“ONCE UPON A TIME . . .”
Instinctively, my mouth bends into a smile as Owen settles next to me on the roof. He’s been on my heels constantly lately, asking me about summer school and how I feel about starting Pebblebrook in the fall and trying to get me to laugh. Last night at dinner, he risked our parents’ wrath and spelled out swear words with his rigatoni. I actually did laugh when he substituted the u in the f-word with a chunk of tomato.
“A brother and a sister lived with the stars,” Owen goes on. “They were happy and had wild adventures exploring the sky. But lately, Sister Twin was super sad and she felt lonely, like she was in the sky all by herself, but luckily for her—”
“Oh, here we go.”
“Shut up. Luckily for her, she had a charming, handsome, debonair—”
“Debonair—oh my god.”
“Hey, my story here.”
“I’m just saying, accuracy matters.”
He nudges my elbow and I can feel his grin trying to mirror itself on my face.
“Anyway,” he says, “she had a charming, handsome, debonair twin brother who only wanted to make his sister happy.”
“So, yesterday, when you ate the last piece of our birthday cake, that was for the sole purpose of making me happy?”
“Yes. I saved you a filling at the dentist’s office.”
“Ah. Thank you so much.”
“Anytime. So one day, Brother Twin decided to collect a bunch of stars and make his sister a crown, to remind her how pretty and nice and amazing she was.”
I stiffen at the word pretty, but if Owen notices, he doesn’t let on.
“They flew through the sky together while she pointed out all of her favorite stars. Some were blue and some were green and some were purple, and when she touched them, they flew into her crown.”
“I’ll bet Brother Twin was jealous of that awesomeness.”
“He totally was. Anyway, when her crown was full, they kept flying around for a while, but something weird happened.”
“Brother Twin stole her stars?”
Owen rolls his eyes. “No. He’s not that big of a jerk.”
I snort-laugh.
“Shut up, and let me tell the story!”
“Okay, fine.”
“Anyway,” he says, cracking his knuckles, “stars kept attaching themselves to Sister Twin. Soon, she had a necklace and a bracelet and a belt and shoes and a shirt and it was like she was glowing.”
“Glowing?”
“Yeah, because she’s made of stars. Get it?”
“But if I’m made of stars, then where am I? Where’s the real me?” The questions slip out before I can stop them. I love Owen’s stories and I can’t help but love him even more for trying to distract me, even if he doesn’t know from what. Still, I have to wonder about his story, about the girl buried in stars.
“See, that’s the thing,” Owen says. “When they got home, she was so happy, but when she tried to take off the stars to go to sleep, she couldn’t. The twins thought the stars were just covering her up, but that’s not what was going on.”
“Why not?”
“Because when they thought the stars were sticking to her, really all the loneliness and sadness were falling off. The stars were underneath.”
“Underneath what?” My face turns toward him now, my voice a reverent whisper.
“Everything else. All the bad stuff. She just had to remember who she was underneath everything. She glows—she’ll always glow. Of course, she needed Brother Twin to help her because he’s awesome.”
I laugh at that, but tears form quickly and slide down my cheeks and into my hair. In the dark, I don’t think Owen can see them, but even if he can, all he does is take my hand as we stare up at the sky.
“It’s you and me, Star Girl,” he says seriously. “Always will be, no matter what.”
I squeeze his hand. “No matter what.”