Of All The Stars

by Ally B

  I make it through the beginning, but a little while in a jump scare gets to me.

  I literally jump, moving me nearly a foot closer to Graham. Luckily, I don’t scream.

  Graham lets out a laugh. “You all right?”

  “Fine,” I say rather unconvincingly.

  “This one got me the first time I saw it, too.” A smile is still pressed to his lips as he wraps an arm around me, pulling me into him.

  Is this normal? Is this what’s supposed to happen?

  We both return our attention to the movie, and I try my best to keep from jolting at every little thing, knowing he’ll be able to feel it.

  And he does.

  “You’re sure you’re good with this movie?” He asks me.

  “Yeah, of course,” I reassure him, but another convenient jump-scare proves me a liar within seconds.

  “I can turn it off.” He chuckles.

  “No. It’s good.”

  And then his lips are on mine. He’s soft-lipped open-mouthed kissing me as he pulls me further into him, his hand resting on my thigh and snaking its way toward the hem of my shirt. I instinctively grab his hand, placing it back on my thigh. His lips move deliberately as his hand returns to the hem of my shirt. I pull away from him quickly, his eyes locked on mine. A smirk plays at his lips before he returns his attention to the movie.

  I adjust my T-shirt before returning my attention to the movie, too.

  “I should probably go,” I say, glancing at the clock on my phone. “Have to be home by nine.”

  “Is that a curfew thing?” He asks.

  “A New York state traffic law, actually.” I correct him.

  “People actually take that seriously?” He scoffs.

  “Not really,” I admit. “But I’m a law-abiding citizen.” I turn my head back to the giant screen.

  “There’s only like fifteen minutes left, and I haven’t seen a single cop since I’ve been here, just stick around,” he says nonchalantly.

  No?

  No, thank you?

  I actually have somewhere to be?

  Nope?

  Hell no?

  Just run out?

  My train of thought chugs along on the express track toward the exit, but instead…

  “Yeah. It’s not a big deal,” I lie, feeling my stomach turn as I continue watching the movie.

  After around thirty seconds, I start to try and read the movie titles on the white shelves surrounding the TV. All of the ‘Star Trek’ movies, a bunch of nature documentaries, and all of the seasons of Seinfeld.

  Not exactly my cup of tea.

  “That was incredible, right?” He asks as the credits roll.

  “Yeah.” I nod in agreement, trying to match his enthusiasm. The movie was good, but not if you’re terrified of your own shadow.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow?” He asks, walking me to the door.

  And then he kisses me again.

  It’s hard to tell if the fluttering in my stomach is excitement or nervousness about the fact that it’s already 9:06.

  9:07 by the time I get in my car.

  Smiling as I buckle my seatbelt, I decide it was the kiss.

  Aries

  The Ram

  “Jesus, Phoebe,” Max mutters, running his hands through his hair as I walk across his yard to the swing set. “I thought you were dead.”

  I shake my head in confusion.

  “It’s 9:21.” He sits on one of the green plastic swings, the old wood creaking under his weight.

  “Sorry. I had to finish a movie,” I say, sitting next to him.

  “Since when do you break laws?” He asks me.

  “Graham explained how silly it is.” I shrug.

  Max raises his eyebrows. “You really let the cowboy explain New York traffic laws to you?”

  “How was Ava’s?” I change the subject.

  “Amy is terrifying, but it was good.” He answers. “I texted you like four hundred times.”

  “I didn’t check my phone before I left.” I defend. “Now who worries too much?”

  “You’re the one who makes me worry.” He shakes his head.

  “It won’t happen again,” I promise him.

  “You don’t have to tell me that. I’m not your boyfriend, and I’m definitely not in charge of you.” He holds up his hands in innocence.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask him.

  “Nothing, Pheebs. Nothing at all.” His words are more angry than reassuring. “Sorry. You just had me worried.”

  “Sorry,” I repeat, not knowing how to really apologize. I’d been so hard on Max about every little thing when he’d first started driving. “I’m a hypocritical asshole. I’ll text you if it ever happens again.”

  “It better not.” He scolds, but it comes across more like he’s pouting.

  “I have Cheez-Its at home if you want to come over and do homework.” I half-offer, half-bribe.

  “I have to go over film with dad.” He huffs.

  “You? Turning down Cheez-Its?” I raise my eyebrows.

  “If it were Goldfish, you’d have me,” he says, zipping up his puffy navy-blue coat.

  “I can have Goldfish in five minutes,” I say, pulling my keys out of my jacket pocket.

  “I can’t anyway,” he huffs. “Game day tomorrow.”

  “Max, it’s nine-thirty at night.”

  “Bill Sanchez.” He shakes his head. “There’s no escaping him.”

  “Bedtime?” I ask him.

  “You make me sound like a five-year-old.” He crosses his arms.

  “If the shoe fits.” I shrug.

  “Max! Film!” I hear Bill call from inside of the house.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.” I stand from the swing. “Dunkin’?”

  “You get me,” he grins. “Get some sleep.”

  “You too!” I say, trudging through his damp lawn and into my own.

  Triangulum

  The Triangle

  “So, you’ve applied to Princeton, where else are you considering?” Graham asks as we continue working on the slides in Government.

  “Princeton is kind of it for me,” I confess, scribbling observations onto my lab paper.

  “What other schools are you applying to?” He asks.

  “Syracuse, University of Chicago, Stanford, Vanderbilt, UC Berkeley, UCLA, Columbia, and Boston University.” I rattle off.

  “California schools?” He asks.

  “Max is going to Stanford.”

  “Isn’t it still too early to know?” He asks, scrolling to the bottom.

  “Yeah. He’s just always known. Ya, know?”

  “Is blind optimism a New York thing or just a you thing?” He asks.

  Blind optimism? Optimism in general? Not my strong suit.

  “Not blind optimism. Strategic planning.”

  “Strategic planning?” He raises an eyebrow.

  “Everything I’ve done since I was thirteen-years-old has been about getting into Princeton. The classes I’ve taken, where I’ve volunteered, my clubs, and activities. Strategic planning.” I explain, and it’s true. The astronomy class was added because I’d bothered my guidance counselor so much about it and somehow managed to convince Miss Salazar she wanted to teach it. The short-lived astronomy club was my idea. All of my classes were chosen by year based on what I thought I needed grade-wise. After Jack graduated, mom wanted to move to Blue Valley, but I begged to stay. Emerson is the best public high school in the region—rated so for five years in a row—so of course I wanted to stay. Princeton would see that I was top of my class at a competitive high school and take me. “Yale, right?” I ask him.

  “Or Duke. Or anywhere else. Whatever happens is going to happen, right.”

  No. Whatever you’ve been planning for half of your life is what’s going to happen. “Yeah,” I nod, returning my focus to the screen in front of me.

  “Is Velasquez like, dead?” Max asks as we enter the classroom to yet another substitute.

&nb
sp; “Conference.” The substitute says without even looking up from his phone.

  “Cool,” Max answers, not remotely phased that the sub heard him ask if our teacher was dead. “What are we doing?”

  “Watching a movie in Spanish.” He shrugs. “Enredados.”

  His accent is terrible, but Max speaks up before I can. “Tangled. It’s a good day for Phoebe Mitchell, huh?”

  “Apparently,” I say as we sit down.

  Once the classroom is full and he’s done attendance, the substitute turns off the lights, and the movie begins to play on the smart board in front of us. Max pulls out his notebook and flips it open to a random blank page, sketching out a tic-tac-toe board.

  We play the game three times before Max wins.

  “You really suck at this,” I say under my breath as we pretend to pay attention to the film.

  “I let you win,” he whispers.

  “Say whatever you want to make yourself feel better,” I say, drawing a line across the board where my o’s make a straight line, making this my fourth win out of our five games.

  I find my attention wavering between our games and the movie, but Max doesn’t bother trying to snap me back to reality.

  “It’s been like, over a week since you’ve seen this, right?” He asks with a smile.

  “Yeah.” I glare. “So, shh.”

  “Stop,” Kendall shouts over an argument as we approach the table.

  “What now?” I ask Riley.

  “I have no idea.” He shakes his head, putting his air pods in their case. “This is getting old, though, right? Not just me?”

  “Definitely not just you.” Tommy butts in. “And it’s Santa Claus versus the Easter Bunny.”

  Riley rolls his eyes.

  “You really think a rabbit could take nine reindeer and a huge fat guy? He gets around the entire world in one night.” Violet defends.

  “Take away the reindeer and magic sleigh, and he’s just a fat guy. What’s he gonna do? Roll over the Easter bunny?”

  “What makes the rabbit so special?” She asks.

  “What makes the fat man so special?”

  “The tooth fairy.” Max blurts out.

  “The bug that steals children’s bones? Really Max?” Violet raises her eyebrows, crossing her arms.

  “Just saying.” He shrugs

  “He’s got a point,” Jackson says after a moment.

  “Pick a side, Cruz.” Violet huffs.

  Thankfully, today's debate blows over pretty quickly. The boys talk about their game for the entire period, sparing a few minutes to talk about Kendall’s game last night. They beat Blue Valley in the last two minutes, breaking their losing streak before Kendall could actually lose it.

  “Vi, are you coming?” Jackson asks.

  “No, I’d rather stay home and watch Jeopardy with my parents.” She deadpans. “Of course.”

  “I just know Kendall has practice,” he defends.

  “Believe it or not, we do detach from one another’s hip. But only on rare occasions,” Kendall says before taking a bite of her sandwich.

  “Phoebe?” Jackson looks to me.

  “Work.” I shake my head.

  “Because she sucks,” Max adds.

  “You can work when you’re done with this.” Jackson gestures to the cafeteria. “High school is for procrastinating and making bad decisions, get it out of your system before you become some NASA nerd.”

  “But whatever would the elderly population of Emerson do without Phoebe Mitchell’s signature speech?” Vi asks, placing a hand on her heart.

  “How does it feel knowing a low-quality audio recording could replace you?” Tommy asks.

  “Pretty good, actually.” I roll my eyes.

  “You’re an ass.” Kendall scolds.

  “I know.” He chuckles, stealing a carrot from the plastic container next to her pink lunch pail.

  “Don’t lose tonight?” I ask as the bell rings.

  “Only because you say so.” Riley laughs as we all go our separate ways.

  “Text me after?” I ask Max as we walk toward the parking lot. “Before you go to the McArthur game?”

  “Of course,” he says, his red lunch pail swinging at his side.

  “Maybe win tonight?”

  “Just for you,” he says as we reach the divide in the hallway. “See you later.”

  “See you later. Drive safe.”

  “You too! Love you!” he shouts through the noisy hall as I push open one of the heavy metal doors.

  “Love you, too!”

  Canis Major

  The Big Dog

  “We’re up against another football game tonight.” Jerry sighs as Kat, and I lean against the counter. The theater is empty, and the only cars in the parking lot are ours.

  “And soccer,” I tell him. “Football’s in Blue Valley,” I repeat what Gabby said to me in Calculus when we’d been paired together.

  “So, we’re empty for the night.” Kat sighs, taking a bite of the piece of licorice in her grasp.

  “No.” Jerry points through the glass double-doors as a red minivan pulls into the parking lot, a gaggle of brightly-dressed little kids climbing out of the back seat.

  I walk into the theater, making sure the projections are on before shoving my mic-pack into my pocket.

  They run into the theater before nearly diving onto the floor in front of the front row. A tired-looking woman with a big black purse sits behind them, pulling out her phone.

  “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.”

  The kids don’t laugh, though. They just stare at the sky above them.

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

  “We were here last week.” One of the kids speaks up.

  “That’s right. Ariel is your favorite Disney princess?”

  The little girl perks up. “I’m Leah. These are my friends.” She gestures to the wide-eyed group of kids.

  “Why don’t I skip my boring speech today?” I ask them, sitting crisscross in front of them. “What questions do you guys have?”

  “What’s that one?” A little boy in a blue shirt points to the sky above us.

  “The one that looks like a spoon?” I ask him.

  “Yeah.” He nods.

  “That’s Ursa Minor, but its nickname is the Little Dipper.”

  “Because spoons dip in things?” Emma speaks up.

  “Yeah. Very good, Emma.” I high-five her. “What else?”

  “You said last time that the stars had stories. What’s your favorite story?” A different little girl speaks up.

  “Good job remembering.” I tell her, genuinely impressed. “Umm…” Not Cygnus, too creepy with the whole Zeus and Leta thing. Not Orion, either. Accidentally killing your friend isn’t the best story to tell little kids. That’s when I spot a pair of sisters at the back of the group, identically dressed with their hair in matching pig-tails. “That one is called Gemini.” I point. “It was named after a set of twins who were great fighters. Sailors think it’s good luck to see them when they’re out on the water.”

  “Twins?” One of the little girls speaks up.

  “Yep. Are you two twins?” I ask.

  “Yeah, but I’m older.” The other one speaks out, sticking her tongue out at her sister.

  “By two minutes.” T
he other one pouts.

  “Any other questions?” I ask them.

  “What’s your favorite food?” Blue shirt asks.

  “She meant about the stars.” Leah huffs.

  “I like dumplings,” I tell him, not wanting to explain Czech food to a little kid. “What’s yours?”

  “Goldfish,” he answers. “I like Cheez-Its, too though.”

  “I have a friend whose favorite food is Goldfish, too.”

  “Really? An adult?” He makes a funny face.

  “A teenager, but yeah. Really.” The group erupts into giggles.

  “Do you go to school? Or are you a real adult?” The other little boy asks.

  “I’m still in high school,” I tell them. “Where do you guys go to school?”

  “Emerson Elementary,” Leah speaks up, clearly the leader of this little group. “Mrs. Quincy is our teacher.”

  “She was my teacher too! You’re in third grade?”

  “Yep.” Blue-shirt answers.

  “Do you know Mia Sanchez?” I ask them.

  “She was in our class last year.” The older of the twins speaks up. “She’s nice.”

  “That’s my best friend’s little sister,” I tell them.

  “Max!” The shyer of the boys speaks out. “He’s really good at soccer.”

  “Yeah, Max. He has a soccer game right now, actually.”

  “I know. He’s on the same team as my brother.” He shrugs.

  “Who’s your brother?” I ask.

  “Riley Black. He’s a junior. My sister is Ryan.”

  “Riley and I are friends. You’re Reed, right?” I ask him.

  He nods. “Do you know Ryan?”

  “Not as well as I know Riley” I shake my head. “Riley and I sit together at lunch.”

  “That’s weird.” Leah butts in.

  “It’s a small town.” I remind her. “Do you know Emma Mitchell?”

  My cousin is a year older than them, but it’s worth a shot.

  “Emma and Lyla? They’re in fourth grade.” The younger of the twins speaks up.