Of All The Stars

by Ally B

  “Saturday after your dad’s, we’re breaking into the planetarium?”

  I’d nearly forgotten about our lasting tradition. It’s not exactly a break-in (because we ask Jerry for permission), but that’s how we’ve described it since freshman year when I started working at the planetarium.

  “Of course,” I say as he pushes open one of the big double doors, making a sweeping gesture with his arm as I walk in ahead of him.

  “I swear they don’t know when to turn on the heat in this place.” Violet shivers in her seat, bouncing her goose-bump covered leg up and down.

  “I don’t think the ‘fit is helping, Vi,” Max speaks up.

  “I’m not going to compromise my outfit just because Emerson High School doesn’t understand the weather patterns in Upstate New York.” She huffs. The outfit is cute, but it definitely shouldn’t be worn past mid-September when the weather decides to go from humid low-eighties to fifty-five with constant wind.

  “The pink leather skirt, though, Vi?” I nearly laugh, shaking my head.

  “It’s cute! And I have nowhere else to wear it.” She defends. “I think I toned it down enough.” She gestures to the black graphic T-shirt with the name of a band I think my mom has mentioned before.

  “Heels?” Max raises an eyebrow.

  “I wear heels every day, Maximus.” She scoffs. “And I have socks!”

  She is wearing black mesh socks with tiny silver detailing on them underneath her bright pink open-toed heels, but I can tell they’re doing absolutely nothing to keep her warm.

  “You have a ripped-up piece of tutu wrapped around your foot.” Max rolls his eyes.

  “Wilson, I’m getting bullied!” Violet shouts over the loud classroom chatter.

  “All she’s getting is frostbite!” Max shouts, earning laughter and headshakes from the people around us.

  “You’re an ass.” She huffs. “What are you guys doing after school today?”

  “Kendall has a game, so you’re resorting to us?” Max raises an eyebrow.

  “Precisely.” She nods with a smile.

  “I’m working on my project with Ava,” Max says, digging his notebook out of his backpack.

  Violet looks to me, and I hold my hands up in innocence. “Working on the thing with Graham.”

  “You two suck!”

  “This project is half of our grade, shouldn’t you and Tommy work on it?”

  “Me and Tommy?” She scoffs. “We both know I’ll be doing the entire thing by myself.”

  “Tommy isn’t that bad,” I recall a time when I’d worked with him on a science project, and he completed his half of the presentation before I even finished mine.

  “He hates History. Terrible at it.” She huffs.

  The rest of class is just Wilson giving a lecture too quickly and the rest of us scribbling down notes as quickly as we can. People ask for him to go back a million times before he finally gets the hint that he should slow down.

  We have a substitute in Spanish, so it’s just Velasquez’s signature last-minute sub plans, a grammar worksheet, and Selena music videos.

  So naturally, no one pays any attention.

  “You’re going to Ava’s tonight?” I raise an eyebrow at Max as I scribble in a conjugation chart.

  “Yeah. Come over after you get home from Graham’s, if you want,” he says, flipping his paper over and beginning to jot down the answers into the charts on the back.

  “I don’t remember if my mom is home tonight or not, I’ll text you,” I tell him as I try desperately to catch up to him.

  “You’re going to lose that point-zero-three percent lead if you don’t pick it up in Spanish.” He smirks, eyeing my paper.

  “You’re an ass.” I huff.

  “Swear jar.”

  “Suck it.” I mock his tone.

  I finish my worksheet just a few minutes after he finishes his, both of us turning our attention to the music video on the screen.

  “My dad loves Selena,” Max says to me quietly, trying not to draw the attention of the substitute.

  “Bill? Really?”

  “Absolutely.” He grimaces. “It’s kind of awful.”

  “It sounds hilarious.”

  “It would be if I weren’t his kid.” He shakes his head.

  “You’re wrong!” Violet shouts as we sit down at the lunch table.

  “This is getting old.” Max huffs.

  “What is it now?” I ask Riley.

  “Jackson likes cherry flavored things more than green apple.” He answers, sighing before taking a bite of his sandwich.

  “At this rate, I’m going to have to go sit with Gabby and Ava.”

  “I thought about switching lunch periods to be with St. Paul.” He confesses, and part of me wonders if he’s even joking.

  “It doesn’t even taste like apple.” Jackson defends calmly, contrasting Violet, who looks like steam could be coming out of her ears.

  “And cherry tastes like cough syrup!”

  “Uh-huh. Cherry cough syrup.” He nods.

  “Vi, honey. I love you, but it’s not that big of a deal.” Kendall says in a calm tone.

  “It is!” She squeaks, crossing her arms and slouching back in her chair.

  “You can talk to the boy you like without fighting with him,” Kendall tells her.

  “Clearly not!” She throws her hands in the air in frustration.

  “Are you ready for your game tonight?” Jackson asks Kendall, shaking his head at Violet with a goofy grin plastered on his face.

  “Yeah,” Kendall nods, stabbing her salad with her pink plastic fork.

  “That’s all?” Tommy asks her.

  “It’s Blue Valley. They’re actually an okay team.” She mutters, stabbing her salad again.

  “You guys are really good this year, though, right?” Riley asks.

  “I guess.” She sighs.

  “Okay, Eeyore, this is not the game-day hype attitude you should have right now.” Max butts in.

  “I really don’t want to lose again.” She groans, holding her head in her hands.

  The field hockey team have lost their last two games. During the first one, Erika was out with an ankle injury, and Gabby got a yellow card. The second one was against the best team in their section. Kendall has been all in her head since their first loss, but a third one would send her into the great abyss for weeks.

  “You’re not going to lose again,” Tommy reassures her.

  “Unless you want to grab a stick and jump in, you don’t get to tell me if I’m going to lose or not,” she says into her hands. “Lecture Violet about going to college for dance.”

  “Violet, go to college for dance,” Tommy says immediately.

  “Tell my parents to let me.” She takes an aggressive bite of a bright green apple, chewing ferociously.

  “Make a deal with them,” Riley suggests. “Go to school for dance and then get your masters in something smart. Can’t you major in like anything in undergrad?”

  “Not if you want to be a doctor. I feel like we’ve been over this,” she says, a clear mix of annoyance and amusement in her voice. If there’s anything Violet likes more than wearing miniskirts in 50-degree weather, it’s being right.

  “Soccer. Can we just talk about soccer?” Riley asks.

  “I’m going to the McArthur game tomorrow,” Max says. “After ours, they’re under the lights and start at seven.”

  “You’re really going to go watch a soccer game after you play an entire game?” Riley asks.

  “The grind never stops for Stanford.” Jackson slaps Max’s back, earning an eye roll. “Have they offered you a million dollars and your three wishes yet?”

  “Has ECC made you an offer yet?” Max raises an eyebrow.

  “Oh shit!” Jacob covers his mouth, stifling his laugh as Violet loses her shit, doubling over in her seat.

  “Does ECC even have soccer?” Kendall asks.

  “Emerson Community College offers men and women’
s gymnastics, lacrosse, volleyball, and diving.” Tommy reads from his phone. “Better find that speedo, bud.”

  “You’re all assholes.” Jackson pulls out his phone, scrolling through his Instagram and ignoring us.

  “You coming to the game tomorrow?” Max asks me, starting a side conversation amongst those of us who aren’t nursing a very bruised ego.

  “I have work,” I sigh.

  “You should just quit your job so you can come to soccer games.” He jokes.

  “I know, right? Your own trophy best-friend.” I roll my eyes.

  “Just what I’ve always wanted.” He beams.

  “You’re a massive dork.” I roll my eyes.

  We leave lunch early so Max can go to his locker and get the English binder he somehow managed to forget.

  “Max!” Ava’s voice echoes through the nearly empty hallway as she runs toward us.

  “I’m gonna go,” I whisper, subtly pointing toward the other end of the hall.

  “Like hell, you are.” He grabs my wrist, holding me to his side. “Hey,” he says to Ava when she gets closer to us.

  “Hey!” She smiles. “I was just wondering if you want to go to the field hockey game before we work on the project? I know it’s right after practice for you but—”

  “Yeah. That sounds good.” He cuts her off. I flick his back, and he shoots me a side-glare.

  “Are you sure? It’s just that it’s Gabby, and I don’t want her to think I’m blowing her off ‘cause she’ll get mad at me and I just don’t want her to be pissed off.” She rambles.

  “It really sounds good.” He reassures her. “See you then?”

  “Yeah. See you then.” She breathes a sigh of relief before turning down the hallway and walking back the way she came from.

  “Did I do okay?” He turns to me when she’s out of earshot.

  “You were surprisingly calm. I’m proud of you.” I half-joke.

  He rolls his eyes before slamming his locker shut as the bell rings.

  We spend the English period talking about Emma in small groups. Jackson and Ava join Max and me, and the three of them somehow manage to completely ignore the assigned discussion, which isn’t shocking.

  Max takes it upon himself to fill Ava in on the Jackson and Violet situation, not even bothering to open his copy of Emma. “So, Jackson won’t ask her because he’s too scared.” He sticks out his bottom lip at the boy, mocking him.

  “I’m not scared.” Jackson says rather unconvincingly, “I just think it’s funny how much it bothers her.”

  “You’re scared,” Ava and I say at the same time, exchanging a glance before turning back to Jackson.

  “And he can’t just ask her—” Max stops as Mrs. Todd passes by us. “So, that’s why the juxtaposition of the apollonian characteristics of the protagonist and the deuteragonist are crucial to the most recent passage.”

  “Ohhhh. I get it now.” I play dumb as she stares over my shoulder at my open book.

  She nods approvingly before walking to a different table.

  “Did that make any sense at all?” Jackson asks him, clearly impressed by his basic use of SAT words.

  “It made sense, just not for this book.” Max grins.

  “What doesn’t make sense is you not asking Violet.” Ava butts in.

  “I can’t just ask Violet. That girl’s entire life is a spectacle.” He sighs as he sinks down in his seat.

  “I’m so good at planning promposals. And hoco-posals, if that’s even the right word.” Ava leans forward in her seat, eyes wide with excitement.

  “I just need to figure out what to do.” He taps his foot.

  “Get her a bunch of cherry candies.” I jokingly suggest.

  Max laughs, and Ava looks at him, confused. “Remember when I asked you about Cap’n Crunch or Cinnamon Toast Crunch?” He asks.

  She nods in response.

  “They fight at lunch every day. Always something stupid. Today it was cherry versus green apple.”

  “Green apple, duh. Cherry tastes like cough syrup.”

  Jackson drops his head to his desk dramatically.

  “He was team cherry,” Max explains.

  “Wrong answer.” She shakes her head as she writes something down in her pink notebook. “Do something with that.” She suggests.

  “Huh?” He raises his head from his desk.

  “Cinnamon Toast Crunch, green apple, and stuff.” She suggests, copying a quote into her notebook.

  “Maybe I will.” He shrugs. “Can I ride with you to the McArthur game tomorrow night?”

  “Yeah, no problem. Thought that was too much for you?” He raises his eyebrows.

  “Believe it or not, I want to win our homecoming game, too. It would be kind of embarrassing to lose that one.”

  “Don’t you guys have a game tomorrow night?” Ava asks, finally looking up from her notebook and setting down her purple pen.

  “Ours is at four. McArthur starts at seven.” Max explains.

  “Eat, sleep, and breathe it, huh?” She jokes.

  “Every day.” He sighs, scribbling in his notebook with the same pen I’d given him last week, his handwriting still illegible.

  We finish our assigned English work in the last five minutes of class, scribbling down quotes that probably didn’t mean anything to the author, but we would now have to write an entire paper about because she mentioned the color blue twice in the book.

  The rest of the day is full of note-taking and lectures.

  “See you tonight?” He asks as we exit the English classroom.

  “Eight-fifty-nine sharp.” I smile.

  “Never past nine,” he scolds playfully, referring to the barely-followed New York state law. No driving past nine pm until you’re older than eighteen. People rarely follow it, but of course, I do. Driving isn’t something to take lightly. Ever.

  “No promises.” I joke as we go our separate ways.

  Scorpius

  The Scorpion

  Escaping the parking lot is difficult as usual, but I make it home in sixteen minutes precisely. I stare at myself in the mirror as I wait for a message from Graham. Something is off, but I can’t tell what it is. I try to straighten my posture, but my shoulders look too broad. My hair is too frizzy to fix at this point, and changing my outfit would be weird.

  I flop onto my bed in my room, completing my calculus homework while I wait.

  And my English.

  And Government.

  Graham

  Wyd? - Graham

  Nothing, you? - Phoebe

  Nm. Wanna come over now? - Graham

  See you in a few. - Phoebe

  I knock on the door hesitantly, and I hear a faint “coming!” from inside of the house in Graham’s instantly recognizable voice.

  “Hi,” he says, flinging the door open. “Come in.”

  I close the door behind me as he leads me into the house. I see the carefully lined-up shoes next to the door and kick mine off, placing them next to a pair of sneakers I recognize as Graham’s.

  He wordlessly leads me through the house, eventually stopping at a living room with a plush sofa and ginormous TV.

  He sits down in the center of the couch, and I sit next to him, keeping a respectable distance between us.

  I open my laptop and with it a few web pages on New Zealand’s government.

  “Do you want to open up the slide show? I sent it to you earlier.” I tell him as I click through the webpage I’d found on New Zealand’s government.

  “Sure.” He flips open his laptop, searching through his school email account.

  We work and get through the first eight slides. Wilson doesn’t require much on each, so they’re easy to complete.

  “Do you want to finish it tonight?” I ask him. “It’ll just take a few more hours.”

  “No, we can do it another time.” He waves it away. “It’ll give me an excuse to hang out with you more.”

  I close my laptop and carefully set my n
otebook and pens on top of it. Everything in the living room is in perfect order. From the colors of the books on the shelves to the deliberate placement of throw pillows and rugs, I feel like I’m sitting in a museum.

  So, I arrange my things accordingly.

  “What do you want to watch?” He asks me.

  “I don’t really know.” I give him a sheepish smile.

  “Do you have a favorite director?” He asks me.

  I nearly freeze up. “No, do you?”

  “If I had to pick one, I think I’d say, Tarantino,” he says.

  I don’t know anything about movies. Or directors. I scan my memory, trying to remember anything Tarantino has directed, but I draw a blank.

  “Cool.” I give him a small smile. “Why?”

  “Oh, I don’t know, I just really like the vibe of his movies.”

  “Cool.”

  “Cool.” He replies with a pursed-lip smile. “So, you really have no movie preferences?”

  “Nope,” I say simply.

  “A favorite movie?”

  “Return of the Jedi,” I answer definitively, wanting to say The Phantom Menace, but knowing that Mr. Tarantino would probably pick on me even more if I replied with a Star Wars prequel.

  “Really?” He asks, a grin spreading across his lips.

  “Yeah,” I answer meekly.

  “Interesting.” He grabs the remote from the coffee table in front of the giant couch and turns on the TV. “So, what are we watching?”

  “It’s up to you,” I tell him. “You’re the movie guy.”

  “Let me see.” He scrolls through his downloaded movies, “how do you feel about horror?”

  “I don’t mind it.” I lie. Blood and guts and murder keep me up for days, but I never tell anyone that. Just Max, but he doesn’t count.

  “Have you ever seen Us?” He asks me.

  “No,” I answer honestly. I’d seen the trailers and been sufficiently terrified, so I didn’t really feel like I was missing out.

  “It’s a new classic. You have to see it at least once.” He clicks on a creepy picture of two little girls in matching dresses, and the movie begins.

  I take deep, controlled breaths for the entire beginning, anticipating the end of the apparent normalcy of the movie.