wilson purposely makes his quizzes ridiculously easy for people who read the textbook, so I am not at all bothered, unlike some of my peers.

  I quickly remove the three pages from the packet, placing the rest of it to the side. The questions are easy ones, and the same content I’d studied the night before while avoiding doing my biology homework.

  Within fifteen minutes into the period, I’ve completed the quiz.

  I wait at my desk, hoping one of my classmates will dare to turn their test in first, so I don’t have to be the one to distract others, but after a few minutes of waiting—I’m too impatient.

  I stand, pushing my chair out as quietly as possible before bringing my papers to Wilson’s desk and shoving the corners into his bright blue stapler, pressing it down before handing it to him.

  “Phoebe, can you help the new kid find his locker?” He asks quietly as he takes my papers.

  “Wilson, can you give me a hundred on this quiz?” I ask, mocking his tone.

  “Go.” Wilson points at the door opposite his desk.

  I huff as I walk toward the door, stopping at the new kid’s desk. “Hey, Wilson said you needed help finding your locker?” I ask as quietly as I can, desperate not to disrupt the near-silent classroom as I gesture to the door.

  “Yeah, that would be great,” he says as he picks up his backpack and throws it over his shoulder, following me out of the door. Gabby shoots me daggers as we approach the door, I blow her a kiss before leaving, earning a disapproving smile from Violet.

  “I’m Phoebe,” I say as he follows me down the hall like a lost puppy.

  “Graham Neilson,” he says simply.

  “Where are you from?” I ask him as we continue the long walk toward the science wing on the other side of the school.

  “North Carolina,” he says shortly.

  His jet-black hair is short on the sides and long on the top. He’s going for the just out of bed look, but I can tell he spent more time on his hair this morning than I did mine, maybe even more time than Max, and it’s definitely working in his favor.

  “And you ended up here because your dad got a job in Syracuse, and Google said this was a good school?” I ask him, referring to the only reason anyone ever moves to Emerson.

  “My mom, actually,” he says with amusement.

  “Wow… how progressive,” I say awkwardly, pausing for a moment before realizing how terrible that sounds. “I’m sorry… I—uh—I’m like the bigge
st feminist ever, that wasn’t meant to come out like that, honestly.” I ramble.

  “The biggest feminist ever?” He’s totally enjoying this.

  “Not to discredit women like Gloria Steinem, she’s a total bad bitch but like I-”

  “Gloria Steinem is a bitch?” He cocks an eyebrow.

  Of course, my nervous cursing decided to make an appearance the one time it shouldn’t have.

  Sorry Gloria, love you.

  “I’m never going to win with you, am I?” I half-ask, half-answer my own question as we continue down the hall.

  “Probably not.” He answers shortly with a grin. “I’m 795,” he says, looking down at a little slip of paper in his hand.

  “Okay, cool. Nice honesty,” I say, scanning locker numbers before stopping in front of 795. “Are you taking a lot of STEM classes?” I ask him, knowing which hall our lockers are in depends on what types of classes we have the most of, but new kids get thrown into random halls all the time.

  “AP Bio, AP Environmental Science, and Calculus.” He nods.

  “A bit overkill, don’t you think?” I ask as he turns the combination lock, flinging his locker door open.

  “My totally progressive mom doesn’t think so.” He half-heartedly mocks me. And it’s kind of cute. “So, what classes are you in?” He changes the subject.

  “AP Government, then Spanish, then AP Bio. I have fourth-period lunch. Then it’s onto English, followed by Astronomy sixth and Calculus seventh.” I tell him as we continue, my voice nearly echoing through the empty hallway.

  “I have AP Gov, then environmental, then AP Bio. I have Calc fourth and lunch fifth, then Mandarin and English.”

  I think about his classes for a moment. “You’re taking calc AB? And no honors English? For an overachiever, you’re slacking.” I joke.

  “They didn’t offer Calc to juniors at my old school, and STEM over humanities any day.” He shakes his head. “I got an A- in honors English in eighth grade, and my mom didn’t allow me to take it ever again.”

  “Well, you’ll be happy to know that we do number grades and not letter grades here,” I tell him.

  “That’s arguably worse. If my mom sees a ninety-nine, she’ll kill me.” He pauses, “I hate to fit the new kid cliché, but what are things like at lunch here? Are you allowed to leave campus?”

  “No leaving, but do you play sports?” I ask him.

  “Football, basketball, and lacrosse.” He tells me.

  “Then you’ll be fine,” I tell him.

  Creepy football guy, check.

  “You aren’t an athlete?” He asks me.

  This time I genuinely let out a laugh. “Definitely not.” I pause. “But I did gymnastics and played basketball until I was twelve if that counts.”

  “It totally does. I bet you could destroy me one-on-one,” he jokes as we walk the silent, empty halls.

  “Oh, absolutely.” We turn down the English hallway and continue walking toward government. “So you can’t play football this season, right?” I ask him, attempting to make small talk.

  “Yeah. It sucks,” he says. “I did pre-season back at home, but when I found out we were moving, my coach stopped giving a damn.”

  “That’s annoying,” I respond.

  “That’s football. My old school had a great program,” he reminisces.

  “Our team is really good, too,” I tell him. “Are you going to play sports in college or…”

  “I was hoping to play football, but I lost my senior season so, I’m pretty much screwed out of that.” His tone shifts to a more negative one

  “That just means you have to work harder during basketball and lacrosse season, right? Maybe do some summer camps?” I ask him as we turn into the history hallway. “If you already had recruiters, then you’re still on track.”

  He answers with a shrug as we enter Mr. Wilson’s classroom, “thanks.”

  I nod before walking to my new seat in the back of the room and sit down.

  “So?” Violet asks as I take my seat.

  “He’s nice,” I answer.

  “Nice? That’s all we get?” Violet asks.

  “Graham Neilson from North Carolina. He plays lacrosse, basketball, and football, but no football this season. He’s in our Government and Bio classes.” I direct the last part toward Max. Violet had decided to opt-out of AP Bio for her own sanity.

  “He’s cute.” Violet wags her brows at me playfully. “Please tell me he has a sexy southern accent.”

  “No southern accent, and you can have him,” I tell her, pulling my Spanish notebook out of my bag and flipping to the bookmarked page to review for the quiz next period.

  “Not interesting enough for you?” Violet asks.

  “Too interesting to Gabby.” I correct her, nodding to Gabby, who’s been looking over at Graham periodically, shamelessly trying to get his attention.

  “Ugh no,” Violet whisper-groans. “We have to save him.”

  “Once she sets her eyes on someone, they can’t be saved.” Max shakes his head, reading through his own Spanish notes.

  “I was,” Violet objects.

  “You also weren’t a six-foot-tall football player with good hair.” I shake my head at her, earning an amused smile from Max.

  “When’s his lunch?” She asks.

  “Fifth.” I shake my head.

  “You’ve lost him,” Max adds.

  “And he has English with her,” I add, knowing it will push Violet over the edge.

  “We get like one new kid every year, and they’re always a kind-of-scary druggie who drops out by Christmas break. Why does the only good one have to get taken by her?” Violet complains.

  “You’re a bit dramatic, Vi.” Max says after she’s finally done with her ‘woe is me’ rant.

  “And I have every right to be. He’s cute!” She complains a little too loudly, earning a few wayward stares from the kids around us. “Nothing to see here.” She announces, drawing even more attention.

  “You would think they would be used to you by now.” I shake my head.

  “I know, right!” She sighs with an exasperated throw of her hand.

  I spend the rest of the period re-reading my Spanish notes in an attempt to memorize my practice response to today’s quiz question. As much as I love Mr. Velasquez’s Spanish class, the daily responses have already grown tiresome, and it’s only October.

  When the bell rings, Violet heads toward the music wing, and Max and I make our way to Spanish.

  “How are you feeling about tonight?” He asks me as we settle into our seats well before anyone else.

  “Not great, but I’ll be okay,” I tell him honestly.

  “Text me if you need a getaway car?” He half-jokes, but his eyes show that he’s being genuine.

  “Speaking of getaway cars, you think you’re going to survive driving to school from now on?” I ask him, changing the topic to a lighter one.

  “I’m really going to miss Rosie, but I think I’ll live.”

  “She’ll miss you too.” I sigh, referring to the 2009 RAV4 that had been ‘mine’ since I was able to drive. It wasn’t doing any good sitting in our garage, and Jack didn’t want it, so it was mine by default.

  “We have to name my car now, don’t we?”

  “It’s only right.” I nod.

  “You got lucky with Rosie. I can’t just name mine after the color.” He huffs.

  “I feel like the name will come to us once you’ve actually gotten some use out of it. Bonded, you know.”

  “Señor Sanchez, what’s important enough to be talking about after the bell?” Mr. Velasquez asks.

  I nearly laugh, earning a disapproving look from Max.

  “Mi carro,” he answers shortly.

  “Was it a good chat?” Velasquez asks him.

  Max gives him a quiet ‘mmhmm’ before he finally leaves us alone, instructing the class to talk with their partner about the warm-up on the board.

  “I don’t know
how you get away with it.” Max shakes his head.

  “When you don’t have a 1.5 GPA, it’s a little easier.” I joke. I know from years of experience that the comment will piss Max off. It wasn’t until last year that I stole his rank as salutatorian of our class, and he was bumped down to third, but we’ve always been neck-and-neck in class rank.

  “In Spanish of all classes? My dad is going to murder me.” He shakes his head.

  Max’s dad is the soccer coach and gym teacher, so any time he does anything wrong, it somehow gets back to him in the teacher’s lounge over coffee and stale donuts.

  “At least it’s not gym?” I joke.

  His eye-roll is obnoxious, but it’s the only response I get before Mr. Velasquez tells us it’s time to answer the question of the day.

  I remember the first few sentences of mine, but end up faking my way through the ending.

  Max finishes just before I do, grinning as I stand up just a half-second after he does. I shake my head at him as he silently gloats while looking over his shoulder at me before we turn in our papers.

  We spend the rest of the period copying notes down from a PowerPoint presentation on the board at the front of the classroom, and I’m grateful when the bell rings.

  “Señorita Mitchell, stick around for a minute?” Mr. Velasquez asks when I’m just about to follow Max out.

  He turns around to me, obviously concerned.

  “I’ll see you in bio,” I whisper to him, letting him know I’ll be all right.

  I walk toward Mr. Velasquez’s desk with my backpack flung over one shoulder and my phone in my hand as Max exits into the hallway.

  Anxious, I wonder why I was asked to stay. I’m never loud during Spanish. Is he going to yell at me the same way he did Max? There’s no way my grades are low enough to cause concern, so why is he calling me to his desk?

  “Phoebe, I know there’s about to be some major adjustments at home regarding your father, I just wanted to let you know that if you need anyone to talk to during this difficult time—”

  “Do all of my teachers know?” I cut him off, desperate to make sure my voice sounds more pissed-off than nervous. I speed up the tapping of my fingers against my leg. Of course there was an email. Why did I think I’d be able to ignore it at school?